Chapter thirty - two Damon
Chapter thirty-two
Damon
“Middle!” I shout. Each player begins two-hand dribbling in the middle position.
“Low!” They squat lower, bouncing the balls less than a foot from the ground with tight, controlled movements.
“High alt!” They stand, alternating bounces between hands; one ball up, one ball down.
“Windshield wipers!” The players move the balls in tandem, side-to-side across their bodies.
I continue to move them through the dribbling drills, my mind on autopilot as we all go through the motions.
Figure out if my life and all that comes with it is too much for you to handle.
“Walking the dog!”
Let’s take some time apart.
“Hi-Lo!”
Plenty of guys can’t deal with the constant scrutiny.
“Cross circle!”
God, her face when she left! Like I was suddenly a stranger.
“Figure 8!”
Seth’s balls collide behind him, and he curses before moving to the side.
“Baby Figure 8!”
Half the guys are out at this point. Both Carter and Robbie are still going strong, but Robbie’s concentrating so hard, he’s sweating.
“One-ball Reverse Between the Leg!”
Six more guys exit the court, leaving just Carter, Robbie, and Eric. Eric looks much more composed than last week; he must’ve stepped up his solo practices. I throw out the hardest two-ball dribbling drill I know.
“Between the Leg Taps…” I pause for effect. “Alt!”
Several players whoop from the sidelines. We just learned this variation last week, and it takes them all a while to get into it.
Robbie’s the first one out.
“Shit!” he yells, kicking the ball in frustration. I blow the whistle.
“Take a lap, Mr. Kent!”
Eric is next, one of his balls bouncing past his hand and skittering into the stands. He grumbles, but leaves the court without incident.
That just leaves Carter. He’s doing the drill with a smirk on his face. I decide to try one I haven’t taught the kids to see if he can handle it.
“One-ball Figure 4!”
“What?!” Bryce yells. Coach Paulson stays silent, watching as Carter tries to work out the move.
“That’s it,” I prompt. “One ball low to the ground around your ankle. The other stays bouncing near your knee.”
He gets it for maybe six seconds before the low ball slips and dribbles out of reach. Coach Paulson blows the whistle, and the rest of the team hoots and stomps in encouragement.
“Good work, Carter. That’s impressive ball handling.”
The twelve-year-old boy in my head snickers.
“All of you,” he addresses the rest of the team. “You did great work out there. Hit the showers!”
He’s not wrong; they did an amazing job, especially for high school kids. They’re more than ready for the game tomorrow—the last one before winter break—but I can’t get excited.
I fucked up. I know I fucked up. But we’re taking time apart. Pshh! I roll my eyes at myself. More like taking time to marinate in my terrible decisions.
“Hey, coach!” Carter calls out to me on the way to return four balls. “You must be feeling pretty pumped, huh?”
I nod automatically.
“Definitely. You guys are going to crush Barrington Prep.”
His trademark smirk takes over his face.
“Of course we are, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“What are you talking about, then?”
Carter looks at me like I’m crazy.
“You seriously don’t know?”
“Did another scout set some time with you and your parents?” I guess. He starts to shake his head, then stops.
“I mean, yes, we got a call from another scout, this one offering a full ride, but I’m talking about your girl, Kendra.”
I stop short.
“What about her?” I try to keep my voice even. There’s no way he could know about our fight last week. I haven’t told anyone, and Kendra’s too private to say anything to the press.
“She fucking annihilated her ex, man!”
“Language,” I scold. He just scoffs.
“She destroyed her ex. Humiliated him on live TV. It’s all my sister and her friends are texting about lately.” He pulls out his phone to show me the footage.
It’s Kendra. Andre is holding out another bouquet of flowers. She grabs it and throws it on the ground. Then he grabs her. My hands ball into fists involuntarily. That dude is asking for a beatdown.
When Niko steps in and Andre finally lets go, my heart resumes beating. Andre’s yelling at her now, spewing terrible things in front of everyone. He’s still talking shit even after she left. No one helped her. Everyone just had their phones out!
I look at the date of the footage; it’s three days ago, the day of our fight. Fuuuck! She stood up to Andre. Publicly! And then I accused her of faking things between us. Of me just being a fling. Ugh, I could not feel any lower.
I school my face so it doesn’t look like I’m seeing the footage for the first time. I stupidly turned off my alerts for news on Kendra while she was out of town and missed an entire grand gesture!
“Oh, that,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “That’s old news. I thought you were talking about something else.”
He looks at me skeptically for a few seconds, then shrugs.
“Whatever. Great practice, coach. I’ll have to work on that last variation.”
I give him a small salute as he scampers off to the showers.
Council of Bros
I need to talk. Is anyone avail?
It’s ten minutes of agony before my phone finally pings.
Council of Bros
Henry: I’m leaving the office now. What’s up?
Henry wouldn’t be my first choice. Hell, he’d be my last choice. But I’m desperate, and I’m not calling Mom again. I’ve had about all the tough love I can take. Not that I don’t deserve it…
“Hey,” I answer when he picks up. “I messed up bad, Hen.”
“Why, hello. Great to catch up with you, too, Damon. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. The wedding planning is a little overwhelming, but otherwise, good.”
I ignore his sarcasm and forge ahead.
“You know how I’m dating Kendra? We talked about it at the game before.”
“Yes, I remember,” he responds in a measured tone. “What about it?”
The gym doors close. Everyone else is gone for the day.
“Well, we’ve been dating for a few months. Off and on, I guess, though it’s been fully on for about two months now.“ Is that all? It feels like more.
“Are we coming to the point soon?” Henry asks, his patience dwindling.
“Sorry,” I reply. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk to Henry. He’s got no patience for anyone but Camila.
“I may have—“ I hesitate. Geez, this makes me look like an asshole, but I need his help. “I may have accused Kendra of lying about wanting to be with me, even though she apparently told off her ex on TV that same day.” My mind is still reeling.
“Then she said we should take time apart. I don’t want time apart. I want her.”
Henry—Sub-Zero, cold, grumpy Henry—breaks out laughing. Not a little laugh either, but a deep belly laugh that raises my hackles immediately.
“OK. I’ll just let you go then,” I say, barely containing my anger.
“Wait! My bad, Damon.” He’s still chuckling, and I’m finding it hard to believe he’s sorry. “I honestly didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just funny because I came to Kendra for advice about Camila, and now my own brother is coming to me for advice about her.”
“You talked to Kendra about your personal life? About Camila?” I can’t believe my rule-following big brother would ever break decorum that way.
“Mm hm,” he confirms. “Camila and I had just broken up, and I was a mess. I would’ve probably taken advice from a CVS cashier if I thought it’d help. I was desperate.”
“So what did she say?” I ask eagerly.
“She said that Camila needed something big and heartfelt to understand how much I loved her and how sorry I was. Something to show her that our relationship was worth the risk.”
I’m silent, mulling this over.
“What was your big move?” I press. I hate that I’m taking relationship advice from Henry of all people. It’s giving me déjà vu from the sex talk we had with Dad.
“First, I showed up at her place to apologize. She was in the middle of studying for the bar, so I didn’t push for anything then. But once she was done with the exam, I picked her up, took her to my house, fed her, and gave her a heartfelt apology…all night long.”
I assume if I were there, he’d be waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and I can’t help but chuckle. That? That new playful side of him? That’s all Camila.
“Gross, bro. Spare me the details.”
“If you insist,” he says, then hangs up.
The last time I tried to surprise Kendra, things went terribly wrong. But this is bigger than me or my insecurities. I know now that they were irrational; I let Andre get in my head.
I grab my satchel and walk to the subway, thinking about Henry’s advice.
Big and flashy is more Andre’s style. He’d bring Kendra another giant bouquet, try to buy her through her dad, ambush her with a film crew. But she’s proven time and time again that she wants something real over a spectacle.
If I’m going to show her I truly know her, to play my own game, as Mom said, I need to try another approach. And I need to start with a game plan.