Chapter Sixteen
Nola
I would be living with Brittney Lee. I would be sharing space with someone who, rightfully so, hated my guts. It didn’t matter if she left most of her animosity on the court for me to deal with and gave me the silent treatment off the court.
We live together now.
She could smother me with a pillow in my sleep, poison my protein powder and suddenly kill me, or, even worse, she could continue to ignore my existence for as long as we were teammates.
I didn’t know why that last thought caused a high amount of dread, but I couldn’t help but feel sad.
I was deeply and painfully regretful for the way I’d spoken about her in the media.
I prayed her name didn’t come up often. I’d previously called her immature, remarked on how much more muscle mass I had than her and complained about her on-court tantrums. All while ignoring how much faster she was than me and how she seemed to know exactly what to say to rally a losing team.
I hadn’t been kind.
I was never surprised when she antagonized me during games, jammed her elbows a little too roughly into my ribs, or taunted me while she was guarding me.
Those were the consequences of my actions.
But I wanted to change that now. I wanted to be a good teammate on the Waves, and maintain I was someone coaches could rely on.
I just also had to work on not trying to cry every night when I remembered how much I missed Chicago.
I got messages nearly every day from my old teammates, telling me they missed me, my locker rooms playlists, my annoying shit talk during practice.
But I knew there was more they weren’t telling me.
They probably hated the way Olivia delivered her tough love coaching, such a different vibe from our old coach, Pat, who’d managed to turn every huddle into an empowerment circle.
They also probably hated how much she made them shoot under pressure.
While I knew it was to practice on knowing when to actually take the right shot.
They were definitely frustrated at how often their shots didn’t go in, especially in front of the new coach.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow for uniform reveals and touring the facility. You’ll meet the rest of the staff too!”
“Will the camera crew be there too?” Brittney nodded her head toward Marcello who was finally packing up his equipment.
“You bet!” He beamed, unable to read the room and realize that his presence was a nuisance; he was tolerated at best.
“Do you want me to stay?” Daya asked while her eyes flicked between Nina and Brittney. Like she was asking with her eyes, will you survive the night?
“I’m good. Go enjoy the rest of your night.”
I heard Brittney by the door say, “Let me know where y’all end up. I might meet up.” And then she was hugging her siblings and everyone was out the door.
The door clicked shut and the townhouse was silent, minus the whirring from the refrigerator. This was the first time I’d been alone with Brittney in a long time.
“So…”
“There’s no way I’m making small talk with you.” She brushed past me to head up the stairs where our luggage waited. Her citrus tang was back up my nose, the brief contact of our shoulders had left it buzzing like pins and needles.
I didn’t know why I wanted to ask if she needed help, but it was on the tip of my tongue until I remembered we probably benched a similar number.
Knowing us, it’d probably be the same exact number.
I followed behind, deciding not to disturb her peace when I finally landed on the second floor. The hallway was expansive, the light flooring from downstairs continued up here, setting the glow of the space in a warm hue.
“Damn we didn’t have this in Chicago,” I whispered, eyeing the two doors on opposite sides of the hallway.
Through the left door the room was big but the view wasn’t as nice compared to the door on the right which had an uninterrupted view of Miami’s shoreline.
The moon hung heavy and full above the ocean.
Brittney leaned on the doorframe, her height making her practically reach the top .
A sigh escaped her mouth as she admired the view.
“That one is all yours if you want it.” I murmured, more quietly than I’d meant to but I didn’t want to spook her.
“You don’t need to pretend to be nice to me. No one’s around,” she retorted, her back toward me.
“Who says I’m pretending?”
“Oh, so you want me to think you’re kind?” Brittney turned to face me, her eyebrows scrunched and her mouth twisted to one side like she tasted something bad.
Yes.
“I would like you to.”
At my soft tone she stood up straight, like she believed me. Maybe she saw that I meant no harm and would do whatever I could to get her to trust me.
Our jobs depended on it now.
Instead her face morphed, her eyebrows squinted and her jaw set. “Well, we can’t always get what we want.” She moved past me to reach her suitcases at the top of the stairs. I didn’t know what came over me, but I stepped in her way.
“Nola, what are you doing?” Brittney refused to look at me, her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
“I need to apologize.”
“For what?”
“You know what for.”
She opened her eyes, dark chocolate irises piercing my face. “Then say it.”
I obeyed. “What I said in that interview four years ago was fucked. It’s easy to say I was petty and rude. But I think at the core of it I was…”
“Rude and petty?” Brittney used my words against me.
“Embarrassed.” I struggled to say.
“And what the fuck for? You got first pick, you got our last natty. What on God’s green earth could you have been embarrassed over?
” We were eye level but it felt like she was taller.
There was none of the anger that I felt on the court, just curiosity.
Like she was waiting to see what I’d say, trying to get ahead of me to see if I’m serious.
God, I really only wanted to do this once.
“Uh…our…moment on draft night…in the bathroom...” I mumbled.
“What, a little kiss had you flustered and vengeful?”
“Lee, you know that wasn’t a ‘little kiss.’”
“And then it was over! We went back to normal!”
“Normal as in never speaking?”
“Uh…yes!” Brittney exclaimed like I’d just pointed out that the sky was blue. “Or are you suggesting that everyone who’s ever kissed you becomes obsessed with you and must orbit your space until you say so?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but what I’m hearing is I didn’t give you groupie energy, so you decided to embarrass me.”
Okay, well when she said it like that, I did get the optics.
In short, no girl had ever made me moan like that night. In the grand scheme of queerness or being a lesbian or whatever I would call myself—soft masc? Stud lite? I didn’t know—either way, I was used to being the top, taking charge, making someone moan my name.
But how the hell was I supposed to tell Brittney I wanted to scream her name, damn who would hear?
Instead, she shut down as if nothing had happened.
As if four years of momentum of our on the court push and pull would’ve resulted in a bathroom make-out then never speaking again.
But I refused to bare my soul to that level—especially to Brittney, who wouldn’t receive it.
So I relented and gave her what she needed to hear. “Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry, it was fucked up for me to do that.”
“Indeed.”
The tension was killing me; this needed to end. “So what’s the odds you push me down the stairs?”
“It went from fifty percent down to…forty five.” Brittney shrugged.
I nodded. “Progress.”
“For now.”
I stepped away from her suitcase adorned in random stickers of puns and dad jokes. She didn’t glare at me, so it was a win for me. My job was done for the day, and I had two aunts to yell at.