Chapter Thirteen
Dominic
“Yo, Neelson,” Marcus calls after me as I sling my bag over my shoulder and make for the parking lot. “You got dinner plans?”
I stop, glancing back in surprise as he jogs to catch up with me. “If you include Chinese takeout and collapsing on the couch, maybe.”
He laughs, slinging a heavy arm across my shoulders. “Come with me, then. You gotta be like an actual human at least once a week and not live like a hermit.”
I open my mouth to decline, but then think better of it. “Okay. Yeah.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
“Cool, I’ll drop you the address.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting across from him at a rooftop bar I’ve never been to before. It overlooks the ocean, and somehow, even though we’re both in sweatpants post-practice, I don’t feel out of place.
“So, Neelson,” he says as the waitress sets down a basket of nacho fries and a couple of beers. “You adjusting okay?”
I take my time chewing. “Trying. It’s been a pretty big change from what I’m used to.”
Marcus nods before shoving a couple of fries into his mouth. “Yeah. It’s a wild city. Not like the places you and I grew up. People here think in years, not decades. Nothing sticks. Every day is an audition.” He shrugs. “But that’s why they brought you. You got the grind they’re looking for.”
I have no idea what to say to that. I don’t even know if it’s a compliment or a warning. Marcus grins, like he can read the hesitation on my face.
“Just don’t let the city eat you alive, man,” he says. “Happens to the best. They go from focused to unfocused real quick.”
I sip my beer. “I think I’m safe. I barely leave my apartment except for practice.”
He laughs. “That’s what I said the first year.
Then you meet some friends, and all of a sudden you’re at Erewhon at two in the morning, trying to figure out which green juice is for hangovers and which one is for enlightenment.
This place is weird.” He leans back, eyes bright. “You got people here, right?”
I think about Derrick, my parents, the old team back home, and then Nicole—her dog, her smile, and the chaos I’ve started to like… ”I’m working on it.”
Marcus points his fork at me. “Don’t wait too long. That’s all I’m saying. NBA is a business, but it’s also a family. You gotta have both if you want to last.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I say, busying myself with the food before me.
We hang out for the next hour, watching highlight reels play on the TV opposite our table. It’s nice, but it’s not quite as fun as chasing Nicole’s dog through the apartment complex.
When the waitress drops the tab, Marcus picks it up. “This one’s on me,” he says, then stands up, stretching before setting a bill down. “Next time it’s on you. It’ll keep you coming back.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
Outside, the night air is cool, the ocean just loud enough to hear from the street.
“Ready for the game Saturday?” I ask.
He stops short of his red sports car. “Yeah, are you?”
I hesitate, but then nod. “I think so.”
Marcus puts his hand on his car door, then glances back at me like he’s debating whether to say something.
“You hear the Marbury stuff?”
“No,” I say, my brow furrowing.
Marcus shrugs. “Just chatter. Seattle’s sniffing around, or so I heard.”
“He’s getting moved?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He shakes his head. “You know how it goes. Half of it’s smoke, half of it’s front office posturing. Guys hear their names and start reading into everything.”
I nod slowly.
Marcus opens his car door, then pauses again. “Point is, nothing’s ever locked in. Team’s always thinking two steps ahead.”
“Oh…” is all I can manage.
He gives me a lazy salute as he gets in. “See you at shootaround, Neelson.”
Two hours later, long showered and restless, I reach for my phone on the coffee table. I scroll through my contacts to my agent, Edward, and hit the call button.
He picks up on the third ring. “Dom! How’s the City of Angels treating you? You finally settling in or still missing the Gulf?”
“Working on it,” I say. Then, after a beat, “Just wanted to check-in to see if there’s anything I should be aware of league-wise?”
“Nothing unusual,” he says. “Early season noise. Same as always. Why? Should I be pushing for a shop? Are you still not jiving with the team?”
“I’m fitting in,” I say, even as I’m not entirely sure it’s true. “But Marcus mentioned Seattle. Something about Marbury being on the move?”
A heavy sigh sounds through the receiver.
“It’s that time of year. Front offices talk.
Everyone’s feeling the heat. But you know how it is.
League’s a business. Stay sharp, keep doing your thing—unless you want me to make it a point to put feelers out.
Your contract could be hard to get around, but Texas has been paying attention. ”
I hesitate, thinking of playing for the team I always dreamed of being a part of growing up.
The one I watched with my family, the one I imagined myself in long before the draft ever made it a real possibility.
Of how close I could be to home again—close enough to stop feeling like a visitor in my own life.
“Yeah… that could be cool.”
But something about it feels wrong.
Why?
“Just keep your head where you are and we’ll talk when there’s something real,” he says, sounding almost distracted. “I’ll see you at the game, man.”
“See ya.” I hang up and stare out the window, the city lights glowing. I picture Texas—wide roads, familiar faces, a version of myself that already knows how to exist there.
It would be easier.
So why does it feel like I’d be leaving something unfinished?
I’m still standing at the window when the knock comes, three quick taps, followed by a familiar scratching sound and a muffled “Cocoa, stop that.”
Something in my chest loosens as I approach the door and pull it open to find Nicole. “I made more cookies,” she says with a small smile, holding up the container. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She’s in sweatpants and an oversized UCLA hoodie.
“You don’t need to keep bribing me with cookies,” I say, already stepping aside to let them in. “Though I’m not complaining.”
“Well, I needed to thank you properly,” Nicole says as she steps inside, Cocoa trotting behind her. “For helping me clean up after the disaster that was my networking attempt. And for not making me feel like the biggest loser on the planet.”
I close the door as Cocoa pulls at his leash, eager to explore. Nicole bends down to unclip him, glancing up at me. “Is it okay if he roams a bit? I promise he’s been walked and, uh, emptied.”
“Sure,” I say, watching as Cocoa immediately begins his investigation. “I don’t have much he can destroy anyway.”
Nicole settles onto my couch, tucking her legs underneath her. I grab two glasses of water from the kitchen, then take a cookie, biting into it. It’s good—chocolate chip, with something else I can’t identify.
“These are great,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“Thanks.” She smiles. “Baking is the one thing I can actually do right. Even when everything else is a disaster, at least I can make cookies.”
“Well here, have one.” I hold out a cookie to her.
She grabs it and takes a bite.
“So how was your day?” she asks, changing the subject. “Did you have practice?”
I think about Marcus, the rooftop bar, the trade rumors. “Yeah, and then did some … team stuff.”
“Sounds mysterious,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Is that code for ‘secret NBA business I can’t tell civilians about’?”
I laugh. “Nothing that exciting. Just had drinks with one of the guys from the team. Marcus.”
“The one with all the tattoos? I’ve seen him on billboards.”
I nod. “He’s been helping me adjust. Showing me around.”
Nicole studies me, her head tilted slightly. “You seem … I don’t know. A little elsewhere. If this is a bad time, I can—”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I exhale. “There might be some changes coming up. With the team.”
“What kind of changes?”
I set my half-eaten cookie down, suddenly not hungry. “There’s talk about trades. Players getting moved around.”
Her brows knit together. “Does that happen a lot?”
“All the time,” I say. “Especially this early in the season. It’s background static more than anything.”
She watches me for a beat. “But it still gets to you.”
I shrug. “Sometimes. Not because anything’s happening—just because it reminds you how temporary everything can feel.”
“So, it’s not … about you?”
“Not specifically. But nobody’s ever completely off the board. That’s just how it works.”
She hesitates. “Did anyone mention where?”
I pause, choosing my words. “Texas came up. Not as a thing. Just … a possibility people like to bring up.”
“Texas,” she repeats softly. “That’s home for you.”
I nod. “It would be closer to family. Familiar territory.”
“That sounds like it could be a good thing,” she says, though her tone doesn’t quite match the words. “If that’s what you want.”
Is it what I want?
The question catches me off guard. A week ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now…
“What actually happens when players get traded?” Nicole asks, pulling me back from my thoughts. “Do you really just … pack up and go?”
“Pretty much,” I say. “You get the call, and within days, sometimes hours, you’re expected to report to your new team.”
Cocoa returns from his exploration, jumping onto the couch beside Nicole. She absently scratches behind his ears, her brow furrowed in thought.
“What’s that like?” she finally asks, her voice soft with curiosity. “The practical side of it, I mean. Do you ship your stuff from city to city? Store it somewhere? Buy new every time?”
Her questions aren’t what I expected. Most people just want to talk about how lucky we are to make millions playing a game. Nicole seems genuinely interested in the mundane logistics—the stuff no one thinks about when they imagine NBA life.