27. Cory
Chapter twenty-seven
Cory
"G o away!"
Damon's voice crackles through the intercom of his short-term rental in Alphabet City, and I wince. He's been on edge since he got back, skipping out on bro time and even snapping at Mom and Dad last week at dinner. In our separate group text, the brothers all agreed that an intervention was in order to pull Damon out of his funk, but I volunteered to reach out one-on-one instead.
Adam called me immediately afterwards, his voice skeptical over the line. He and Damon are the closest, and I know my reputation as an asshole precedes me. But I needed something—anything—to get my mind off Denise.
This time last year, spending the holidays alone wouldn't have mattered. In fact, I avoided even hooking up between November and January, otherwise women would get the wrong idea. But almost two months without Denise, and I'm crawling out of my skin.
We didn't get to watch the parade and stuff our faces together on Thanksgiving. We didn't get to share a hot cocoa on Christmas. And even though I tagged along to one of Noah's industry parties, dressed to the nines and sloshed on way too much champagne, I rang in the new year just as sad and lonely as the day I walked out of her apartment.
"C'mon, bro," I press, nodding at a passing dog-walker struggling with a corgi, a German Shepherd, and two overly enthusiastic golden retrievers. "If you leave me out here on the sidewalk, your cheesesteak is gonna go all cold and soggy."
The buzzer sounds and I smirk. I knew he'd open the door for food. I make my way up the narrow staircase to the third floor of the pre-war building. Why a grown man tall enough to play professional basketball chose to live in a dollhouse-size apartment is beyond me.
I knock when I reach his door, and he opens it just a crack, the chain still on.
"Are you serious?" I scoff. "You're really not going to let me in?"
My patience is wearing real fuckin' thin. Olde City was packed when I came by for the sub, and it started drizzling on the way over here.
I wave the sandwich in front of the opening and the douchebag finally lets me in with an audible sigh.
"Uh, you're welcome," I snark once I'm inside.
The apartment's even smaller than I thought from the hallway. His living room-slash-kitchen-slash-bedroom can't be more than ten feet by ten feet, most of which are taken up by a large futon and entertainment system. I'll bet he's still paying over five Gs a month, though.
"Thanks," Damon grumbles, before unceremoniously snatching the sandwich from my grip. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"
I give him a one-finger salute and make myself as comfortable as possible on a futon that's giving me flashbacks to freshman year in college.
"Besides to bless you with the beauty of my face?" I say sarcastically, earning an eye roll. "I'm here because we're worried about you, bro."
Damon eyes me warily while tearing into his sandwich.
"Who's 'we'?" he asks around a way-too-big bite of cheesesteak.
" Everyone , man. All the bros. Mom. Dad. They wanted to stage an intervention or some shit until I told them I'd try talking with you. I doubt you would've enjoyed an ambush."
He chews but says nothing, and I let out a frustrated breath.
"Damon, talk to me, man. It's either that, or we see how many Park brothers it takes to turn this studio into a clown car."
Damon frowns, and his shoulders slump in defeat. He even sets down his sandwich, so I know this is serious.
"I got released from my contract."
"What?" I gasp, completely shocked.
Damon has been playing basketball overseas for ten years now. We've all hated not seeing him for months at a time and hoped he'd find a team back home, even if it meant the G League after he went undrafted in the NBA. But none of us ever wanted this .
"Yeah, bro," he says, his tone sad. "Why do you think I got back so close to Adam's wedding? I'm usually back by June, and that's if we make the playoffs."
I shrug.
"I just assumed it was some basketball-related stuff. Maybe a special tournament or something?"
Damon laughs bitterly.
"Nah. It was some moving my whole life back to the US stuff. I cleaned out my locker, packed up my apartment, and flew home for the last time. I am now officially retired from professional basketball."
At thirty-three, I'm sure he already knew his days playing ball were numbered. But to give it your all for so long, away from your family and friends, and then just fly home alone? Damon drops onto the futon next to me and it groans under his solid weight.
"I'm sorry, bro," I offer, though it hardly seems sufficient. "Why didn't you tell anybody? You know we would've made it a bigger deal. Mom would've baked you a cake or something."
That gets a real laugh out of him.
"I'm sure she would have," he says through a wry smile. "I didn't want to distract from baby bro's big day. And now Henry's engaged?" He lifts a shoulder, and I still see echoes of that gangly teenager practicing free throws in the street. All he ever talked about was basketball.
"I didn't want to bring the mood down when things are going so well for everyone else."
I put my hand on his shoulder and turn to him.
"Well, that stops now, bro. First, you gotta break the news to everyone."
He's already shaking his head vigorously.
"No way, man. That's so embarrassing."
"No, it's not," I insist, squeezing his shoulder tighter. "The end of a long, impressive career as a professional ball player is something to celebrate , not be ashamed of ."
"But I got released!" he almost whines. "And I never even played in the NBA."
My expression turns soft.
"I know you always wanted that. You worked your ass off, and they didn't call. But you know what? Germany did. And then Spain. Ball let you see amazing places, all while doing what you love."
Some of us had made the trip to see him in the play-offs a couple times. He was a real-life celebrity over there, complete with groupies and even his own stadium chant.
He cracks a small smile.
"You think so?"
"I know so, Damon. I know you're the middle child, but you don't really think we're going to overlook this milestone, do you? We never have, and we're certainly not going to start now."
His eyes get glassy before he blinks the moisture away. I pull him in for an awkward hug, and we both clear our throats.
"And what about you?" he asks, changing the subject.
I lift an eyebrow.
"What about me?"
Damon levels me with a pointed look.
"You think I'm the only one who's been moping around here lately?"
I snort, waving away his sympathy. I came here to comfort him . We damn sure aren't gonna talk about Denise. If we open that can of worms, there'll be no closing it, and we've already had one emotional moment today.
"It's nothing. Just dealing with a difficult client at work," I lie. Damon looks doubtful, but he doesn't push it. He's probably just as ready to move on from the heavy stuff as I am.
I lean forward and grab the Xbox controllers, handing him one.
"Can you still play NBA 2K if you're retired?"
Damon's face splits into a grin.
"Not only can I still play, I can still beat your ass."
I roll my eyes.
"That's big talk coming from the guy who came in fourth in the Tournament of Bros." Henry, ever the stick in the mud, had abstained from our annual ritual. I've been the reigning champion four years in a row.
Damon bumps me with his shoulder and powers on the game.
" Oh, little bro . You're about to find out just what I've been doing with all the extra time I have on my hands these days."
Even if it is just for a video game, the gleam in his eyes is back. I heave a sigh of relief, and get ready to take my big brother to school.