Chapter 13 #3
“Yeah, alright. I’m done here anyway. I better not see you starting shit again,” he says, pointing at my brother.
Caleb opens his mouth because he can’t help it, but I manage to turn to face my brother before he can form an actual word. I slap my hand over his mouth.
“Shhh,” I hiss.
He backs away with a jerk, his face red with rage and his eyes fixed on me now. Good. That’s where his focus should be, because I have shit to say.
“I brought your graduation gift from mom. You know, the one you should have gone to get yourself?” I pull the box from my pocket and flatten it against his chest. He scrambles his hands up to take it before I walk away and let it drop to the floor.
“I would have gotten around to it,” he huffs, turning his back to me as he walks to the bench where his workout bag is sitting. He tosses the box in without even opening it.
“She put a lot of thought into that. You’re not even going to look?” I should have let that guy throw a punch before I broke them up.
“I’m sure it’s nice. I’ll look later.” His head tilts back as he guzzles water from a bottle. He snaps the cap back in place, then turns to me after tossing the bottle in his bag along with our mother’s gift.
I shake my head at him.
“Sorry, fine. I’ll look,” he whines, reaching into his bag. He pops the box open for two seconds.
“Cufflinks. Nice. Tell her thanks,” he says, dropping the box back on top of his change of clothes.
“Tell her yourself, asshole.” I start to walk away, knowing that if I stick around much longer, I’m not going to be able to restrain myself.
When the ball hits me in the back of the head, though, I turn around and stare him with dead eyes. Seems Caleb wants to be challenged. He must be craving the same kind of pain I am. He wants a fight.
“You’re just jealous that Dad sees something in me. He sees potential that you don’t have. You’re nothing more than a familial obligation.” The cocky grin on my brother’s face almost makes me proud. He’s getting better at shit talking.
I smirk and chew at the inside of my cheek, barely holding in the low laugh as I toe the basketball to a bounce, then dribble it up into my hands.
“Jealous, huh? Interesting word.” I slap the ball with my opposite hand, then launch it into my brother’s chest. He catches it just as fast.
His brow arches.
“You wanna go?”
I sniff and nod, dropping my keys and phone on the other end of the bench.
“Yeah, let’s go. Twenty-one. You’re up top first.”
I pivot while my brother dribbles to the top of the three-point line, the other half-court game slowing while the players start to notice what’s happening over here.
My brother and I were both high school stars.
We’ve both been written about for our basketball talent, hype, and all that shit.
I bet a lot of people simply assume I played college somewhere, and I’m sure they think that’s what Caleb’s going to do.
People like to brag about having famous athletes in their community, as if somehow that makes them winners.
“Check it,” Caleb says, bouncing the ball to me.
I bounce it right back and move to the balls of my feet, ready for his move.
It’s always the same, and this time is no different.
Caleb spins to the right, then rushes left, trying to pass me for a quick layup.
I block it easily and take the ball up top while wearing the same cocky grin he tried to pull on me.
“We’re just getting started. That was lucky,” he defends.
I chuckle, then pull up for a jump shot at the top of the three-point line. I sink it without a sound, except for the claps behind me from our fans.
“Whatever. Lucky shot,” he says.
I do it again.
“More like skills,” I say.
Our battle continues, Caleb sinking a few of the breaks he takes inside, even dunking on me once, which I swear he only does for attention.
I don’t take him inside a single time, and that’s because I see his weaknesses.
I always have. Caleb counts on the physicality of the game over the finesse.
I’m taller. He’s thicker. He figures he’ll bump me out anytime I get close, but that means he’s leaving me all sorts of room and time to take good shots.
And I drill them shot after shot, until it’s twenty-one to ten.
I predict his eventual meltdown, too, so when he drops the ball to kick it with his foot, I bump him with my body, so he misses and ends up rolling the ball through the center of the court rather than at some innocent dude’s face.
“It’s time for you to grow up, Caleb.”
I snag my keys and phone while he limps his way to his gym bag, feigning some injury that he’ll no doubt use as an excuse to the guys in this room when I leave.
“I know you think Dad can buy you the life you want, but all that money can buy you is distractions. At some point, you’re going to have to deal with the shit messing with your head. Call Mom.”
I let my gaze linger on him for a second, not bothering to hide my disgust before turning and striding toward the double doors.
“Leave Saylor out of this then. Don’t bring her into your bullshit. She deserves better,” he says, and I pause my steps but only for a second.
“You’re right about that. She deserves better than both of us. But . . .” I give myself exactly a half second to consider shutting my mouth. Nope. I’m saying it. “I’m the one she’s with now, and I like her way too much to quit.”