Chapter Nineteen
Nola
I realized I didn’t know where I was going.
I was so used to Chicago; so used the hallways of my luxury apartment that I could only afford because of sponsorship deals.
Back in Chicago, I had sleek hallways and dark gray walls with patterned carpet that muffled the sounds of whoever was approaching.
The lights hung low and bright, lighting the intricate hallway systems until I made it to my own place.
I knew the route to the indoor garage so well I could navigate with my eyes closed, knowing whose kids constantly came careening down hallways, and whose dogs were playful or standoffish.
But here, I was fucking lost.
The hallways in this Miami building were bright with floor to ceiling windows similar to the ones in my new townhome.
I couldn’t just hop in my car to drive around until my head was empty like I had in Chicago. I stood in front of the open elevator desperate to get a taste of fresh air, even if it was humid as hell.
I hadn’t had time to process the whirlwind that’d been my life the last two and a half months—though the avoidance was all my design.
Every call from my parents had gone unanswered; I only had the heart to send thumbs-up emojis or passive aggressive gifs when Clay checked in on me. My aunt Evie’s silence was standard.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to not be ruled by logic for once, to not make everything a big deal and persevere in the name of being easy.
But I didn’t want to be fucking easy.
I wanted everyone to feel my hurt, the claustrophobic way my heart felt when I looked at my old Violets group chat and saw my friends hanging out without me, in the city that I was helping put back on the map. The city I got a ring for.
I also felt like a damn fool.
Players being traded, coaches getting fired then hired, was all part of the game.
Why had I thought I would be immune to that?
Why couldn’t I have been cautiously optimistic that my first team wouldn’t be my forever team?
I decorated my apartment, which really meant hiring a decorator, because I wanted my apartment to feel like home.
And now strangers were in my former home taking my things, my furniture, my clothes, my beloved sneakers to make the cross-country drive.
The elevator doors slid open to the lobby I hadn’t spent much time analyzing earlier. Light blue walls evoked the ocean, the tiles under my feet a washed stone giving the effect that this building just happened to appear on top of the beach.
I froze in place, no sense of direction, no awareness. The lack of confidence added another layer of suffocation.
“Ms. Young? Can I help you?” An older man appeared out of thin air, his suit indicating he was the doorman. He stuck his hand out to hold the elevator door open. The sound of my name loosened some pressure in my chest. I took a wobbly breath.
“Where…canI go to clear my head?” I laughed humorlessly, trying to diminish how I was actually feeling. He had knowing, kind eyes, dark green and surrounded by wrinkles in the creases like he’d spent his entire life laughing. As if he knew joy well.
“Are you a fan of the beach?” His voice was light.
“I can be. Where I moved from we had lakes.”
“Oh! There’s a path right through the garage that will lead you to the beach. A few people have said they’ve done their best thinking there. Including myself.” He winked, and it felt like a needle popped another balloon inflated in my chest. Giving me an inch more space to breathe.
“Thank you…”
“Miguel.”
“Thanks, Miguel.” I scurried away, embarrassed, rushing to find relief. The garage hallway blurred around me as my long legs took me to the door at the end. Eyes were always watching; someone would always have an opinion. If I answered any of my mom’s calls she would tell me the exact same thing.
For once I just wanted to feel unburdened.
I pushed the door open, the loose hinges smacking the door against the back wall.
The warm breeze caressed my face, the roar of the ocean louder than the unbearable thoughts in my head.
Even while spiraling I was smart enough to take off my leather sneakers and socksI wiggled my toes, which felt very absurd and kind of embarrassing, but wasn’t that something people did?
The well-trodden path caused a small channel that sat lower than the sand mound either side, and I was thankful I hadn’t had to navigate far to find it..
Tall grass blades swayed in the breeze as I got acclimated to the path.
A golden retriever and its owner passed me; they must’ve known me because they deliberately made eye contact and said hello.
I focused on the crashing of the waves, letting it lead me to an unfamiliar destination.
The ocean was quickly in view, and I rubbed my deflated chest feeling the lightness returning.
Strangers roamed with pets, alone, or other people.
It felt like the perfect place to run across the sand and into someone’s arms. Which I only knew from the rom-com movies my dad used to make me watch with him.
I focused on all of my senses, admiring the beauty of the sun setting over the ocean and sat down for a bit.
The sun had practically set when I decided to head back to my townhome. This had been the most emotional thinking I’d done in years, and I made a list in my notes app on how I was going to conquer every inconvenient obstacle in my life.
In no particular order, I must:
As much as I would love option four, that would require getting my mom fired, or her failing miserably at her job—neither were possible in any universe. I wasn’t raised to be a whiny baby, but I really just wanted to be home.
I looked for Miguel but found another doorman in his place. I checked my phone, skimming messages that were either new or the many I was avoiding. On a burning instinct, I called Daya.
“It took you long enough, New Orleans; I’m literally pulling up to your apartment now.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Have you not been on your phone? Seen what the blogs are saying?”
“I don’t think anyone still has a blog these days…”
“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. Now let me up please.” I looked across the lobby to see my pissed best friend. “She’s with me!” I told this shift’s doorman who was too wrapped up in a book to care much.
Daya did a visual scan of my body, working her concerned eyes from my platinum scalp to the socks on my feet.
“Did you run out in a hurry? Did she threaten you?!” The crazy was out to play in Daya’s eyes, her irises blown wide as if she would’ve had to physically intervene even when I had a good six inches on her.
“Daya! What’s going on, and don’t leave out the context!”
“Those annoying sports gossipers are getting a ‘firsthand report’ that things are super hostile between you and Lee.”
“Hostile as in?”
“That you guys got in a screaming match after the press conference and she stormed out saying, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna fuck her up.’”
“Why’d you come here?”
“Because if anything was going down, obviously I would’ve joined you.”
“Daya…”
“You know I hyperfixated on karate long enough I got a black belt.”
“Yes, I was there,” I reminded my angry friend. One thing Daya would do was develop a niche side hobby that made for one of the hardest rounds of two truths and a lie. “Come with me to see just how cold and unfeeling Lee can be.”
“This isn’t good to have out the day before you guys meet the staff, you know…”
“And it’s the exact opposite of what Tashi Blade said she wanted.
” The legends she walked with were traditional and rigid.
Used to years of being looked down upon and defying the odds when everyone thought they couldn’t.
They’d raised women like me to strive to make it to the top and keep paving the way.
Women like Tashi, Olivia, and Rashida evolved from women like me, Nola, and Danny.
I could already feel the levity dissipate from my body the second we stepped onto the elevator and traveled up to my floor.
“What were you doing before you got here?” I asked in an attempt to focus on anything other than the fact that I’d hidden from Brittney all day.
“Finished packing, got some drinks, then rideshared my ass here.”
“Drinks with who?”
“That’s not important.”
Daya had her secrets. I knew she would tell me in due time.
I pressed the key fob to the door lock and entered. It was way too bright, too loud, and smelled like heaven.
An ear-piercing shriek sounded from the couch.
“Holy shit!” Brittney popped up from the couch, her loose curls flopped around her face while the television blasted a verbal argument between two women.
“Lee, relax!” I yelled as I tried to get a lay of the downstairs space. The lights were on in the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and the bathroom.
“Shit, I forgot you live here too.” Brittney had her hands pressed over her sports bra-clad chest. Her chest heaved, hypnotizing me. I willed myself to find another spot to look at.
“Why is every light on in this place?” I wondered, walking to the farthest corners to turn the switches off.
“Well, I ate at the dining room table, then I was stocking the kitchen, then I plopped over here to watch some housewives and…” She looked around the room as if it’d help her remember something. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“And you needed every light on for each room?”
“I guess I’m bad at turning the lights off.” She turned her back to pause the housewives’ argument“It’s not like I owe you an explanation.”
“You kind of do.” Daya interjected. “As roommates and, you know, people getting paid to play with each other.”
“Sure, whatever.” Brittney relented easily. Which was literally the opposite of how I’d thought this would go. Brittney started to turn back to the television, Daya and my presence be damned, then whipped her head back around. “Wait, no offense, but like, why are you here?”
Daya walked into the kitchen and opened every cabinet before finding a glass, inspecting it for cleanliness, and getting water from the tap.
For every movement she made, Brittney eyed her with suspicion.
My best friend was the definition of a shit stirrer.
She liked to make people sweat; had perfected it Daya thrived in uncomfortable silence.
For every second that passed, Brittney’s fingers drummed on the couch, the movement accentuating the tendons in her hand and the light pink polish on her nails.
I forfeited my place in this standoff—Daya and Brittney could go at it all they wanted as long as they kept me out of it.
Unlike Daya, I was the one who had to sleep here.
“Daya, please.”
Daya took an obnoxiously long sip from the glass. “I came here to check on the wellbeing of my client and best friend.”
Brittney stopped tapping and rolled her neck. “Because…”
“Because it’s being reported that things are dire between you two and—”
“And you thought we were in a physical fight?”
“In which I wouldn’t need back up!” I interjected for the record.
“Well, that’s all very nice and admirable, and while I do harbor deep loathing for your client here, I am too pretty to get into fights.”
“Lee, they literally call you the crash out queen.” I retorted.
“God forbid a girl have big feelings!” she shouted and stood, leaning against the couch.
I was not looking at her cleavage. I was not looking at her abs. Oh wow, maybe I did like reality tv.
“Can I see this report?” Brittney extended her hand to Daya.
“Where’s your phone?” Daya didn’t concede.
“Ugh, somewhere under all the clothes I was unpacking until I got hungry! Please?” she whined.
Maybe it was the way Brittney was now worrying her lip, or how her face showed her irritation. Daya handed the phone over.
“I think the more important question here is who’s making up fake stories considering we just got here. I mean, my siblings already gave me a debrief on my general…behavior and none of this came up.”
“Well our press conference was a mess, thanks to you, yes.” I started.
“Thanks to me?!” Brittney mocked.
“You literally had a rebuttal for every statement I made!”
“You started an elbow war!”
“You didn’t fail to mention how you beat me then the Violets dumped me!”
“Because the first statement you ever made about me was how I wasn’t ready for the pressure of being a professional athlete!” Brittney yelled, her voice cracking.
I watched her eyes go glassy as she gripped the couch tighter. She whispered, “You embarrassed me before I even had a chance, Nola. It will always be tit for tat.”
The pressure in my chest gradually inflated again the more I stood here. Coming to Miami, living with Brittney, all this drama definitely did not feel worth it.
I wanted to go home. I missed my family. I missed my friends. Fuck, I missed Chicago.
“And I apologized.”
“Four years too late.” Brittney moved around the room in silence. She turned off the television, then the kitchen light, leaving the light on in the living room where we stood. She was about to move up the stairs when Daya finally spoke.
“I hate to play devil’s advocate, Nola, but you can’t put this all on Brittney.”
“What?”
“Does she antagonize you? Sure. But you feed into it and you antagonize, too.”
“Do you expect me not to?” I interrupted.
“Until we figure out if these ‘reports’ are just flukes or not, I think you both need to be on your best behavior.”
“That was already my plan,” Brittney mumbled, her shoulders collapsed, her usually bright eyes dull with exhaustion.
At least I knew I exhausted her the same way she exhausted me.
“Same. I don’t need another day of embarrassment for the world to see,” I grumbled and rolled my eyes.
“This was fun and all, but I’m going up. Daya, a pleasure, maybe.”
“Goodnight, Brittney.”
She headed up to her room without saying anything to me. I couldn’t help feeling that added more pressure to my chest.