14. Miles
14
MILES
“ I don’t want to bankrupt you.”
I blink at my grams. “Hmm?”
She nods to Illinois Avenue and the shiny new hotel on it. “You can’t afford this.”
We’re sitting around the coffee table in the lounge, the space cheerfully illuminated with bright light streaming in the windows. The game is spread out in front of us, a new edition that makes it easy to transport without having to put everything back in the box.
“Sure I can.” I peel bills off my stack and pass them over to her.
In the past month, Grams’s arm has healed well, and the staff have been attentive and kept me updated on any changes in her health.
A TV flashes on one wall, silent with subtitles.
A few residents enter the room, and my grandmother waves.
“Glad you’re making friends,” I say as they whisper to one another.
“I’ve tried watching the sports news, but it’s a lot of men with strong opinions,” Grams says. “But I couldn’t help but see what’s happened. And my neighbors are asking.”
About me, she means.
“I’m sorry people are asking.” It didn’t occur to me that she’d bear the brunt of any gossip.
Not unlike how Brooke has been.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks. I care about you.” She straightens, eyes blue and sharp.
The past week flashes through my mind.
“Nothing happened.” I need her to believe me. More than I need any other person to.
She nods slowly. “We all have lessons to learn, particularly when we’re young.”
It twists my gut that she’s questioning me.
“It was a mistake.” I force a smile. “A misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstandings are the most dangerous because we assume everyone sees things our way. They have a habit of escalating. I don’t want you to forget where you came from. Or what kind of man you are.”
Miles: You guys ready for the game tonight?
Miles: Dallas has been leaking oil in the fourth. Punish them for it.
Rookie: Thanks, man. Can’t wait to have you back.
Damon: Glad the drug test came back clean.
Damon: Not that we weren’t sure.
Jay: We’ll take care of Dallas. You take care of you.
I slouch on the couch as I watch the Kodiaks struggle through the third game without me.
It's painful to see my team fumbling, knowing I should be out there.
I invited Rookie to come with me to the amusement park the other day, but he passed, saying he had another commitment. Jay’s answering in polite monosyllables since Brooke walked out.
Everything sucks.
Waffles senses my frustration and shifts into my lap, his tongue lolling out as he nuzzles against my stomach.
“At least you're here for me, buddy.” I scratch behind his ears.
My thoughts drift to Brooke.
I miss her smile, her laugh, the way she fits perfectly in my arms. I hate that I can't be there for her right now, that I can't hold her and tell her everything's going to be okay.
The ache in my chest grows, and I go to the kitchen and open the stainless fridge. Beer stares me down.
I grab a soda and slam the door.
The buzzing of my phone interrupts my brooding.
My agent. I hit Accept and greet him brusquely.
“Miles. Bad news. Suspension stands,” he says evenly.
“What? Why?”
He drones on about procedures and the ongoing inquiry, but I tune it out before hanging up.
I’m sitting all five games, for no reason.
When I click off, I see a text from an old friend inviting me to a party.
Dante and I used to play in college, though he didn’t go on to get drafted. He’s in town for the weekend, saying he’s had a rough time and would love it if I came.
I hesitate, glancing at the TV just in time to see the Kodiaks miss another easy shot. I make a split-second decision.
“I’m going out.”
I leave Waffles, promising to be back soon.
When I arrive, the party is in full swing, the bass thumping through the walls.
“You need a drink!” Dante offers me a beer in the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Come on. It’s been a rough week and I need a buddy.” He clocks my reluctance. “I’ll give you all the dirt on Hawkins,” he says, a slow grin creeping across his face. “He was on my high school team.”
Well, fuck . This could be a chance for me to get insight into our biggest competition.
It’s a worthy cause.
So, I accept the beer he hands me.
He tells me more about Hawkins’s reputation, that in high school he not only engaged in a ton of trash talk, but more than once suggested playing dirtier. That before finals, tried to break up the other team’s captain and his girlfriend.
I file that away as I find myself drinking more and more. It’s less about keeping pace with him and keeping him talking, and more trying to dull the ache of being separated from my team and Brooke. Conversations swirl around me, but I barely register the words.
I see the final score on a TV out of the corner of my eye. Guilt settles into my gut.
Go to the gym. Keep your head down.
My agent’s words come back to me.
I slam my empty cup on the table and stumble outside, the cool night air hitting me like a slap in the face. In my drunken haze, an idea takes hold.
Calling a limo is easy.
I stop at my place to get Waffles, chuckling as he licks my face excitedly. “We're going on an adventure, buddy.”
I tuck him under my arm and head for the arena’s side door.
I navigate the dark hallways, memories of better times flooding back. Waffles trots ahead, his tail wagging as he explores this new playground. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself grinning despite the heaviness in my chest.
After swiping into another two security zones, we end up in the locker room, and I sink onto the bench in front of my locker. Waffles hops up beside me, his warm body pressed against my thigh.
“What are we going to do, Waffles?” I whisper, burying my face in his soft fur.
Waffles cocks his head, his ears perked up. For a moment, I swear he understands every word. I lean back, my head spinning with anger.
But then Brooke’s face flashes through my mind, her eyes filled with disappointment and hurt. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want me to throw away everything we’ve fought for, everything we have.
I run a hand over my locker. For the first time since everything happened, it strikes me that someone was in here.
Getting in here requires ID. There’s no way someone wandered in here and left drugs in my locker by mistake.
And I saw the faces of every guy on my parade out of here. None of them did this.
So, who did?
I don't hear the footsteps approaching until it's too late.
“Hey! What are you doing in here?” a gruff voice demands.
I jump to my feet, swaying. Waffles barks, his tail wagging as he bounds over to the security guard. The guard's stern expression softens slightly as Waffles sniffs his shoes, his tongue lolling out in a goofy grin.
“It’s me. Miles Garrett.” My brain struggles to form a coherent excuse.
The guard's eyes narrow with uncertainty. “You’re not supposed to be in here given your probation.”
“I’m working out. Got to get back into game shape.” I flash a grin.
He reaches for his radio.
I take a stumbling step forward. “No. Come on, man.”
But it's too late. The guard is already speaking into his radio. Waffles, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, trots back to me, tail wagging happily.
I sink back onto the bench, my head in my hands. I'm supposed to be proving my innocence, not getting into more trouble. Brooke's going to be so disappointed in me. So is Grams.
Two more security guys emerge from the hallway, their expressions solemn.
Not good.
I pull Waffles back into my arms. He licks my chin.
“I screwed up, buddy,” I whisper. “But I'm going to fix it.”