10. Miles
10
MILES
“ T hey give you a lifetime supply?” Rookie marvels as I pull up to my locker at the arena and drop the three shoe boxes in front of it.
Each pair is a different color, each with my name stitched across the heel. They’re all for me to use in tonight’s game.
The past few days, I’ve been trying to get back into a rhythm. A payment arrived at my bank from my sponsor, and the bulk of it went directly into an account for Grams.
But since Vegas, James made it clear I’m on a tight leash.
“You’re popular with the fan base and you’re having a great season, both of which Chloe keeps reminding me. But try anything else cute and you’ll be facing more than an apology.”
I hand Rookie a pair of the shoes, then stash my phone and keys on the top shelf of my locker. Besides my uniform and some gym gear, I don’t keep a lot of stuff in here.
Today, I stick a picture of Brooke inside.
It’s one I took of her on a sleepy weekend morning. She’s smiling, her arms around Waffles as he licks her face.
At this stage in the season, chemistry within the team is more important than ever, but I’m not going to dance around the fact that we’re together.
Rookie glances in my locker, his gaze lingering on the photo before he slips on the shoes. “Looks like I’ve got bigger feet than you.” He grins. “Tell your girl.”
I laugh. “She’s not interested.”
“In all this?” He gestures to his body. “Find that hard to believe.”
A towel lands on his head. “Hey. That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Jay says.
“I’m not the one who’s?—”
I grab Rookie’s shoulder, and he looks at me, caught out.
“The one sleeping?—”
Jay snarls. My head tilts as I press my thumb under Rookie’s shoulder blade.
“Respectfully! Sleeping respectfully.”
I step back, and so does Jay.
He notices the photo and freezes.
So much for chemistry.
Stillness descends over the entire locker room until it feels as if everyone’s afraid to breathe.
“Heard you went to New York,” Jay says finally. “She’s always wanted to go to Fashion Week.”
A breath whooshes out of me, and the rest of the guys go back to their tasks.
The way my friend and captain’s acting, he might be slowly coming around to the idea that we’re together.
Aside from Clay, most of my teammates don’t have serious relationships, but I want Brooke in my life. The way she’s had my back this past week was one more reminder of why.
Rookie cuts a look at the clock. “How many trade deadlines pass without any changes?”
That’s the real reason the team is walking on eggshells. The entire day, we’ve been on edge. Even if management says you’re safe, it’s never a done deal until the time elapses.
“Not many,” Clay says evenly.
“It’s part of the game,” Damon agrees.
Each team in the league is trying to make itself as strong as possible with just over a month until the postseason, and we’re still a spot out of where we need to be.
From the early problems of the season with Atlas out to me “overperforming”—the stats guys’ words, not mine—it’s been a battle back and forth for us to grab the playoff spot we deserve. The one that we frankly expected to, even if half the world thinks we were lucky last year.
Every guy in here has an alert on his phone for any moves. If it sounds brutal that you’d find out you’re traded from a notification on a major news outlet, you’re not wrong. We commit all of ourselves to fitting into a team, making the biggest difference we can as though it’s our home forever.
And it is—right up until some suit decides you’re a chess piece worth swapping on a wild hunch.
“You ever get traded at deadline?” Rookie asks me.
I shake my head. It never bothered me before, so I never thought about it much.
Except that if it happened today, I have no idea what I’d do.
I mean, I’d pack a bag and get on a plane because that’s what you have to do.
But what about Brooke? Would she go with me? Could I even ask her?
It feels like our weekend in New York brought us closer together, but I don’t think we’re at “please move across the country with me” status yet.
There’ve been a couple of big moves across the league so far but nothing involving the Kodiaks.
Could be indicative of the final shakedown, or it could be the calm before the storm.
James warning echoes in my head.
Half an hour.
The minutes slip away as we get ready for shootaround.
Out on the court, fans trickle in as Dallas warms up at the other end.
Assistant trainers feed us balls, and we take turns shooting layups and threes. Each time one swishes through the hoop, it eases the tension in my gut a little, but when I glance up toward the spot where Harlan and James sit, neither is there. Probably in their offices on the phone, deciding all our fates.
There’s no time to dwell on it. Not when we have a game to focus on that’s going to shape what kind of team anyone who’s staying will come home to.
“All-star break is over,” Coach says when we’re all back in the locker room doing final prep. “Back to work, only double the intensity. This is what you train your entire lives for. Make it happen.”
Dallas is above us in the standings, and we’re on the hunt for a playoff spot. We need to claw our way back into a strong position.
The top six teams are guaranteed a spot in playoffs. Seven and eight have to play their way in against stronger opponents. While on paper we’d have a shot at seven or eight, we need to be six or better.
“We’ve got this,” Jay says, leveling his gaze at me. “Kodiaks on three.”
The team puts in their hands. After our cheer, we file out of the locker room.
I call for Jay on the way out to the court, and he hangs back.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Good. Normal,” I say and almost mean it.
“I’d understand if you weren’t. Ketamine can fuck you up.”
I nod. “I don’t want to go there again.”
He eyes me a long time before clapping a hand on my shoulder. “No shit.”
Maybe Clay has it right avoiding alcohol during the season. From here on out, things are going to be better. I’ll be a model athlete.
We head out side by side for the player announcements.
When the crowd goes crazy for us, adrenaline surges through me and blanks out everything else. I look up to the box to see Brooke and Nova, plus Sierra. Chloe’s absent—probably with Harlan and James.
Brooke’s laughing with her friends, and when her gaze finds mine, she tilts her chin at me.
My heart pounds harder.
She’s here for me.
I’ve had women come mainly to watch me play. Hell, judging from the fans wearing my jerseys, it’s a regular occurrence.
But I’d trade a thousand fans for one.
For her.
We’re playing an afternoon game, and Brooke said she has to drop in on a dinner her mom’s having, so I won’t catch her until later.
But looking at my girl fuels me.
The rush of feelings from New York come back.
I meant it when I said I’d do anything for her. When we talked about our dreams, I could picture her there with me. I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
I love her, and I’m going to tell her.
Tonight.
Whether it’s her presence or being back on home court, the first quarter is the best I’ve felt in weeks. With Atlas back, I can combine my new game with my old one—showing up around the perimeter for a three, cutting into the paint when the opportunity presents itself.
Second quarter is tough, but we sneak into halftime still in the lead.
The clock expires on the trade deadline, and the guys high-five and fist-bump down the bench.
“Still here,” Jay calls.
The starters all look at one another. “Still here.”
Clay straightens, unzipping his warmup jacket. “Let’s send Dallas back home with claw marks.”
Cheers go up.
No one can stop this team. We’re a family. A unit.
Third and fourth quarters are gritty, but Jay’s moving the ball with extra pop. I’m back to pre-all-star form. Clay fills in gaps in his MVP form. Atlas is big at the net, and even Rookie finds spots to shine.
We get the win, and we’re pumped.
“Fuck yeah. Playoffs, here we come!” Jay hollers, wrapping an arm around my neck.
After, when I get back to the locker room, Chloe’s by the door.
“We got the win, Chlo. Look happier,” Jay says as he breezes toward her.
She turns her attention to me but grips her iPad tighter. “Miles. We need a word.” Jay starts to head into the locker room, but Chloe holds up a slim arm to bar his entrance. “Only Garrett.”
“The fuck is going on?” Jay looks between us.
She nods toward the locker room.
When I get into the room, I pull up. Harlan and James are standing by my locker. Security is with them.
“There something you want to tell us?” Harlan asks.
I look between them. “What?” The adrenaline from the game is still pounding in my veins.
“We found drugs in your locker.”