Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RIVER
“Iswear to God, River, if you make us late, I will castrate you!” Carson’s voice echoed through the apartment.
I was running through the building like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to get all my stuff together so we could leave.
I picked up my duffel bag and threw it over my shoulder as I hopped to the front door, struggling to put my shoe on as I did.
Carson was already in front of the door, completely ready to leave and watching me with a scowl of disapproval.
I stomped my foot on the ground to slide it into the shoe. “You can chill out. I’m ready.”
He scoffed. “We should have left ten minutes ago. Coach is going to have our ass.”
I waltzed past him with a smirk. “Maybe yours, but Coach likes me. Being a couple of minutes late won’t faze him.”
Carson shut the door behind him with a groan. By the time he locked it, I was so far ahead he had to jog to catch up to me. He multitasked, fumbling with his backpack and adjusting his clothes as he moved.
We made it to the stadium only five minutes past the time we were set to meet, so Carson’s complaints were for nothing.
We still had downtime before the game. Trainers went from player to player, asking if anyone needed tape or a quick massage to loosen up.
I rarely ever bothered with that because I wasn’t convinced that their actions would help my game—it was all in the head, but this time, I hesitated.
Neither of my parents were coming to the scrimmage, and the thought made me feel uneasy.
They had always been my biggest supporters, from making T-shirts with my face on it to encouraging me when I was in my head and showing up to every game.
This time, when I looked into the stands, they wouldn’t be there, and it was messing with my head.
So, I stuck my leg out and let the trainer wrap tape around my right ankle. Dad used to tell me he always taped his ankle before a game back when he played. Now, I had a piece of him with me.
Coach went over the plays that we’d been drilling since the start of the year. If anyone messed up, we’d all be in for a hell of a lot of conditioning next practice.
Official games did not start until November, so winning or losing the scrimmage wasn’t the end-all be-all. Though, Carson and I learned that the LSSU believed in the superstition that if we lost the first scrimmage, we could kiss March Madness goodbye.
March Madness, also known as the NCAA Tournament, was the championship game for all D1 colleges. Lone Star State University made it last year, but they didn’t win. With the added strength of Carson and I on the team, we had a better shot.
After giving a much-needed pep talk to the team, Coach pulled the starting five aside.
He scratched his beard as he stood up tall, trying and failing to meet the height of us surrounding him.
“Now, boys, you three have been playing for me since your freshman year. You already know how this goes and what I expect of you, but Moore and Grant are with us now. They’ve gotten used to the practices, but now we’re going to see if they can live up to expectations on the court. ”
Salem, our point guard, stood on his tiptoes to wrap a firm arm around Carson’s shoulders. “They’re gonna show up and show out, Coach.”
“Don’t I know it. You five—” he pointed between us all “—you need to communicate. You’re starting off our season, and the crowd’s mood depends on you.
That’s not to put pressure on you, but to get you ready.
Do not think of this as a scrimmage. This is the NCAA Tournament, and you’d better play like you mean it! ”
His finger stayed aimed at us as he let the words sink in. My hand swatted at the back of my neck, sudden chills washing over me. Despite only knowing him for a few months, Coach’s determined words made pride swell in my chest.
Coaches’ eyes fell on Carson. “Grant, I would bet money that you’re taller than every player on their team. It’s one hell of an advantage; use it like I know you can.”
“Yes, Coach,” Carson grunted.
Coach turned to me. “Moore, don’t get in your head with the shots. Your aim is impressive, but hesitation will kill you. Understand?”
My teeth clamped down on my tongue, and I silently cursed myself through the pain. The hesitation wasn’t something I thought anyone had noticed. I did not know where it came from or why it happened, but once I fucked up once, I fucked up the rest of the game.
His bulging eyes wouldn’t leave mine until I nodded.
“Go out there and show them how good you are, how talented you are. Otherwise, the next practice will be hell,” he roared.
“Yes, sir!” we barked in unison.
Coach shouted orders to the rest of the team to get off their asses and get ready for pre-warmups.
The best part about pre-warmups was that they were open to the public, so anyone could show up early and watch us practice before the game began.
Even with another hour until the start, the stands were halfway filled with people.
The crowd erupted into cheers as we jogged onto the court, waving and blowing kisses to people like we were celebrities.
It sent a surge of pride through my chest that felt better than anyone could imagine, but that feeling wasn’t enough to make me forget to search the stadium for a certain someone.
I couldn’t spot him, and suddenly something stabbed the joy and confidence radiating off of me fifteen times.
Already feeling like I’d played for twenty minutes, I took a deep breath.
He probably just hadn’t arrived yet. The game wasn’t for another hour, and if I were him, I would—shit, there he was.
In the student section, first row, and in the center, was the boy with the green eyes I loved to get lost in.
Still absentmindedly following my teammates, I felt my lips curl unwillingly into a smile.
He sat with his hands in his lap and a closed-lipped grin plastered on his face.
He, too, was looking my way, and he offered me a small wave.
I waved back, a rush of warmth coursing through me as it set in that he had actually shown up for me, despite everything.
Alex was never a fan of basketball. When we were kids, instead of joining me in the game, he’d sit at the edge of the court and watch me play. I always tried to get him to try it, and sometimes he gave in, but he meant it when he said he enjoyed watching me more than playing.
I was debating whether I could get away with running up to and greeting him when I collided with a brick wall.
Not an actual brick wall, thankfully. I slammed face-first into the back of Carson, who was firm enough that it might as well have been a wall.
He turned around, fairly concerned about my clumsiness.
“My bad,” I said casually.
Carson rubbed his back. “What’s got your attention?”
“Nothing.”
He picked up a ball from the rack and handed it to me as he frowned, thinking he knew what was up. “Your parents aren’t out there, man. I know right now must be hard for you, but—”
“No.” I waved my hands frantically and stopped Carson before he could say anything else. I did not want to start that conversation. “I was looking for Alex.”
“Oh.” His brow raised in surprise, which morphed into intrigue. “Why?”
I still hadn’t filled my friend in on Alex and I’s history, and honestly, I had no intention to. The end of our friendship was a complicated time in my childhood that I liked to bury, and the only thing that made pretending I didn’t remember him easier was knowing it kept him safe.
But lying to Carson was pointless, so I shrugged vaguely. He was ready to push it, but I’d already turned my back to him and begun dribbling to the center of the court before he could get the words out. I’d deal with Carson’s questions later.
I spent the entirety of pre-warmups fixating on Alex rather than the ball in my hand, but no one was the wiser. When the team went back into the locker room to get ready for the actual practice, the excitement in the room was palpable, but mine was for a different reason than just the game.
After more downtime and another pep-talk from Coach, he sent us back out there.
Now, as we made our grand entrance, excited fans filled every seat in the stadium, and the cheers sounded better than ever.
Nothing could compare to the intense adrenaline rush that coursed through my veins at the sound of their support, especially as someone new to their team.
Once we finished the five minutes of drills, our true warm-up, the ref blew his whistle, and the game began.
We started shakier than I had anticipated, as the other team came at us with a force I hadn’t expected. Their passes were top-tier, effortlessly hogging the ball from us and successfully psyching us out. It made my blood boil.
But they were god-awful at making baskets. Free throws, layups, three-pointers—they sucked at it all. It was like they all had poor eyesight, but each one refused to wear glasses. With Carson’s six-foot-five body there to stop the majority of attempts, they could only score a few shots.
The moment we figured out how to intercept their passes, it was game on. Their repetitive pattern of which teammate to pass to was so predictable that Alex’s niece could figure it out. With each pass we intercepted, the scores evened out.
Salem intercepted the ball, dribbling it and searching for an open teammate as his legs moved swiftly down the court.
I planted my feet on the right wing, a good spot for me to make an easy shot, but an opponent jumped before me with his arms extended, and so close he was practically rubbing against me.
I dodged to the right, and the guy mimicked instantly. What he hadn’t accounted for was my immediate dodge to the left right after, allowing Salem to pass to me so I could make my shot.
The ball slammed into my chest when I caught it, but I didn’t let it throw me off. In less than a second, I planted my feet, aimed, and used all of my dad’s techniques to shoot the ball into the net.
Heart pounding and throat dry, I held my breath as I watched the ball soar through the air, and so did the rest of the stadium. In that moment, it was so quiet that you could hear the sound of someone chewing their fingernails.
Swoosh.
Roars of applause and cheers echoed in the stadium as the ball fell graciously through the net. While the crowd went wild, my teammates slapped my back in congratulations and pride, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed the grin on Coach’s face.
But none of those faces was the one I was looking for.
I scanned the crowd for Alex almost instinctively—he was the one I wanted praise from.
I wanted to know if he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me like I couldn’t him, because not staring at his pretty face that I had been denied for seven fucking years was like being withheld oxygen.
I found him standing and clapping, his grin wider than ever, and I flashed a wink his way. My aim in the game was decent, but not so much out of it, because the girl behind Alex blew a kiss at me, thinking I was winking at her. Oops.
We won by a landslide, seventy-two to forty-eight.
Shirtless, sweaty men pulled each other into tight embraces in the locker room. To these guys, that first win was the confirmation that we’d make it to the NCAA. It was undeniable in their eyes, and I hoped I’d gain their level of confidence.
Coach was the happiest I had ever seen him, so overjoyed that in his third speech of the night, he professed how proud he was of Carson and me. For a second there, it brought me back to the speeches my dad used to give me after a game.
He announced pizza was on him, which caused everyone to chant, “Pizza, pizza, pizza!” He let us gather our things while he called the restaurant to warn them that a team full of sweaty basketball players was about to flood their building.
But I didn’t want pizza; I wanted Alex. I tried to sneak away without raising suspicion, but my beanstalk of a friend was always watching.
Carson gripped my arm. “Where are you going?”
Yanking my arm from his grip, I told him, “Give me a minute. I’m coming.”
His lips pressed into a line, somehow understanding what I was doing. “Hurry up.”
I ran—yes, ran—through the stadium toward the student section. Most of the crowd had cleared out already, but there were still a few trickling out. Either he was among them, or I was too late.
Please still be there, please.
Was I seriously begging? Fuck, how desperate was I?
I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I stared at the spot he had been in during the game. The gaping hole that formed in the pit of my stomach, knowing he hadn’t waited for me, shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have even asked him to come in the first place, let alone expect him to stay.
With a sigh, I set foot on the path to the locker room, but only made it halfway down the stairs when I heard my name.
“River,” his tone was calm.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t light up at the sight of him. “You came.”
Alex came closer, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “You asked me to.”
“I wasn’t sure you actually would,” I admitted.
“Why?” Alex’s voice rose innocently. “Because we’re strangers?”
My stomach twisted at his genuinely asked question. He made it seem meaningless, but the question held a lot of weight. He knew we weren’t strangers, I knew we weren’t strangers, and he knew I knew we were not strangers.
My grin morphed into a closed-lip smile as I ignored his comment. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m glad I did. You were amazing.” He punched my shoulder in a light, playful way, but it came off awkwardly. Unnatural. He cleared his throat sheepishly. “How big is your ego now?”
“Not too big.” I took a step closer, now able to smell his light cologne. Who was he wearing cologne for? “And thanks, but it wasn’t just me. The entire team helped with that.”
Alex’s foot dragged back and forth across the ground, tilting his head down with a short, breathy laugh. “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t watching them.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“No.” Our gazes met. “I came to watch you.”
Oh.
I was right.
I went for that natural bro-tap I did with everyone else, the way Alex just tried and failed to do with me.
The back of my hand hit against his arm, but it didn’t fall the way it should’ve.
Instead, my hand lingered, dragging down his forearm to his wrist, like I meant to be holding it.
I had to make a conscious effort to let go.
I dusted the nonexistent fuzz off my clothes. “You were a real motivator.”
Alex blinked away his blank stare. “Glad I could be of help. See you in class tomorrow?”
“Bright and early.”
Just like I did every other Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Only this time, something felt different, and I couldn’t figure out what.