Chapter Five
Nola
Present Day
I whipped my car into the first available spot I found on the ground floor of the parking garage.
It might be the off season, but I knew the front office was hard at work discussing and processing the various eligible and non-eligible players that wanted to make the Chicago Violets home.
They were evaluating rosters, player contracts, and salaries.
I wasn’t proud of our performance—specifically my performance during the last championship games—and as much as I wanted to keep beating myself up over it, that was simply how the game went.
There were winners and there were losers.
The only time I’d ever lost was at the hands of Brittney Lee.
I checked myself out in the shine of my black, sleek convertible, then headed inside, blanketed in the artificial heat that was necessary for Chicago winters.
My body moved on autopilot as I headed up the elevators that led to the one floor designated for our team, toward the one office that you could argue had a decent view of the Chicago skyline.
While the people at the Violets are amazing, it was the investment in the organization that could use more work.
Throughout my four years being here, it’d become a running joke that if you weren’t Nola Young and you found yourself in Henry Vail’s office, you were screwed.
I’d been Henry’s golden child since I got drafted. What I used to think was a partial sucking up in the name of staying on Olivia Young’s good side, had actually revealed that Henry saw me as a niece, or maybe even a wayward little sister who could use some home training.
But when your parents were basketball legends and you were desperate to fit into their shadow, it was only natural you’d adopt their wild personalities too.
“Henry!” I sang as I stepped into his office.
His office always ran colder than the floor, but that was what my 100% merino wool sweater and beanie covering my freshly-twisted scalp was for.
Henry didn’t move as he gazed out the floor to ceiling windows so I stepped behind his desk and shook his shoulders.
“Ah, Nola!” He jumped slightly at my touch.
“What’s with the spooks, man? Made a bad bet?” I wondered, gazing out the window with him, wanting to peer inside his brain to see what he was thinking. I’d never had a bad meeting with Henry but I didn’t know why I was here today.
“You could say that,” he mumbled and spun to the front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Why are you being formal with me?” I scoffed. I knew a normal person might start to freak out from Henry’s demeanor, but not a single bad thing could be happening to me.
Yes, I had a four year contract with the Violets that was expiring, but there was no reason I wouldn’t return.
Minus my penchant for devout loyalty, there was no way in hell I was going anywhere but Chicago.
This city was my home, and the fans might as well be my family.
Even if the SkyJet Arena was in desperate need of some TLC—and our team even more desperate for a state-of-the-art facility—that’d only happen when I brought another championship back to the city proving the Violets were worth the investment.
My agent Daya was hard at work on my contract negotiations.
At the thought of my powerhouse, superstar best friend I threw a silent cross across my body because, yeah, I was that grateful for her.
We were a team; each other’s ride or die.
She was pitching a salary increase for me that would strain the Violets overall salary team cap, but I knew I was worth the cost.
I plopped in Henry’s chair like I’d done countless times over the years, not an ounce of formality in my body. I went to silence my phone and I saw a text from my Aunt Rashida.
Weird she’d know I was out right now, and even weirder for her to not just call me, but I shrugged it off and tucked my phone back into my pocket.
Henry took a deep sigh, massaging his temples and ruffling the salty gray curls still laying thick on his head. “Nola, do you remember what it was like here four years ago?”
I could only relax slightly at the notion Henry wanted to walk down memory lane, but the need for nostalgia still felt stuffy.
“Well, it’d be rude to call it bleak…”
“And that’s why I love you, kid. You’re absolutely right. Bleak as hell. Tickets sucked, the two owner groups wanted to sell. It was dismal.”
It didn’t matter that I’d been focused on winning the NCAA championship my senior year, it was hard to be any person entering the draft and not know that the top teams—the Violets and the Jaguars—were close to shutting down or going to the highest bidder.
It was me and Lee that had given the teams a little more life to see another day.
Henry waved his tan arms around in the air, fresh from his yearly Aruba vacation, his tell that he was reminding himself to get on with the point. “You know we’ve been looking for a coach since Pat retired.”
I inhaled deeply as we finally arrived at why I was here. Henry probably wanted me to continue to meet with any potential coaches like I had with the first coach the org interviewed.
“Right.” I nodded.
“ I think we’ve found her,” he admitted. He flipped through the papers on his desk. The front office had long gotten on him for being in his late forties and still printing documents out, but he was stuck in his ways.
“Cool. When do I get to meet her?”
“You…actually know her already.”
“Oh, dope, even better.”
Henry went quiet, clearing his throat one too many times, and making my stomach queasy. Phlegm was disgusting.
“It’s Olivia.” He admitted, his hands interlaced on the desk. His mouth set in a grim line.
“I don’t know an Olivia.” I pondered, hoping maybe there was someone along the way I couldn’t remember.
“You do, Nola.”
Wait.
“Olivia…as in…my mom?”
What the fuck?
“Correct.”
“I mean, yeah she’s talented, we know that,” I started.
Talented was an understatement. My mom’s resume was stacked; of course she was a hot commodity for open coaching positions.
She’s literally half the reason my basketball IQ was off the charts. It’s almost like I saw the court and I analyzed long before the ball was in my hand. Olivia Young would absolutely get the Violets another championship in this new generation.
“But there has to be a rule or something about family playing or working together.”
“That’s the thing. We needed to consult the commissioner on this.”
The commissioner of the league was also my mom’s best friend…who was also my godmom. My jaw clenched at the way this was quickly becoming a family reunion.
“And what did Evie say?”
“It may be in the team’s best interest if we didn’t renew your contract.” Henry finally confessed.
Maybe I was a self-absorbed bitch because I ignored the tears brimming in Henry’s eyes, my own eyes seeing red.
“Yeah, right. Over my dead body.” I scoffed.
“Nola, listen—”
“No Henry. Let me get this straight. You’ve made the decision to hire my mom over keeping me here? The rookie who got you a ring? Is this because I didn’t bring it home in October? You know I can do better; I know I can do better!”
“Nola, this isn’t about you.” At the sound of my aunt’s voice, I whipped my head around to see Evie Jones standing in the doorway.
Ten years retired from playing, and she was still as intimidating as if she was still in her prime.
Her slightly-graying red hair had been cut into a severe bob since I was a teenager, and her power suit of the night was cobalt blue.
I missed her at Thanksgiving this year, but suddenly her absence made a lot more sense.
“The league and the Violets need to avoid any…potential scandals, mistreatments, lawsuits—you name it.”
“Henry, you brought back up?” I rose up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and trapped. “Who’s next, Olivia?!” I yelled, and though I didn’t mean to, I really couldn’t help it. The Violets had Young versus Young for tonight’s primetime game, and I knew I was severely outmatched.
I never thought I would leave Chicago. I’d never thought that Chicago would want to give me up. And yet they were picking the better of the two.
I felt like Cesar getting stabbed by Brutus.
“Nola, this was not a simple decision, and we felt like Evie’s presence could help with any questions. This is business, not personal.”
“Fuck business! I don’t have questions, Henry, I have a demand. Don’t pick my mom, keep me. Let’s keep this good thing going.” I was out of breath, and my body was running hotter than normal. I sat down, my body jittery. “I can get us another ring. I can get us three more.”
And that was just my humble opinion.
“Nola, this has nothing to do with your skillset at all. This is about legacy. We need someone who’s going to change this organization around, someone who knows how to get their hands dirty and do what’s needed.
Yes, we need a star player but we need a star coach first.” Henry slumped his shoulders like this was causing him more anguish than anticipated.
Honestly, I was glad I was making him work for it.
I might be the cockiest player on the team, but I was far from the most dramatic or hot-headed.
Between feeling like I had Chicago on my shoulders and constantly fighting the comparisons to my parents, I knew I had to behave.
I didn’t need media training because I was media trained the second I came out of Olivia Young’s womb and placed into Nolan William’s arms.
“And you also need players,” I said through gritted teeth. From the corner of my eye, Evie had shifted her position to lean against the doorframe, her fingers moved a mile a minute on her phone.
“If you’re texting my mom, I swear to God, Evie. I thought this was business; not personal.” I mocked.
Evie stopped typing.
“Nola, I will do everything in my power to make sure wherever you end up next, they know how special you are. I mean that. I don’t want to say goodbye, but this is the end of the road for you and the Violets.” Henry said definitively.
My jaw locked as if I had nothing else to add, but of course I had more to say.
I was raised to revere my coaches and management the same way I respected my parents.
It was embarrassing enough that basketball and family blended so much that my aunt was the goddamn commissioner here to pacify me and explain the league’s intention.
But to know a decision came down between mother and daughter, and I lost?.
But why wouldn’t I? Olivia Young was a force.
She was every struggling organization’s dream.
I was merely her egg, and, some would argue, was only good because of her.
Even if I knew that was total bullshit. I worked my ass off, went to the school she didn’t want me playing at, made my own name for myself with basketball fans my age, and even won over the older generation too.
And in the end, it didn’t matter.
As much as I didn’t want to rise from the plushy seat I didn’t remember sitting back down in, I extended my hand to shake Henry’s, then Evie’s, and I was off the way I came.
In my car, I rang Daya.
“Heyyy, New Orleans.” Daya greeted me, but I didn’t have it in me anymore.
“I’m out, D,” I whispered.
“Out of what? Time? The closet? But we knew that.” She laughed at her own joke.
“Out of Chicago…”
Her silence rang, “Nola what the hell are you talking about.”
“Olivia’s the new coach.”
“Olivia…Young?”
I nodded as if Daya could physically see me. My silence was enough though because I could hear her fingers rapidly typing on the creamy keyboard I gifted her for Christmas.
“Tell me what you want,” she said in all seriousness. And this was why I loved her.
“Not Jersey.” She flashed in my mind. “Otherwise, I don’t care. Whoever will pay the most.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You’ll hear from me by Wednesday.” It was Monday night, but I didn’t doubt my best friend.
“Thank you,” I murmured before handing up to drive in silence. The rageful tears I wanted to let out in the office poured down my face.