40. Arnaz #2
I’ve been so focused on my own shit, I never considered his perspective or experience. I knew about him not making the league, but he never shared how it impacted him. He was—he is —so damn good at coaching, I just thought he was happy doing it.
“Arnaz. You in here?”
I stand and peel open the bedroom door.
Aiden’s hand hovers in the air in front of the door across the hall.
“Hey.” I nod, and he slides past me into the room.
I press my back against the door. “A gun?”
“Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper.
I screw my eyes closed as the weight of that hits.
I thought he had all the answers back then. Like he woke up every day knowing exactly where he was supposed to be.
“I never wanted to hurt you, but you have to understand I couldn’t cross that line.”
“Why?” I shuffle in place. “I was an adult, and it’s what I wanted.”
“It’s not what you needed , and I don’t mean that to sound patronizing.” He raises his hands. “You were in so much pain when I met you, and you had your whole life ahead of you. I knew you’d be leaving within the year for the league.”
I rest my hands over my head as the pain from back then breathes instead of the anger.
“You never doubted for a second that I’d make the draft. I swear, sometimes your confidence was literally the only thing that kept me from—” My voice cracks.
“Listen to what you just admitted. You needed a coach and an advocate more than you needed a boyfriend.”
“You could have been all that.”
“There was also the power dynamic between us. What if I crossed the line, and we got into a fight after? How would that affect your game? It was too risky. I didn’t want anything to risk your chances of making it. Not even me and my feelings for you.”
“We should have talked about it. You ghosted me. Fuck. For years, that shit twisted me up. You could have been honest instead of cutting me off.”
Maybe then I would have been able to fully commit to the man I’m in love with without being scared shitless that he’ll wake up one day and reject me too.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry I disappeared. I just…” He sinks down to perch at the edge of the bed. “I didn’t trust myself to be around you and not give in to what I felt.”
“I thought I made it all up in my head.”
He stares at his hands. “You didn’t.”
Silence hangs between us.
I wish he’d told me. For so long, I felt like I’d done something wrong. That I was delusional.
I blow out a breath. “I’m man enough to admit that my pain back then wasn’t on you. And I’m not sure I would have made it to the league without your help.”
“You would have.”
Another thing we’ll have to disagree on.
He stands up. “You don’t owe me anything, and I’ll respect your need for space. I meant what I said out there. You’ve become a phenomenal player, and I am so proud of you for coming out.”
I feel years of tension seep from my shoulders. “Thank you.”
He nods.
“For real.” I step away from the door.
He meets my gaze. “You’re welcome.”
“Truce?” I offer.
He grins. “Yeah. You coming?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll meet you out there.”
I close the door and then try Salem again.
I get his voicemail. I wait a few minutes, then try him again with no luck.
Where are you?
The circle is broken up when I return.
“We’re about to hit up that new spot along Highway 1. You rollin’?” Wes asks.
“Uh.” I turn to Sid. “You down?”
“Yeah. They’re hanging back.” He gestures to Ty and Ray across the patio.
“He’s good?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Sid answers. “Seems East’s trade messed him up. Ty invited him after their game yesterday. He’ll help sort him out.”
“Sheesh,” Wes yells over his shoulder as we squeeze our way into the dimly lit bar and lounge, following behind Sid, who’s being escorted to a roped-off area where three tables are being joined together. “Should we get a couple of bottles?” he asks.
The guys pick their poison. My stomach turns at the mention of vodka.
I lower my fitted cap. “I’m gonna grab a beer from the bar,” I call out before turning and cutting through the crowd.
I’m yelling my order to the bartender when a ripped dude takes over making my drink, flashing his bleach-white smile.
My head turns as Aiden squeezes into the sliver of space next to me.
“What?” I tilt my head down to hear him.
“Now that you’re out, what’s that like?” He lifts his chin toward the bartender.
“Like I still have blinders on ’cause I missed whatever you just saw.”
He laughs. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he calls out to the bartender, then turns back to me. “I’m all caught up on Royals All-Access . I’ve seen the gifts. Even with blinders, you can’t miss the attention.”
“It’s different,” I admit. “But not in the way I thought.” I take a swig of my beer.
“Single life not for you?”
“Maybe not.” The answer doesn’t scare me as much as it should.
Never feeling what it’s like to wake up in Salem’s arms again? That’s what’s terrifying.
“What about you?” I ask. “Still single?”
“I date. I don’t have men making moves for me on prime-time television, though.”
I grin.
“Jones has balls of steel,” he says with awe.
Yeah, he’s the bravest of ’emall.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” I ask.
“Bi,” he corrects. “I don’t know. Same reasons, I guess.”
The sudden feeling that we’re being watched has me looking around. “We should head back.”
“Where’s Sid?” I yell over the music after returning from taking a piss.
“He just dipped,” Malik replies. “Aight, peace,” I say, then weave through the crowd toward the door.
“Yo!” I catch Sid, who’s climbing into his whip. “You’re my ride.”
“Get yo’ ass in then,” he throws back.
I nod to Jett as he opens the opposite back door for me.
“Play the good shit, Jett,” Sid says, typing into his phone.
“Yes, sir,” Jett replies as he buckles in.
A Christmas song comes on, making me snicker.
“Good man.” Sid leans back and slowly strums his air guitar.
“Are we picking up Mr. Washington?” Jett asks.
“He’s already on his way to the house.” Sid nudges my shoulder. “You have to cover this on your album.”
I shake my head. “I told you, only Jimi can play like Jimi.”
“Yeah. Who else would think to mix ‘Little Drummer Boy,’ ‘Silent Night,’ and ‘Auld Lang Syne’?”
“Only the greatest ever. On late-night TV, all soft-spoken in his silk kimono and fro…”
Sid snorts, and then we both crack up.
“…toying with the thread on his pants, avoiding the camera like he wasn’t the rock god.”
“Yeah, but he was smooth with it.” Sid grins. “Witty.”
Word. The kinda cool you could never buy.
I reach into my pocket, and my stomach sinks as I check my phone—still nothing.
“Hey, I think I need to cop a plane.”
Sid looks at my phone and then smirks. “Yeah, I think you might.”
“Who put you on to Jimi? You never told me. Lily?”
He nods as he rubs lip balm across his lips. “Yeah. Didn’t appreciate it until I was older. You?” His face lights up as we pull into his driveway, and he catches Ty emerging from his Porsche.
He rolls down the window and catcalls him.
Ty grins.
“Good god. I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says, a raw scratch to his voice as he reaches for the door handle. He turns and daps me. “Call Salem. You’ll be the luckiest man alive, too.”
“Trying.” I reach up and climb through the sunroof.
“I can grab my whip in the morning?”
Ty nods. “We’ll text you the code to the gate.”
His eyes widen as Sid climbs out of the car and holds onto the door for support.
“Yeah...mezcal Negronis, a shot of tequila, and Jimi Hendrix Christmas album on repeat. Good luck,” I say. “Ooh. Don’t hurt ’em!” I call out as Sid starts slow grinding the air, making us burst out laughing. “Yoooo. Why ya boy trying to shake ass to Christmas music?”
Even Jett’s smiling, and he looks like he’d rather eat glass than do that.
Ty backs away, laughing, as Sid slams the car door and guns it toward him and tosses him over his shoulder.
He turns, and his hand raises in a salute, but a shrill yelp flies out of his mouth from something Ty’s doing to his back.
Slapping Ty’s ass, he salutes me and Jett before hauling him inside.
“Home, sir?” Jett asks.
I fight the urge to tell him to take me to LAX, but there’s not enough time to get to Brooklyn and back with tomorrow’s home game.
“Yep, home,” I answer.
At least I’ll see him in LA next week for our face-off.
Next week’s too far.
A few minutes later, my head pops up from my phone when Jett says, “Sir, wait here. There’s a man standing in front of your house.”
I lean forward as the headlights wash over my driveway.
Holy fuck!
I’m out of the car before it rolls to a stop.