Chapter 7
When I stepped inside the bedroom, it was dimly lit from Danica’s bedside lamp.
She was propped against the headboard, scrolling through her phone.
She looked good with her face moisturized, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, and her long legs exposed beneath her boy-cut shorts.
I paused in the doorway. The anger from earlier felt distant now.
It had been replaced by something urgent.
I needed Danica on my side tonight. I wanted to remind her why we were in this together.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light and apologetic. My hand was wrapped in gauze—a reminder of what happened when I lost control earlier.
Danica looked up. “Hey, yourself.”
I approached the bed slowly like a free throw in a tied game with three seconds on the clock. Everything rides on what happened next. Move forward… get it right. Move forward… get it wrong. Game over.
I settled on the edge of the bed without invading her space but close enough that Danica could feel my presence.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
Danica put her phone down, giving me her attention. “I know.”
“No, really. I’ve been under so much pressure. Still, that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that.”
“It’s been a lot for us,” she said.
It was an opening I could work with. I slid closer and traced patterns across her wrist with my thumb. “You’ve carried so much, taking care of Mason, and everything. I don’t tell you how much I appreciate you.”
Danica looked at me. “Is that what you thought that was about? Me needing appreciation?”
I needed to tread carefully. Danica was too smart for simple flattery. “No, I just think sometimes I forget we’re a team. We built this together. You gave up so much for me, and I know that.”
Dani shifted, and I felt tension in her body, but she hadn’t pulled away either. “I believe in you.”
“That means everything to me. When you questioned me, it felt like you didn’t believe in me. Like you think I did something wrong.”
“Did you?”
Her question was direct; her eyes steadied on me. My chest tightened, but I was ready for this. I’d prepared.
“The only thing I did was whatever it took for us to have the life we deserve, to ensure your sacrifices weren’t for nothing.”
It wasn’t the answer she sought, but it wasn’t a lie either. I watched her process my words. There was a shift in her expression, softening around her eyes and a parting of her lips.
“Mateo—”
I didn’t allow her to finish. I didn’t want any more questions. Instead, I brought my mouth to the curve where her shoulder met her neck and placed a soft kiss on her skin.
“I miss you. We haven’t connected in weeks with this new starting position, the pressure, and the media.”
“It has been crazy,” Danica confirmed.
“Too crazy. I need you, Dani.” I continued a trail of kisses up her neck to the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shiver. Right on cue, I felt a tremor run through her body.
Her hand came up and rested on my shoulder. “When you hit the wall earlier, you scared me.”
I pulled back to look into her eyes. “I scared myself. You know that’s not me.”
“Do I?”
Her question hung between us.
“You know me better than anyone, better than my mama, better than I know myself at times.”
I got a smile out of her.
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m scared. Now, it’s finally happening. I feel needed, and I’m terrified of losing it all.”
Danica’s hand cupped my face, her thumb brushed over my cheekbone. “Baby, no one works harder than you. Your talent?—”
“Talent isn’t enough if you don’t get minutes. DeAndre was averaging twenty points a game, and I have to bring at least that to hold my spot, and everyone is waiting for me to fail.”
“You won’t fail.”
I needed to redirect. I brought my lips to hers in a soft kiss.
She returned the kiss, and it intensified.
I felt her body responding, arching into mine as her breath caught.
The language of touch was familiar territory for us.
I knew how to touch her and where to focus my energy to make her forget everything else.
“I love you. You and Mason are everything to me,” I whispered into her mouth.
Her hands slid under my t-shirt. Her nails scraped my back lightly, driving me crazy. We discarded our clothes and moved together through our intimacy, and she moaned in my ear as we fought to find our rhythm.
“Tell me again. What would you do for us?”
I groaned in pleasure. “Anything. I’d change the whole damn world if that’s what it took.”
Danica’s movements were deliberate and focused in a new way. Usually, she would lose herself and close her eyes. Tonight, she watched my face, my every word, every reaction.
I pushed inside of her, and my shaft was so sensitive against her walls. She was so wet as I pumped. I almost lost my shit like a man who hadn’t had sex in a while, but I held out.
“Goddamn, you feel good,” I murmured through her moans.
We both needed to work through our pent-up frustrations. Danica trailed kisses down my chest as I slid in and out of her. She stopped at my nipple, biting slightly.
“Shit.”
“And DeAndre?” she asked. It was so unexpected I almost stopped moving.
“What about DeAndre?” I managed to keep my rhythm, the connection, because I needed this nut like I needed a hole in my head.
“Would you hurt someone for us, for your opportunity?”
Her question sent ice through my veins even as my body responded to hers.
“Why would you ask me that now?” My voice was harsh, but this nut was teetering on the edge.
I pumped with ferocity now. I had to hit her spot and shut these bullshit ass questions down. I lifted her legs, draping them over my shoulders so I could dig in, and that was exactly what her ass needed. Because it only took a few deep strokes to have her screaming in bliss.
We finished together, our bodies in sync. I plopped down behind her and pulled her close. I pressed kisses to the nape of her neck and stroked her hair.
Danica shifted in my arms, reaching for her cell phone, which she slid under her pillow.
“What are you doing?” I asked, being careful not to sound accusatory.
“I was just checking the time. Tomorrow is a busy day. We should get some sleep.”
Suddenly, sleep felt impossible. Did she record me? My mind raced with questions. I waited for her breathing to even out. I’d always been good at making shots, but now, I was under pressure. I wasn’t sure I was winning anymore.
It was 3:30 a.m. when I finally slipped out of bed. I moved to Danica’s workspace, tapped the computer’s key to wake it up, and slipped into the chair. I shouldn’t have been invading her privacy, but I needed to know what she knew, and self-preservation was a hell of a motivator.
I tapped in the four-digit code for Mason’s birthday. The screen unlocked, and I winced at the bright light. Danica had always been meticulous about locking her devices, but after ten years together, I knew her patterns.
“Let me see what you’ve been up to,” I muttered, navigating the browser history.
Her recent Google searches were of the gym, security blind spots, falsification of gym access logs, and NBA injury conspiracy cases.
“Fuck.” The word dropped out of my mouth like a stone in a silent room.
My hand hovered over the mouse. I had the urge to close it and pretend I never saw it, but I wanted to know how deep this went.
I clicked on one of the links to an article about suspicious injuries in professional sports.
Danica had highlighted a passage— In many cases, unfortunate coincidences were later revealed to be deliberate attempts to secure positions or eliminate favored players.
My stomach dropped. The words blurred as my memories flashed through my mind. Coach Von in my ear, “Sometimes opportunities need help to present themselves.”
DeAndre was a good dude, even though he showboated most of the time.
Both of our contracts were almost up, and with me, I had nothing to justify another team taking another chance on me.
At thirty-two, I was finished, another “almost” story for the neighborhood.
Coach Von put the idea in my head indirectly.
He just hinted and made implications. It’s business.
DeAndre’s career wouldn’t be over, just redirected. The NBA scouts were coming for him.
Here I was, starting point guard in this beautiful condo with Italian leather furniture.
Mason was in a private school with the STEM program that Danica researched for months, and my wife was connecting the dots I thought I’d erased.
I closed the article and searched her history— How to record conversations. Admissible evidence in civil cases.
My heart pounded so hard. Our sex tonight was part of her investigation. I replayed her questions in my head, trying to remember what I’d admitted.
“Anything. Everything. I’d change the whole damn world if that’s what it took.”
I hadn’t confessed anything. I hadn’t admitted anything specific. Still, the implications were there, and Danica was smart. She tried to get me.
I should delete her search history, which would only confirm her suspicions that I’d been here violating her privacy and covering my tracks again. My phone vibrated in the pocket of my sweats, startling me. I pulled it out.
A text:
You’re up next. Don’t disappoint.
Up next for what? The starting position I was already in? Oh, was this about another rookie who had been threatening the coach’s control of the team rotation? There was a kid from Duke who had been vocal about Von’s coaching decisions, and Von pulled me aside to complain about it.
Was this a reminder of our arrangement? A reminder of this opportunity?
Coach Von had been around the league for decades.
Metaphorically, he knew where all the bodies were buried.
If anyone connected me to DeAndre’s injury, it would be his word against mine.
In this league, a veteran coach with championship rings always outranked a player who got lucky. Unless there was evidence.
I focused on the computer and searched for security footage.
What if there was something the cameras caught that day?
I was tired. I closed the browser, returning her work area to the state I found it in.
I returned to our bedroom but paused in the hallway, suddenly unwilling to lie next to my wife while these thoughts circled in my head.
Instead, I headed to the living room and settled on the couch.
The worst part, despite everything, was the fear, guilt, or knowledge that I’d do it again after years of being undervalued, sidelined, or overlooked.
Oddly, I sounded more like Coach Von, or maybe it had been my voice all along.