CHAPTER 52 Tanner Banks
A Bottle of Casamigos with Your Name on It
My flight is after the Sunday night game. The Storm wins at home, and next week we play the Thursday night game in Seattle, a game I won’t travel to anyway. I’ll miss practice this week, but I’m out anyway, and I need this time for my mental health.
Nick sent me with a whole regimen of stretches and exercises for my knee, and it’s not like my athlete brothers are going to let me get away with flaking on any of it.
I text Asher as I’m waiting at the airport.
Me: Heading your way for the next few days. Let me know if you can get away for dinner. Killer catch in the fourth today, by the way.
His response is quick, and it makes me laugh.
Asher: Thanks. The throw could’ve used some work, but he’s no Tanner Banks. You’re welcome to stay here if you like teething babies and an old man about to turn thirty.
Me: Thanks for the incredible offer, but I booked a hotel. Miller and I aren’t too far behind you, you know.
In fact, we’re only three months younger than him .
Asher: I have a bottle of Casamigos with your name on it if you want to stop by tonight.
Me: I will take you up on that.
Once I land, I grab an Uber over to Asher’s place, and I text him to let him know when I’ve arrived so as not to wake the baby. His wife is in the family room rocking the baby, who looks like he just fell asleep, and she gives me a big smile and leans in for a friendly hug before she heads upstairs to get him down.
Asher gives me a hug, and then he slaps me on the back. “How’s the knee?”
I glance at his shirt, not sure if I can take him seriously with enlarged characters from the Toy Story franchise staring back at me, but I give him the latest. “I just switched PTs, but overall it’s doing well.” I follow him into the kitchen, and he grabs the familiar bottle and slides it across the counter. “How’d you know I’d need a drink?”
“You flew to Vegas immediately after tonight’s game. Guys who are doing well don’t tend to do that. So why are you here?” he asks. He grabs a glass out of the cabinet and slides it toward me, and he gets a second for himself. I pour us each a few fingers from the bottle.
I hold up my glass, and he clinks his to mine. We each take a sip before I answer.
“Aside from the obvious family shit on top of the injury?” I ask.
He nods. “Was Thanksgiving with your folks too much to take?”
I shake my head as I let out a sigh. “It was fine.” I clear my throat, and then I blurt out the truth. “I was sleeping with my physical therapist. Her boss found out about us and fired her, and she ended things with me.” I shrug. “I guess I just needed to skip town for a few days.” I realize it’s not as simple as all that, but those are pretty much the basics.
“Hm,” he grunts.
I bare my soul to this dude and he gives me a hm ? I stare at him as I wait for something more. “What?”
“Well, the way you said all that makes it sound like no big deal, yet you’re here, so it must be.” He raises his brows pointedly.
“Yeah. It got serious.” I take a sip of my tequila.
“So let me get this straight. You found out about Eddie. You tore your ACL, sidelining you for an entire season. And then you lost the girl?”
I press my lips together as I raise my brows and nod. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”
He tips the tequila over my glass generously, and I chuckle as I hold it up in his direction. “It’s not helping the way it should,” I admit.
“You just haven’t had enough.” He laughs, but he turns serious. “What can I do?”
I lift a shoulder. “Nothing. I just needed some time away from all of it.”
“Let’s start at square one. I know the family thing was a big shock, but we’ve had a year to get used to the idea. Have you talked to Dad at all?”
I shake my head. “He called after the surgery, but I blew him off.”
He takes a sip of his tequila. “Look, out of all of us, I guess I’ve always been the closest to him. It wasn’t by my choice, but it is what it is. He does shitty things, but deep down, there’s a good side to him. We just need to give him the chance to let it out.”
“I’ve made progress toward forgiving my mom,” I admit. “Cass—that’s the PT I was seeing—she’s a single mom, and she made me see that sometimes mothers do what they have to do to protect their kids.”
He glances up at the ceiling, presumably thinking of his wife and kid. “Yeah, they do. And fathers do, too. Eddie knew he couldn’t give you and Miller the life you deserved when he already had the four of us to deal with, and he panicked.”
“I guess what gets me about all of it is the fact that he panicked when he found out she was pregnant, but he doubled down by paying her until we were twenty-eight. Why? Why did he stop paying her to keep quiet?” I ask.
“He had nothing left to lose,” Asher says quietly. “He already lost it all, and he couldn’t afford to keep paying her. He made it seem like he accidentally let it slip to me, but it was calculated. He knew I wouldn’t keep it quiet.”
I reach over and slug his arm. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
His mouth tips up in a faint smile. “I’m glad, too. It’s nice having little brothers for a change.”
I laugh. I’m taller than him, and Miller’s bigger than him, but I guess technically we’re his little brothers—by three months.
“The knee is progressing, so what are you going to do about the girl?” he asks as if he’s solving my problems one at a time.
“She ended it. I’m not sure what else there is to do.”
“Uh…you fight?” he suggests.
“She’s got two kids, man. She lost her job, and she blames me. I can fight all I want, but it’s a losing battle.” I tip the tequila to my lips.
“If you say so.”
I guess I was expecting him to try to push a little harder to convince me, to tell me about his personal experience where he fought for the girl…but one thing I’ve learned about Asher is that I should expect the unexpected .
The way he says it tells me he doesn’t believe me, and I let those words play in my mind as he tells me he’s going to call it a night, and I head back toward my hotel.
I’m not ready for sleep yet, so I find myself in the high stakes room as I blow through a little cash and drink more tequila. Cass is on my mind as always, and I think back to the words she said to me the last time we parted. It hasn’t even been a full week yet. The words are still fresh, and they still hurt.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to fight. But I have no fight left in me. I’ve taken too many hits. I’m down for the count.
And I’m not sure how to climb back up out of it.