19. Miles
19
MILES
M iami is a bitch.
They’re only the start of a long ass stretch against Eastern teams that features New York and our nemesis—at least as far as Jay’s concerned—Boston.
Hawkins has been watching our games and going off on his own social. Every time he does, I hear about it from Jay at practice.
Here’s hoping the shoe sponsor is going to decide he doesn’t fit with their “wholesome” brand before I have to score another basket.
Either way, the Kodiaks have a secret weapon.
Atlas is back.
Okay, so he was only approved to play five minutes by the team’s trainers. After the first two months of the season without a true center, we’ll take what we can get.
Miami chirps less than Boston, in the media and on the court, but they’re solid and pissed after the last time we beat them. We need to string together new momentum after our loss in the midseason tournament right before the holidays.
It’s a gritty game. They’re physical from the tip off.
Jay’s a step slow.
“Come on, man. You’ve got this,” I say to him after they strip the ball from Jay’s hands in an uncharacteristic steal going the other way.
He doesn’t respond, already digging in on defense.
“Ellis. Get it together,” Clay grunts at him a few plays later.
Jay shakes his head and grumbles words I can’t hear because of the hollering Miami fans.
At halftime, we start to turn it around.
Atlas’s appearance off the bench gives us a much-needed boost. Coach sat Jay, who claimed he wasn’t feeling right, for a couple of extra shifts, and the rest of the starters pull it together. My shooting line doesn’t suck either.
We get it tied by the time the clock runs out.
Overtime.
The final five minutes feels like fifty.
We lose 110-106.
The vibe in the locker room ranges from exhausted to frustrated to despairing.
Jay seems ready to punch something.
It’s one thing to win when you deserve it, but winning pro basketball games is a group effort.
Tonight, we didn’t have the group to win.
Brooke: Sorry about the L.
The text comes in after I’ve stripped off my jersey and am getting ready to head for the shower.
Miles: Thanks Princess. Do I get a pic to console me?
“Hey man, we going out after media?” Rookie’s voice is distant.
I’m ready to go back to my room and call Brooke.
Never used to like having someone sending me messages on the regular, but with her, I’m living for every damned notification.
At the same time, keeping our relationship from my team weighs heavier than ever.
She suggested waiting until we got back to break the news.
But she’s also not the one who has to look her brother in the eye for hours a day.
“Miles?” Rookie appears from nowhere at my shoulder.
I slam the phone facedown on the bench. “What?”
“Whoa. You been testing new coffee recipes? Step away from the espresso machine, my friend.” Rookie goes back to his locker, chuckling.
He’s not wrong that I’m on edge.
Every second we’re on the court together, anytime Jay shouts for me, the lie is burning in my chest, thudding against my ribs.
I flip the phone. There’s an image of Waffles in a tiny purple jersey.
The laugh rumbles out of me without warning.
Brooke: It has even has your number on the back.
Miles: Someone else I’d rather see wearing it.
Brooke: Play your cards right and you might.
Miles: Tonight? After media I’m all yours.
Brooke: You’re cute when you talk to reporters. I might have to start without you.
Miles: I’m counting on it.
Brooke: Got a codeword just for me?
Miles: Houseplant
Brooke: LOL WHAT?
Miles: Yup. I say houseplant and I want you coming on the biggest toy you have.
“We’re going out,” Atlas decides.
I drag my attention away from my phone. “I’m going to pass.” I stretch an arm across my chest. My lats are still complaining from lifting yesterday.
“You can’t pass.” Jay’s voice is aggressive. “Even Clay’s coming. Right?”
We all turn to look at our all-star, a tight-lipped wall of tattoos.
Clay grunts. “Why not?”
Rookie jumps in. “Hell yes. There’s this salsa club my cousin works at, and they can get us a great booth.”
* * *
“What was that shit about houseplants?” Rookie calls over the music.
“Good to have a green thumb.” I nurse a beer at the bar next to him.
It’s hard to hold onto a bad mood in this place. There’s an epic DJ with Cuban music pumping through the floor. Bartenders are salsa dancing on the other side of the bar, cheered on by patrons.
Sure, I would rather be back in my hotel room, video-calling Brooke, but team bonding is important, especially after a loss. These are the moments that will build us up, get us back on track with three short months until the playoffs.
“We needed that win.” A blonde woman leans over, her smile inviting.
“Thanks. I’ll admit that doesn’t make me feel a lot better.” I lift both hands.
She bites her lip. “I could make you feel better.”
“As generous as that offer is, I’m going to pass.”
“You’re very hands-off,” Jay observes when the woman turns back to her friends. “That’s at least a dozen times you’ve gotten hit on tonight.”
“Trying to keep my focus where it needs to be.” I take a drink of my soda. “Surprised you came out. How’re you feeling?”
“No complaints.”
He says it so fast I’m frowning. “Yeah? Because earlier, you were…” I trail off as he orders a second drink.
Or his third.
“You seemed out of it,” I finish.
“Come on. You’re not taking any of the blame?”
I shake my head. “Sure, man. I know it’s been hard lately on the court. But we’re figuring it out. We’re friends, and I’ve got your back.”
“Do you? Feels like you don’t tell me shit anymore.” Jay reaches for his beer, tipping it back.
“When did it start?” he asks when he sets the bottle down, half empty.
The inflection is at odds with the tension in his voice.
“What?” I ask, even though I know.
“You hooking up with my sister. Before or after you moved her in with you?”
It never occurred to me Jay would find out. Maybe it should have, but the longer it went on, the more protected I felt.
If I’d imagined all the ways a confrontation could go down, at a bar on the road after a hard loss would have been my nightmare scenario.
“Before.” I pause. “How’d you find out?”
“That’s what you want to know?” He laughs, cursing. “No. You don’t get to ask me fucking questions right now.”
“It’s not what you think.” I go to reach for his shoulder but he shoves my hand away, knocking it into his beer.
The bottle spins, spilling across the surface. Rookie catches it, glancing over with surprise, but Jay isn’t paying any attention.
“No? You don’t remember me saying to look out for her? That I didn’t want anyone on the team moving in on her?”
Jay’s not a physical guy, but he takes things personally. The guy’s helped me when I’ve screwed up before. But the way he’s looking at me, the accusation on his face…
I’m realizing what a mistake it was to put off telling him the truth.
“She’s had a hard time. You know this more than anyone, yet you’re sliding up next to her like a shoulder to cry on.”
Guilt flares in my gut, even though I know he’s wrong. That’s not what happened.
“I’m sorry for not telling you the truth sooner. We were going to.”
“Oh, you were.”
“We can get past this. For the sake of our friendship. For the team.”
His eyes narrow as he considers. “You want to make this right?” I nod. “Then don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch her. Don’t look at her. Get her the hell out of your apartment. Find somewhere else to stick your dick.”
I lean back against the bar and take a slow breath.
He doesn’t know how in this I am, that it isn’t some casual thing.
I didn’t decide one day I’d replace the revolving door of girls with Brooke. I’ve known on some level she was who I wanted for longer than I’m willing to admit.
For some reason, I can’t bring myself to say the words.
That I’m falling for her.
That the idea of her leaving is laughable.
That what’s responsible for me being the player and the man I am lately is Brooke.
“Those are your options, Garrett. You’re going to have to decide what’s important.”
He spits the words before turning on his heel and vanishing, leaving a pit in my stomach and half the Kodiaks team staring after him.