Chapter 6
I waited, leaning against the hallway where the locker room was located.
It stunk like overpriced cologne along with the distinct scent of male validation that came with victory, and sweat.
I scrolled my cell phone mindlessly as I waited for Mateo.
Tonight wasn’t just a win; it was his win.
He was taking longer than usual. He was probably celebrating the miracle three-pointer that sealed the win.
The hallway pulsed with post-game energy.
Assistant coaches hustled by with their clipboards and media barking into their headsets, trying to catch interviews with the players.
I also spotted a few groupies hanging around, pretending to be staff.
I’d been in this atmosphere long enough to know the difference.
“Mrs. Bryant.”
The voice made me take notice. I looked up and straightened my spine. I recognized her as DeAndre’s younger sister dressed in hospital scrubs.
“Remi,” I acknowledged, slipping my phone into my bag.
“Congratulations to Mateo on his win,” she said.
I crossed my arms. “Did you come find me to say congratulations?”
“You’re smart. Too smart not to see what’s happening,” she said, stepping closer.
I kept my tone neutral. “What exactly would that be, Remi?”
“My brother was having the season of his life and then ISO drills with your husband, and now, he’s in a coma fighting for his life.”
I held her glance. “You do know basketball is a physical sport.”
She laughed. “That’s the story. Let me guess… He’s your man, and you’re sticking by him… The timing doesn’t bother you?”
I knew what she was talking about, but loyalty to my husband and son meant something to me.
“I appreciate your concern, but you’re accusing Mateo with no evidence.”
“You know what’s funny? When I heard about DeAndre’s injury, I was pissed at the coaching staff for not supervising better until I saw the security footage.”
My heart dipped.
“What footage?” I questioned.
“Ask your husband. Better yet, ask yourself why the team’s legal department was so quick to offer my brother a settlement with an ironclad NDA attached.”
I held my poker face. Still, my mind raced. Mateo never mentioned any NDA or settlement.
“If your husband did this, you’ll be next if you get in his way.” Remi’s voice dripped in implication.
I studied her face, and her lip trembled. She believed what she was telling me. I couldn’t decipher if it was legitimate suspicion or grief distorting her perception.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation. It’s a warning. Women like us see things that others miss. Don’t ignore what you’re seeing.”
Before I could respond, she walked away.
Upset, I stepped outside to get fresh air.
When I could breathe again, I opened the gym door to find Mateo standing there like a weirdo going through his phone.
The ride to grab fast food was quiet with nothing but the music and my thoughts playing in my head.
“Is there security footage?” I asked out of the blue.
“Of what?” Mateo pressed the key fob after we’d gotten out of the Range Rover, and the lights flashed.
“Of the ISO drills between you and DeAndre from that day.”
“Some bitter woman throws an accusation, and now, you’re interrogating me?”
“I just asked a simple question.”
“No, you’re questioning my character based on someone who has every reason to use me as a scapegoat.”
Mateo’s face was hard, and the way his eyes darted when I tried to hold his gaze concerned me.
“Are you saying there’s no footage I should be concerned about?” I pressed in a neutral tone.
“It’s nothing. Can we go inside? I’m beat.”
I could smell a scandal brewing from a mile away. I knew the difference between a person who was wrongly accused and a guilty one trying to manage perceptions. Mateo deflected, saying it was nothing instead of saying there was nothing.
If your husband did this, you’ll be next if you get in his way.
Mateo reached for my hand as he walked to console me. “Hey, you good?”
I smiled a smile I perfected for these kinds of situations. “It’s been a long night. I’m tired.”
Mateo’s thumb stroked my knuckles, and I cataloged his expression. Right now, his expression told me he was terrified of something.
What did my husband do to DeAndre Pearson, and what would he do to me if I dug for answers?
The next day, we headed to a press event—another performance where I’d have to deliver the right amount of humility and pride.
I had on a cream-colored blazer and my favorite gold hoop earrings.
I wore what I called my basketball wife’s special makeup.
It was the face that said I was successful in my own right, but tonight, it was about my man.
The venue was modern and sleek with minimalist furniture and concrete floors. The overhead light shone bright, designed to always keep everyone camera ready. The team’s logo was projected as a constant reminder of whose narrative we were selling tonight.
“Over here, Mrs. Bryant!” A photographer waved, and I slid my arm through Mateo’s and positioned us at an angle where his height complemented my curves. We radiated contentment and success. The camera flashed, capturing a perfect moment between the devoted wife and a rising star.
“Are you good?” Mateo murmured in my ear after a series of photos.
“Always,” I replied. It was true in this moment…
I was good. Hell, I was Danica Bryant, the PR agent who could make a sex scandal look like a simple misunderstanding by breakfast. My ability to perform under pressure wasn’t the question tonight.
The question was whether my husband was the man I thought I married.
“Mateo, how does it feel to have stepped into Pearson’s shoes?” A reporter thrust a microphone into Mateo’s face. I felt him tense under my touch.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. No one can replace DeAndre. He’s a good friend and has his own unique talent. I’m focused on contributing to the team while he recovers.”
Perfect answer—respectful, humble, and team oriented. Mateo had always been media savvy, but lately, his responses almost sounded rehearsed.
“Mrs. Bryant, how has life changed since Mateo became a starter?”
“We’re grateful for the opportunity and that Mateo gets to do what he loves. The spotlight doesn’t change who we are at home. However, our son is enjoying the extra attention at school.”
Cameras flashed, and Mateo’s hand moved to the small of my back, an affectionate gesture that felt strangely proprietary right now.
“Mateo, let’s talk about the winning shot in the last game. Twenty seconds on the clock, The Wizards were down by one—Walk us through what was happening in your mind.”
Mateo’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled.
“Wow, it was surreal. Coach called the play for Tray, but when the defense shifted, I ended up being open at the top of the key. Tray made the right read, got the ball to me, and honestly, time slowed down. I had practiced that shot so many times in gyms or even in my driveway as a kid. I knew I was good when it left my hand.”
“Danica, did you know your husband had that kind of performance in him?” another reporter asked.
I played my role, laughing warmly. “I’ve always known what my husband is capable of. It’s just taken the rest of the world to catch up.”
The crowd chuckled, and Mateo pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. For the cameras, I leaned in.
“One more question. Diane, did you have something?” The team’s PR manager asked.
Diane, a serious-looking reporter, stepped forward. “Mateo, there are rumors surrounding the circumstances of DeAndre Pearson’s injury. Some sources suggest it wasn’t as accidental as reported. Would you care to comment?”
“DeAndre is a brother to me. What happened was a tragic accident during a routine practice drill, and the rumors are completely unfounded. Anyone suggesting otherwise is looking to create a situation where there is none.”
The team’s PR manager stepped up. “Additionally, the team has conducted a thorough investigation and concluded the injury was accidental. We’re focused on supporting DeAndre’s recovery and The Wizards’ continued success.
Please enjoy some refreshments, and the coaches and players will be available for one-on-one conversations for the next twenty minutes.
The crowd dispersed, and Mateo was immediately surrounded by team executives and sponsors wanting a piece of the new star. I slipped away to order a sparkling water with lime and observe the room.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
The team’s PR manager, Helen, was next to me, eyeing Mateo with a professional assessment.
I sipped my water. “Handling press or basketball?”
She smiled. “Both. Though handling the press is more important these days. One bad tweet or statement, and months of brand building crumble.”
I recognized the language and nodded. “Perception is reality.”
“You used to be in this world of crisis management, right?”
“Still am. I freelance.”
“It shows. Your two present perfectly. Some of our players’ partners need coaching, but you came pre-trained.”
Her compliment felt hollow, like she was praising a dog for sitting correctly. Still, I smiled, because that’s what a supportive basketball wife would do.
My phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.
Security footage exists. I’ll get it to you tomorrow.
I stared at the message, sure it was Remi or a reporter fishing for a story. I didn’t respond. Mateo appeared at my side.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just checking on Mason. Mom said he’s fine.”
Mateo nodded. “Ready to head out? We’ve done enough schmoozing for the night.”
I finished my water. “Sure. You answered the question about DeAndre great.”
“Just telling the truth,” he answered.