Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
NAZ
It feels strange being here again.
Houston hasn’t felt like home in a long time. When I was drafted to Seattle, Mama moved out West to be closer to me. My sisters all married and settled with their families elsewhere. So there’s nothing here for me.
Well, there’s one thing in this city for me right now.
Takira is at her mother’s house. Even though her brother, that motherfucker, went off on her and told her not to attend the ceremony, she made the trip anyway.
She opted to stay at her parents’ house instead of with me at the hotel, which is probably wise considering the circumstances but still pisses me off.
I’m not sure if Cliff even knows she’s here.
When I talked to her earlier, she hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t come by the house.
I walk the halls of St. Catherine’s, and it’s like I’ve been transported back to that year when I felt so out of place, felt like I didn’t fit anywhere, not even with the team I had come to play ball with.
The closer I get to the gym where the ceremony is being held, the more I’m ready to get out of here.
I’m doing this to honor Coach Lipton and for no other reason.
He believed in me when I barely believed in myself.
I’ll see him, say a few words, and get out.
When I reach the gym, I stare at the glass display case just beyond its doors.
The retired jerseys hang in that case. From our senior class, there are only two.
Fletcher’s because he broke every record any baller ever set in this place.
And mine because I’m the only guy from our class who went on to play in the pros.
“Strongarm!”
No one’s called me that in years, and I turn toward the name with a frown.
“Myron?”
“Yup.” He preens, rubbing the goatee on his chin. “Look the same, huh? Ain’t aged a day.”
He actually hasn’t. Seeing him so unchanged makes me feel even more like I’ve gone back in time.
“Glad you could make it,” he says. “It’ll mean a lot to Coach.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I nod toward the open door of the gym. “He in there?”
“Yeah. Let’s get this party started.”
I follow him into the packed auditorium and take a seat on the front row reserved for speakers.
The crowd, full of players and parents, faculty and staff—past and present—cheers when Coach Lipton waves at them from the stage.
It is a party—a celebration of a stellar career and a legacy of teaching and service.
It’s the send-off Coach Lipton deserves, and I’m glad I came, even if I do feel Cliff’s anger from a few seats away.
I don’t bother looking at him, selfish asshole.
When it’s my turn to speak, I keep it simple.
If I say too much about my career or the success I’ve had, even in the context of thanking Coach for his part in it, it might set Cliff off.
I’m already having to hold myself back after Takira told me how he treated her during their call. No need to provoke him or myself.
“And now we’ll hear from the guy who carried this team while he was here,” Myron says, smiling at his old friend. “Our captain, Cliff Fletcher.”
The applause is thunderous. I’m not sure if it’s for all he accomplished while he was here or supporting him because of how he fell when he left, but I join in.
Even if I don’t want to, I do for Takira.
And because, dammit, though the drugs have aged him and addiction took a heavy toll, denting his good looks, I still can’t see him without seeing her.
“We’re here to honor a great man,” Cliff says at the mic, looking out over the crowd. “Coach Lipton, you taught me a lot. You taught us all a lot.”
His laugh is hollow. His grimace comes and goes. “Some of us never learned. You instructed us as much off the court as you did on, Coach. Character, you used to say, always trumps stats.”
He pauses, swallowing and glancing down at the floor.
“I had to learn that the hard way, I guess,” he says. “It didn’t matter how many records I broke or where they hung my jersey, when I was selfish and foolish, reckless, no one cared about my stats. I failed in character. I failed my team. I failed my coach and my family. I failed myself.”
It’s totally silent as Takira’s brother breaks in front of everyone. Not crying or making a scene, but breaking off, piece by prideful piece. Humbling himself. Or is it life that’s humbled him?
When I look at him now, it’s through Takira’s eyes. I see the big brother she adored and would do anything to protect—to shield. I see him warning the team off his sister because she was too good for all of us.
He was right about that.
They shared a special bond, and for me—because by some miracle, she loves me—she put her relationship with him at risk.
I had every intention of making a beeline for the door, going straight to my hotel, calling Takira and trying to convince her to meet me somewhere. Anywhere. But when the ceremony ends, I first have to make my way over to Coach Lipton and thank him personally for all he did for me.
“Armstrong,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Thank you for coming. So proud of you, son.”
“Thank you”—I step back and look him in his eyes—“for seeing my potential and recruiting me. For giving me a shot. You had a huge impact on me.”
“Aww. Just…” He blinks, his throat moving with a deep swallow. “Just doing my job. How’s your mother? Your sisters?”
He moves to small talk because I suspect his emotions tonight are hard to keep under control. Having said my piece, I turn to leave, only to come face to face with Cliff.
“Fletcher,” I say, barely sparing him a glance, and move to walk around him.
“Wait.” His hand snakes out and grabs my arm.
I look from the grip he has on me to his face. Is he really going to do this shit on Coach’s big night? I don’t answer but stare at him, waiting.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, tipping his head toward the gym exit.
Tension rises around us as people watch our interaction. If he’s gonna show out, the least we can do is go somewhere everyone won’t see it.
“Sure.” I shrug and head for the exit without checking to see if he’s following.
Once we’re in the hall, he glances at the glass case, his mouth assuming a bitter twist.
“I, um, I owe you an apology,” he says.
My eyes snap to his face, disbelief freezing me in place and keeping me silent.
“I’ve talked about you a lot over the years.” He scoffs. “To my sponsor, to doctors in rehab, to my family—to anyone who would listen to how you had ruined my life.”
I wait, wondering what changed since he talked to Takira last week.
“I had stopped going to group for a while,” he says. “After that last time I relapsed, I couldn’t face them. Felt like such a failure.”
“You went back?” I ask because he’s the one doing all the talking, and I don’t want him to think I’m not engaged, not really hearing him.
“Last week, yeah.” He glances at me, and his eyes are so much like Takira’s, but so much older, so much wearier, it makes my chest tighten. I know how much she loves him, and his pain is hers. And now hers is mine.
“When Kira told me about you and her…” He draws a sharp breath through his nose, rubs his mouth. “I was pissed. I kept thinking, him? Of all people, him? The guy who got everything that was supposed to be mine?”
I don’t correct him. At times I’ve felt the same way, even though I know it’s not actually true, a kind of survivor’s remorse.
“Believe me,” he goes on, “Mama has told me a million times I’m wrong. Everyone told me at some point, and I know it’s true.”
“You do?” I ask, my voice gruff with skepticism.
“It’s easier to blame you than to see in you all I could have been and had,” he says, a muscle clenching along his jaw. “And know I got nobody to blame but me.” He looks me in the eyes. “So I’m sorry. It’s overdue by years, but I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate that,” I tell him, nodding. “In a short time, I’ve come to care about your sister a lot. Scratch that. I’m in love with her.”
His stare is glued to my face.
“I hope one day we’ll be related,” I say with a wry smile, ignoring the surprise flashing across his expression. “And I want a better relationship with you, so I need to tell you something from jump.”
“All right,” he says. “Yeah,”
I pause, give it a second to make sure he’s looking right into the sobriety of my eyes. “If you ever disrespect Takira again like you did last week,” I say quietly, “I’ll fuck you up.”
“She’s my sister,” he says, not with anger, but just as a statement of fact.
“If you treat her like it, we won’t have a problem.”
For a moment, tension coils between us again, and I’m not sure he won’t punch me the way he did that coach, but then he cracks a wide smile.
“My man,” he says, patting me on the back. “Better you than me. She’s a handful to protect.”
I release a laugh, surprised and relieved by his comment. “I know, but I got it.”
He nods and looks back into the gym. “Well, I’m staying for the dinner. You?”
“Nah. I fly out tomorrow. Gonna go back to the hotel and get some rest.”
“So you ain’t leaving here and going by my mama’s house to see my sister?”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads over my face. “I might make one stop before I turn in, yeah.”