7. Miles
People think my life is all glamorous, but it’s not.
Sure, I make millions, have an agent who fields requests for my time, and my dog has a fan page with more followers than there were people in the small town I grew up in.
Otherwise, I have the same issues as anyone else.
Like when I go to sign in at the front desk of the single-story building, glancing around the unmanned station for a pen.
Nothing.
I skip out on the sign-in sheet and make my way down the hall.
A light flickers overhead, but when I glance up, it comes back on.
As I continue on my path, a man rounds the corner in front of me. His eyes are narrowed, but it’s hard to focus on them when he’s wearing a dressing gown hanging open and nothing underneath.
“You,” he accuses.
I place a hand on my chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You turned off my music.”
“So I did. Let me make it up to you, Mr. P.”
I tilt my head and walk side by side with him down to the lounge. We put on the record player, and I get him settled with one of the staff before I continue on my way.
In the two years I’ve been coming here, the residents have come and gone, but Mr. P is a fixture.
I knock on Grams’s door, but there”s no answer. I let myself in, edging the door open a crack. Inside, she”s sitting in her chair, her eyes closed as if she”s asleep. I approach her slowly, not wanting to startle her.
“Grams?” I say, kneeling beside her.
She opens her eyes and smiles, taking my hand. ”Hello, dear. It”s good to see you. How”s my boy?”
”He still tracks dirt on the sofa.”
”I meant you, not Waffles.”
”So did I.”
She laughs, her eyes crinkling.
It”s good to see her like this, happy and sharp. There are days her expression is bright and lively and others she’s tired. I’ve looked enough that I can tell instantly what kind of day it is, almost before she starts to speak.
”I brought you flowers.” I hold up a bouquet of daisies and sunflowers. “And cookies. I haven’t figured out how to smuggle Waffles in yet but we’re working on it.”
”Ahh. Thank you, honey. I watched your game the other night.”
“What’d you think?”
“You played wonderfully.”
“You have to say that.”
“Untrue. If you played terribly, I’d let you know.”
I grin. “You still getting to your workout classes?” They have in-chair mobility three days a week.
”I”d like to get out for the dance. It should be next weekend,” she says, ”but I haven”t heard.”
”I’ll check with the staff, see if there”s anything planned.”
”I used to love dancing with your grandfather.”
I feel a pang at the mention of my grandfather, who passed away when I was young. I know how much he meant to my grandma, and I”m glad she has those memories to hold on to.
”What are you doing when you have a day off?” she prompts.
”I”m going to a sorority reunion. With a friend.”
Her eyes brighten. ”A lady friend?”
“Maybe.” I chuckle, knowing she”s trying to play matchmaker.
After I headed home from the party, Brooke’s broken shoes somehow tucked under my arm, I found myself scrolling through her socials.
Nearly a quarter of a million followers.Princess is building a little empire of her own.
I’m not one of them, because if I looked at her posts on a regular basis, I’d probably have to leave a heart on them.
And if I did that, then I wouldn’t be able to help leaving a comment.
If I left a comment, I’d have to watch my mouth.
Otherwise, her brother would crawl so far up my ass that he’d feel firsthand the way my heart speeds up when she’s around and read into it.
“You deserve someone,” Grams says softly.
“I don’t need someone.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
My attention drifts to the family photos along one wall.
“Not every relationship is like your and grandpa’s,” I say.
“Not every relationship is like your parents’ either,” she fills in.
I shake my head because as much as I try to indulge her, she’s more romantic than I am.
I glance at the coffee table, cracking my knuckles. “We better get down to business. You rethink the offer on Park Place?”
“Only if you’re getting out of railroads.”
I sink into the chair opposite her across the Monopoly board, and we get down to it.
The box of cookies gets busted open, and even though she insists I partake, I only have one, leaving the rest for her.
Money goes back and forth. Winning isn’t the point. The point is to keep the game going.
She starts to yawn, which means it’s time for her nap. I stick my pile of cash in one corner and point at it.
“Don’t go collecting interest on this without me,” I warn.
She smiles and wraps her arms around my waist, as high as she can reach.
”Miles, you have a kind heart,” she says, squeezing me. ”Don”t be afraid to let someone in.”
”I love you, Grams.” I bend to drop a kiss on her gray hair.
On my way out, I spot one of the staff, a young woman who waves me off distractedly until recognition lights up her face. ”Hey, Miles.”
”Hey, Trina. My grams was asking about an event, this dance thing?”
”We had to cancel it. Our social coordinator quit last week.”
That’s probably why the music was out in the lounge too.
”The light is flickering in the hallway.”
She nods absently. ”Got it.”
”Let me fix it while I”m here.”
”No. You don’t need to.”
I lift a brow and head for the custodian’s closet.
”It”s an old building,” Trina calls after me. “Sometimes things just don”t work right.”
* * *
“Bad news, gentlemen—Atlas is out indefinitely,” Coach informs us grimly.
The gym falls silent.
In the corner, one of the cleaners whistles to a song on his headphones in as he mops.
“What happened to day-to-day?” Jay demands.
“New set of scans came back. There’s a bone fracture we didn’t see.”
Clay rubs a hand over his face. Jay paces as if he can make sense of it.
There’s no making sense. There’s just you and the basketball gods, and today they decided we aren’t going to have a full roster.
”Miles.” Coach calls me over once the group starts running drills. ”We need you to step up with Atlas out.”
“You got it. I’ve been working on my shot all summer.”
“Shooting from the outside’s not enough. You’ve got to be physical. Getting into the paint. Driving and kicking it out to your teammates. High-level footwork. Finishing at the rim.”
I frown. “None of that’s how I’ve built my game.”
Coach sighs. “This team’s going to have to change things up if we want to win.”
I stare after him as he rejoins the assistants.
What the hell does that mean?
His words stick with me as we get back to practice. Passing, guarding, free throws, three-pointers—I work through the drills I know in my body even more than my head.Been doing them for years, even before I turned pro.
I always loved to play basketball, loved being around other guys who feel the same.As a kid going through tough times, each day my fingers touched the ball, that I got paid to run around a court, it was a joy.
In high school, I had the most points of any shooting guard in the state. My college team got to Final Four once, division champs twice.
Sure, I’m not intense to the point of self-destruction like Clay or strategic like Jay. My magic on the court is being a sharpshooter, but in the locker room, I’m a glue guy.
I made some mistakes as a rookie, did things I’m not proud of. I finished out college ball and got my degree before getting drafted to Dallas. Then the chance came to move here a few years ago, be back playing with Jay, and it felt right.
Thing is, I’m worth the most I’ll ever be right now. I’m not twenty-one like Rookie, not an MVP like Clay. I have to make my money now and be smart about how I manage it.
Especially with Grams depending on me.
Seeing the gaps at her home was a reminder that I need to keep my eye on her and support her to the best of my ability.
I work on my jump shot for an hour until it”s just me and a couple of other guys. I hit a shot off the iron, and it bounces wild.
My phone vibrates from my gym bag, and I go over to check it.
Brooke: We need to talk about your wardrobe for next weekend. What clothes do you have?
I glance down as I reach the locker room.
Miles: Right now, sweaty ones.
I take a pic and send it.
Dots appear, then stop.
Brooke: Gross.
Miles: Let me guess, Princess, you don’t sweat. You glisten?
Brooke: Listen, you have to look good, or this whole game is over before it’s started.
I’m a little offended she thinks I would bring her image down. I’m used to being part of the team, repping the Kodiaks and my teammates. If you ask Chloe, head of PR, each of us is our own brand, and mine’s doing fine. Better than fine.
Miles: You want to come over to my place and go through my closet?
It’s a joke, and a challenge. Me calling her on being a little overenthusiastic about this entire sorority weekend ploy.
I glance up as Clay and one of our young guys cross the room, towels slung over their shoulders.
The shower is beckoning.
Brooke: Deal. See you tomorrow.
My brows lift.
I’m edgy from the news of Atlas being out and what Coach said about my game. Spending an afternoon flipping through my closet with Brooke feels like the last thing I need to do.
Except the prospect of doing exactly that has me wondering what it’d be like.
On impulse, I go on her social. Her video story is of her walking from a car to the party in her sparkly shoes. The camera flashes glimpses of long, golden legs as she strides up the driveway. She’s laughing, talking about how she’s going to find Toto and get the hell out of Kansas.
My lips curve without permission, my thumb hovering over the Follow button.
“You forget where the showers are?” Rookie claps a hand on my shoulder, and I jump, dropping the phone into my locker.
When I grab for the phone, I realize I clicked Follow.
No take-backs.
It’s fine. Nothing weird about following her.
If we’re spending the entire weekend together next week, it only makes sense.