Chapter 11
11
Ben
The sky is black as I walk toward the gym. It’s 5:30 a.m. as I chug my protein pre-workout coffee, hoping the caffeine gives me a much needed boost at my first practice back. Lucky for me, Coach typically sits this one out, doing game scheduling and play making with the assistant coaches, while the captain, or I guess now captains , take the team through speed drills. I walk in and almost everyone’s already there warming up. I spot Will, immediately making my way towards him. I’ve thought a lot over the course of the past few days about how I hope our partnership can go. We both take basketball more seriously than anything else in our lives and I doubt he wants me to get in the way of it just as much as I don’t want him to.
His eyes acknowledge me as I reach him.
“Yo,” he says, stretching his hamstring.
“Hey— so I was thinking we could lead the team through some basic drill conditioning. Maybe a few passing drills too?” I move to the mat beside him attempting to do some calf stretches.
“Sorry man, we’re doing shooting drills.” He says it dismissively as if I’m merely suggesting something. As if I’m a second string power forward and not the leading point guard and co-captain of this team. I bite the inside of my cheek trying to be cognizant of the fact that Will has been running the team the past few years I’ve been out and he hasn’t done a bad job. Granted, they’ve only won one championship, but they’ve still been in the top 5 college teams every year.
“I think it may be more beneficial, since it’s the start of the season, to get in touch with the basics.” I try to hone my tone into one that will be more palatable, knowing how easy it is to set Will off when it comes to how to best play this game.
“ You might need to get back ‘in touch’ with the basics, considering you haven’t played on a team in years,” Will says, his tone mocking, “but I think the rest of us are ready to drill half court shots.”
I feel my eyes narrow and I try the breathing techniques as I move through my stretches. I know that I spent the entire time I stayed at Pop’s training, but Will doesn’t. I would constantly pick up games at the local gym, playing against anyone who was able. Lucky for me, Pop’s gym was one of the best in the metro Boston area and numerous athletes trained there.
“Of all the shooting drills to do, you think half court is what we should be spending our time on?” My tone is incredulous and Will's frustration is coming off him in waves.
“Brothers, brothers,” Andy chimes in trying to use humor to get us to calm down. “You’re in luck, because I have the perfect idea for this conditioning practice.” Will and I both roll our eyes, used to Andy’s typically idiotic ideas. “A scrimmage.”
Will's eyes light up as he glances at me, trying to gauge what I think of the idea. I shift on to my feet, frustrated that we aren’t going to do the drills I think would be most valuable. But a scrimmage would be fun, and what better way to show Will how hard I’ve been training than to publicly kick his ass.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this Andy but, good idea.” I nod toward Will. “You want first pick of teams?” Wills eyes dance, loving the idea of getting to compete.
“Nah bro— why don’t you pick first? You need that home field advantage.” He winks, patting my chest before kicking up a nearby basketball, dribbling it once before shooting a perfectly arched 3 pointer. Grant lets out a low whistle.
“Line up boys— we’re starting,” I yell, getting the team's attention, instantly in game mode.
The scrimmage starts slow but I immediately recognize that Will’s not playing for fun. He’s playing to win. This meaningless friendly game isn’t meaningless or friendly to either of us.
Grant whips the ball toward me as I go in to do a layup. The score board, though changing frequently, is neck and neck.
“Yo Will— I’m free,” Andy yells, but Will moves forward, ever the MVP, and goes for a three-pointer that bounces off the frame into my waiting palm.
“Fuck,” he growls, running full speed to successfully block the hook shot I’m about to throw. I square my jaw as the team around us starts to fade and all I see is Will. He moves to half court where I quickly disrupt. He’s quick, sweeping the ball in a turnover. This goes on, both of us running back and forth across the court, not allowing the others to make a single shot until I’m brought back to reality with the coach’s whistle.
I freeze the ball above my head getting ready to throw a 3-pointer and Will slams to a stop in front of me, his hands stretched high to block. We both turn, seeming to realize at the same time the rest of the team is now sitting on the bleachers in awe of what has unfolded in front of them. How many shots did we block from each other? How long did this play go on? Why didn’t anyone stop us? Did they try?
“CABOT, CHAPMAN. YOU'RE DONE FOR THE DAY. LOCKER ROOMS NOW. THE REST OF YOU RUN DRILLS. COACH WALTERS WILL LEAD,” our coach’s voice booms and he’s clearly pissed at us hijacking practice, but he can’t hide how impressed he is by the game of 1:1 he just saw play out.
We get to the locker room and Will immediately slams his duffel bag on to a nearby bench.
“Fuck,” he shouts out, banging a passing locker with his hand. He chugs his water, pouring it over his head, trying to get a hold of the adrenaline I feel pulsing through me too. He sits on the bench roughly, putting his head in his hands.
“You good man?” I ask taking a drink from my own water bottle.
“Who did you train with?” he asks, his tone accusatory.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Who did you train with when you were in Boston? Clearly, you weren’t just sitting around doing nothing.”
I feel flattered but I can tell it’s not meant to be taken that way. Will's pissed; I’m sure he was hoping for my immediate demise. That I would show up out of shape and out of practice and be made second string.
“Some of us are just naturally gifted, I guess,” I try to crack a joke, the way I used to years ago after winning a scrimmage. But things aren’t the same and that's obvious as Will slams the locker he's standing beside with his fist. “Will—” My concern is immediately cut off.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Ben. My life isn’t some sort of joke you can just come in and fuck up.” Rage seems to waft off him as he pushes his hand through his hair. “Why can’t I have anything? Why do you take everything that’s mine?”
I swallow, starting to hear Will for what feels like the first time.
“C’mon man, basketball has always been our sport.” I move toward him.
“Stop— Ben, just stop. ‘Our sport,’” he repeats the words to himself shaking his head. “Everyone has made it very fucking clear that basketball is your sport. YOUR. SPORT. One that I happen to also be good at. But never as good as the great Ben fucking Cabot.”
I sigh leaning against my locker knowing there's more coming by the look on Will’s face.
“And basketball isn’t enough for you is it, Ben?” His eyes narrow as his tone turns steely.
“What are you talking about?” I ask even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Does Olivia ring a bell to you?” He inches toward me getting right up in my face. “You know, 5’8”, brown eyes, drop dead gorgeous? Oh, and I almost forgot, my fucking girlfriend , who somehow keeps talking to you.” I clench my jaw knowing that if he throws a punch I won’t be able to stop myself from hitting him back. He steps back shaking his head in disbelief when he spots my clenched fist. “You're unbelievable man, you know that?” My teeth grind together trying not to lash back out. “Do you have nothing to fucking say?”
I close my eyes and take a steadying breath.
“Why are you lying to her?” My voice is cool but calm as I narrow my eyes at my brother. His eyes shift from anger to confusion to pure rage.
“Fuck you, Ben. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I move closer now, getting in his face but I keep my voice calm.
“Lily, Will. I’m talking about Lily.”
He pushes me back not hard enough for me to fall but enough to send a message.
“Don’t fucking say her name again.” His tone is low and seething. His eyes have turned into an emotion I haven’t seen. The piping anger is so hot that if I say one more word we both will probably get kicked off the team from the altercation that would inevitably happen.
“She doesn’t know. How could you not tell her?” Faster than I can get the words out Will has me pushed hard up against a locker, his entire body trembling with anger.
“It’s none of your fucking business. It’s no one’s fucking business. It never was.” He pushes me hard and I let him, taking into account the flurry of emotions traveling across his face. His anger turned into sadness and back again. Two years worth of grief filtering through him in only a few moments.
“Hey.” My tone is soft as I put a steadying hand on his shoulder, something I learned in therapy that Pop’s used to do for me. I sense there is more going on here than me beating him at basketball or flirting with Olivia. This seems to help some of his anger subside as he releases his fists from my jersey, stepping away from me and running his hands over his face. “What’s going on with you?” I ask, trying to not cause him to spiral into another anger induced rampage.
“I just don’t want to talk about her. Not now, not ever. That part of my life is over and if Olivia ever found out… You don’t get it man. When you left, she was all I had.” He sits on the bench behind him staring at the ground.
I shake my head stunned. I try not to think about how I left Will hanging, left him to deal with everything alone. I refused to see that him jumping into a relationship with Olivia wasn’t him being a shit stirrer, but instead was him refusing to deal with his own emotions. I sit beside him trying to think through what I should do.
“I know this is shitty Will, but there are other people's emotions at play here.”
Will sneers. “You mean your emotions, right?”
I scoff, surprised. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb Ben, it’s so fucking obvious. I see how you look at her and I get it. Why wouldn’t you? Hell, the whole school looks at her that way. But at the end of the day Ben, it’s me and Olivia.” He stands throwing his duffel over his shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m saying? She’s mine, Ben. I won. So stop fucking with my life and move on.”
I feel my fists curl, unable to control the anger now a rising tide within me. To some degree I know he’s right— it is him and Olivia but the fact that he treats her like a trophy on his mantle, that is what my temper can’t seem to handle. I stand to my full height getting close to my brother and looking down into his eyes. He matches my glare but I sense his unease as he clenches his jaw.
“Understand this, Will. You may think you ‘won’ but as you saw today you only ‘win’ when I’m not playing.” I shove him a few inches backward. “If you don’t tell her, I will.” I spit the words out and he flinches.
“You wouldn’t.” He shakes his head incredulously.
“Wouldn’t I?” I feel the sinister grin spread across my face before it falls. “You walk around here treating her like she’s half the woman she is. You’re right when you said I look at her the way everyone else at this school does. Everyone at this school except you.” I shove him again, my anger building. “The only reason I’m not taking care of this for you is because you're my little brother. You need to handle your shit, Will. You want to beat your ‘big bro’? You wanna be the ‘big man’ on campus?” I shake my head at him as if he’s the most pathetic person I’ve ever seen. “Then fucking act like a man and handle it.” I finally shove past him pushing out the double doors into the autumn sun.
The parking lot is basically empty as the first cool gusts of autumn waft through the leaves. I take a deep inhale trying to dwell the panic gurgling within me. My phone buzzes and I feel my breath hitch when I see the name on the screen.
Olivia
Still on to study Friday?
I take a long drag of the cool outside air, letting the breath coat my lungs.
Can’t wait.