Chapter 37 Colson
thirty-seven
Colson
The next day, my eyes burn from reading all the fine print of my contract and at this point, my eyes hurt. Basically, if I want to play in the NBA next season, I should be able to do that.
Though I was dismissed, the structure of the deal means I’m still getting paid, am still movable, still valuable.
Productive player. Still would start on most rosters.
Plus, my shoulder injury isn’t going to be an issue.
It’s rare that I even feel the twinge, the one that would flip my stomach on a whim a few months ago.
There are roster spots out there. I know that. My agent knows that. Hell, half the league probably assumes I’ll land somewhere without much trouble.
The problem is I don’t know how picky I’m allowed to be. Or how honest. Teams will want to know what happened, which means I’ll have to open a can of worms.
There’s a secret sitting in my ribs like a cracked bone, and every time I think about walking into a new facility, shaking a new trainer’s hand, I feel it all over again. The sting of betrayal. The heaviness of trusting someone only to find out they don’t have your best interests in mind.
I flip my phone over, then back again. Kevin’s name is already pulled up.
I haven’t talked to him properly since my last game and it’s hurt me more than I realized.
We were teammates but we were also friends.
He was always there, checking in, making sure I didn’t go too many days in my depressive hole once my mom was gone.
I hit FaceTime before I can overthink it. It rings twice.
“Holy shit—” Kevin’s face fills the screen, eyes wide, grinning. “Colson? Is that really you?”
I roll my eyes in fake desperation. “Obviously.”
“Man,” he says, sitting up like he just won something. “I was starting to worry. Where are you?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you out or anything,” I answer, guilt prickling at the tips of my ears. Kevin’s a good guy, one of my real friends, and I left him behind too. “I’m in Michigan. Needed a minute.”
His expression softens. “Yeah. I get that.”
There’s a beat of silence. Comfortable. Kevin’s been my guy since my second season—the one who knows when to push and when to leave me be.
“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s up? You're calling to tell me you’re signing with a rival team and I have to pretend not to be jealous?”
I look down at the table. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
That wipes the smile clean off his face.
“Okay,” he replies carefully. “That’s not nothing.”
“I keep thinking this is the moment,” I admit. “Like… if I don’t decide now, I never will.”
“Decide what?”
“Whether I’m still in this.”
Kevin lets out a short laugh. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I mean it like that.”
He studies me through the screen. “You’re a key player in this league. You’re still that fucking guy… if you want to be.”
I nod.
“Not trying to scare you away or anything, but fuck, what actually happened that night on the bench?” he asks.
The room feels smaller.
I open my mouth, then close it again. My pulse is loud in my ears. This is the part I’ve been avoiding. The part where staying quiet feels safer than telling the truth.
“Once I tell you, you won’t be able to forget it.”
He sets his phone up on something in front of him and crosses his arms. “Does it impact me?”
“Yes.”
My quick answer surprises him a bit. His brows pushing into his forehead. He looks around, contemplating.
“Yeah, I want to know.”
I take a deep breath and try to collect my thoughts.
I launch into the long story. My injury.
The rushed recovery. The way the trainer tried to get me to come back too soon with injections that weren’t approved.
How they tried to get our star rookie to do the same thing with his injury in the middle of the game.
Kevin doesn’t interrupt. He listens intently from start to finish.
When I finish, he blows out a long breath. “Fuck. That isn’t what I thought you were going to say.” He pushes his hands through his hair. “Colson, you did what you had to do. Stepping in for someone who felt like they didn’t have a voice.”
“Maybe? I don’t know. Seemed kind of self-destructive.”
Kevin nods slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“I keep replaying it,” I admit. “Thinking if I’d spoken up louder, or at a different time, had a conversation with Coach—”
“Colson,” he cuts in. “You didn’t fail. You were failed.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
He leans closer to the camera. “You still love this game?”
I don’t answer right away. I think about the sound of sneakers on hardwood. The weight of a ball in my hands. The quiet right before a free throw. The way my body still sparks with energy when I’m coaching the kids, shooting around with them.
“I do,” I say.
“You have to keep playing,” he almost pleads.
I sit back in my chair, staring at the kitchen table.
“Tell the truth. You’ll find the right landing spot. Man, the league is better with Colson Burke in it.”
The silence that follows feels different. Lighter.
I nod once. “Okay.”
Kevin smiles. “Plus, are you going to give that asshole this kind of power? Nah. You have to come back.”
I’ve not thought of it this way. If I don’t come forward with the truth, there’s more harm that can be done. The real issue isn’t even my reputation but this trainer being responsible for more athletes. Coaching staff trusting them with the physical well-being of their players.
When the call ends, I don’t move right away. It feels good to have shared this with someone closer to the situation. Sadie paved the way, listening first, making the whole thing feel valid.
I just sit there at the table, hands flat on the wood. For the first time, I miss Chicago. My friends. The coffee shop I’d go to on my off mornings. It’s ironic because there’s no way I’ll be able to stay there while trying to find a new team.
Or here in Golden Harbor. Not really a big NBA town.
I have one more call to make.
And that’s to my agent.