Chapter 16
brANDON
My first game back with the LA Sharks has me itching to get on the court and prove to everyone I was worth the risk.
Nerves are always the highest inside the locker room, listening to Coach’s pregame speech. The expectation mixes with the desire to win and not allow ego to rule over common sense and the game plan. How will the fans react when I run out onto the court again?
Byron won’t look at me. River is beside him, always in his back pocket, and going by his scowl, he has no desire to get to know me. I like that he is supporting Byron, but dude, give me a damn chance.
As soon as Coach Mathews finishes his speech, I’m bouncing up and down on the spot. High knees. Stretching lightly before we run out.
The team gathers in the circle, hands in the middle. “Believe,” everyone shouts. Then we’re lining up behind Byron and Leroy, ready and walking through the tunnel toward the court. I rub my hands together, then wipe the moisture onto my shorts.
Byron turns, bouncing on the spot, looking over his team, ensuring we are psyched.
“A win today, and it locks in a spot for the playoffs,” he shouts.
“Let’s do this.” Flares shoot into the air, and the music becomes deafening.
The announcer calls out in almost a song, “Presenting your LA Sharks,” stretching out the last word on a high note.
The fans scream and applaud.
When Byron emerges first, the crowd erupts, and the applause becomes a chant. One by one, the team spills onto the court, then it’s my turn. Holding one hand in the air, I run out onto the court, my heart racing as I wait for a reception from the fans.
The crowd roars, and I can no longer hear myself think.
Relief fills me.
The fans are here to see me give what they crave.
A win—a championship.
I sprint toward the basket, and Byron sends the ball high in the air. With a quick catch and release, I slam the ball through the hoop, and the fans lose it.
It’s showtime, baby.
The game clock counts down the final seconds.
We have a thirteen-point lead.
I intercept a pass, sprint, and push the ball in front as I leave the bigger players behind. One dribble, two, I eye the basket and prepare for the last shot of the game. Something flashy.
“BJ!”
To my right, Byron flashes in front, arm out, wanting the ball.
I lob it high in the air toward the hoop.
He catches it mid-air, spins, and then dunks it through the hoop.
The fans spring to their feet and cheer.
Three years ago, it was our signature move.
Tonight, we brought our best game, and the fans loved every second.
After training side by side with him for eight years, there are some skills that are embedded in your brain.
Tonight, Byron and I worked together as though we hadn’t spent a single day apart.
As I run to Byron to pat his back, I catch sight of her in the stands, clapping hard and smiling just like the old Charlotte. The Hendricks family sit in the seats surrounding her, all looking equally impressed with the win.
I pat Byron’s back, and he ruffles my hair. “Good work, BJ. I guess not all is lost.” He runs over to the rest of the team, and I watch them celebrate.
Simpson holds out his hand, and we do the standard handshake. “Nice work, BJ. Nice work.”
“Excuse me, Coach Mathews. Do you mind if we interview Brandon Johns?”
I look at Coach, then Byron, who gives me a nod, as Coach Mathews says, “Sure.”
I’m watching Byron’s reaction, as he is mine. For as long as I can remember, I have loathed post-game interviews on camera and attempting to think of the right things to say while my team continues to celebrate.
Katrina Batton, the journalist for the sports channel—she’s direct, bossy, and fires intrusive questions, asking about our private lives—guides me into the center of the court. “Great game, Brandon. How does it feel to be back?”
“It feels good. We got the win, and it’s a step closer to the end goal.” I wipe my face with a towel and look up at my teammates, still bouncing about, celebrating.
“That’s a huge smile you have there. What are you feeling right now?”
I shake my head to align my thoughts. “Elation. Satisfaction.” I smile at Katrina. “The desire to celebrate.” I point to my team.
“I get it. How did it feel playing with Byron again? Putting the past behind you and combining like you used to?”
Yeah, she went there. “Obviously, it’s game one for me.
I won’t forget my time at the Stingers, but being back here, it’s like…
” I hesitate, “… like coming home.” I catch Charlotte’s gaze.
She can’t hear the interview, although she’ll probably watch it on television.
“Despite what you hear, there has always been mutual respect. Byron and I are competitive, but we have one goal in mind, and tonight has brought us one step closer to achieving what every player wants.”
Katrina’s eyes probe me, her silence expecting me to say more. “Did you see the final goal?” She smiles. Yeah, I know she did. “I can still throw that ball to the ocean, and my mate, Byron, will find it.”
She laughs. “Yes, he will. Thanks for your time, Brandon. Good luck for the rest of the season.”
I smile before running toward my team with my eyes fixed on Charlotte. “That win was for you, baby. All for you.”
The team has showered, and the players are dressed, chatting about how they are going to spend the evening. Their family and friends wait outside, but I’m in no hurry to leave. Both feet are still in a tub of ice, and more ice is strapped to my knees and one shoulder.
“You got a big night?” Simpson asks Byron.
He pokes him in the chest. “When you have a baby, it’s always big. Late nights are guaranteed.”
Leroy chuckles. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you all back here in the morning.”
“Bright and early tomorrow.” Byron waves, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.
“Catch you in the morning, BJ,” Simpson calls out. I nod. “Are you heading out to dinner?”
I shake my head. “Heading upstairs to mingle with the suits. After three years, the corporate stakeholders will want to ask questions. Just getting it out of the way.”
A bleak look crosses his face. With his hands on his hips, he stops and tilts his head back to the ceiling. “Bro, I know you don’t need any advice, but…” He looks me in the eye. “River will also be up there, watching over his sheep if you get my drift.”
I don’t. Then it dawns on me why he acted like an ass toward me. “Are they together?”
“Not from lack of trying. I heard a couple of dates, but nothing serious.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
I open my phone to call Ewan. “Are you still around?”
“Yeah. Waiting outside the locker room in case you need me.”
I smile. “I’ll be out soon. We’re staying for dinner, heading upstairs to join the corporate sponsors. Are you okay with that?”
“You’re the boss.”
“I could do with a friend.”
Hollywood has always led the entertainment business, and here it is nothing less than five stars.
A live act on stage, some big shot from Nashville, cocktails, and seafood for everyone.
All night, I have been flanked by sponsors asking questions while I steal glances at Charlotte in between.
It’s a cruel punishment to be in the room with her, and yet it could be a thousand miles, remembering her brother’s threat.
Charlotte walks through the crowd, and I catch a whiff of her scent, enough to ramp up the longing to be with her.
I slowly make my way closer, hearing her soft laughter as she speaks with other sponsors.
When I turn and we lock eyes, I see it. A subtle nod, the way her lips turn up ever so slightly in a faint approval of giving my time to appease the corporate suits.
“We would love to interview you for the next Shark Attack newsletter,” Veronica, associate director of social content, asks.
“An article highlighting your achievements with us and your dream of playing in the Olympics.” Her two associates in digital marketing flank her, eagerly waiting for my answer.
“I played for Australia, the enemy. Do you think people want to know about that?”
She places a hand on my arm, highlighting that every finger has a diamond. “You’re one of ours, BJ. We nurtured you, and while you grew wings and left the nest for a while, you came back. We are destined for great things now you’re here.”
These people are already acting like they own me. “Sure. We can arrange a time as long as it doesn’t interfere with training. Otherwise, you’ll have Charlotte to deal with. She is, after all, Coach’s boss.”
As I hoped, Charlotte turns and looks at Veronica, then back to me, joining our circle. “Did I hear my name?”
“BJ has agreed to an interview,” Veronica repeats. “On the grounds it doesn’t interfere with training.”
Charlotte meets my gaze. “I see. I’m relieved he is putting the team before fame.”
“Always, boss.” I smile, and it only grows wider when her perfect eyes round.
“Excuse me, but my glass is empty, and I need a drink.” I leave Veronica before she can ask any more questions because she’s known to be nosy about what happens off the court as much as on.
As I brush past Charlotte, I lean close to her ear.
“You can boss me any way you like.” She stiffens beside me, but I don’t give her the chance to reply.
I want her thinking about us in the way I have every fucking night.
“Excuse me, Veronica. I need to check Brandon has his ducks in a row. Everything we offer helps with their performance, so they don’t have to worry about the little things.”
What is she talking about?
“Brandon.” She stops me in a crowd like the boss she is. “I need to check your home life to ensure it is in order.”
The fuck?
The men nearby turn with a damn smirk on their faces.
I raise a brow. “You want to discuss my home life here?”
She pushes her long hair behind her ear, raising her chin. “Absolutely. Have you employed a chef and other house assistants?”
I narrow my gaze at her. “No. It’s only been days since I arrived, and I’ve barely had time to unpack.”
“Just as I thought. You wouldn’t even know where your ducks are swimming. They’re probably pigeons, and you’re clueless.”
“My ducks are in a fucking row, Charlotte.”
Her eyes look straight through me. “Are you pleased with the apartment?”
“It’s fine for now. But I have Jobe looking for something more permanent.” I catch her flinch. That’s right, Charlotte, I intend to stay.
“Cleaning and laundry, we can take care of that for you.”
“The apartment is serviced and…” I hesitate, “… I would appreciate a laundry service.”
“Great. Bring your laundry to training, and I’ll have Miranda take care of it. It’s a one-day turnaround service.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I place a hand on her forearm. “Thanks, Lottie, I appreciate it.”
She rips her arm away. “I said not to call me that,” she snaps, then quickly composes herself.
“If there’s anything you need, please let me know, and I’ll have our staff follow it up.
” She spins and strides away in those heels that make her hips sway.
I’m mesmerized for the moment, watching her, imagining those heels over my shoulders as I thrust into her.
“Be careful,” Ewan says, suddenly beside me. “I wouldn’t trust her.”
“She’s doing her job, man. And…” I pat his shoulder, “… she’s still fucking pissed at me.” I look Ewan in the eye and add, “Which she has every right to be.”