Chapter 3
CLAY
“This is going to be embarrassing for you,” I growl.
“Try it.” Jay’s down in a defensive stance, eyes tracking my every move as though he’s a snake charmer and I’m a cobra.
“You’re not ready.”
“I was ready yesterday.” He reaches to try to snatch the ball midair from between my knees, and I pull my dribble tighter and grin.
“You waiting for retirement?” He demands, shaking his head and making his braids sway. “Come on.”
It’s a game within a game. The one-on-one battle of strategy, agility, and strength between offense and defence.
Jay might be one of the top guards in the world, but I’m one of the top scorers.
And I hate to lose.
He’s half a second late, and I weave past him, driving to the basket.
Atlas comes off his man to cover me, his icy eyes intent.
Miles waves. “I’m open!”
The basket looms just past Atlas’s fingertips.
I take the step back.
Swish.
The other guys on the court all groan, and I shake my head at Jay. “You can’t guard me.”
My friend and teammate rolls his eyes. “Missed you this summer, too, man. Now, let’s see you do it again.”
We run another play that ends with the ball in the basket off my fingertips.
Swish.
There’s nothing like the feeling of the perfect shot. From the second the ball leaves your fingers, you know.
It’s physics.
Music.
Poetry.
Every subject I didn’t give a shit about in school.
Swish.
Not a lot you can count on in this world, but the perfect arc of that ball from your fingertips when you’ve done it a million times before…
That’s the real deal.
Jay tries to wrench the ball from my hands.
“Foul!” Miles shouts.
“Like hell,” Jay bites out.
I dribble around Jay to find Atlas, our center and the biggest guy on our roster, on the other side.
“You wanna take me?” I ask.
His half-hearted defense makes me smirk as I dodge around him, hitting a point-blank layup before the whistle sounds.
“Wade!” Coach barks. “We got a week until preseason. How many men you see on this court?”
“Coach, you know Clay dropped math in college.” Miles laughs, fist-bumping me.
“The game isn’t one-on-one. I know you’ve been injured half a season, but now that you’re back, they’ll be sending bodies at you. Get Rookie involved.”
We set up to run it again.
Seeing the guys again after a couple months feels good. The advantage of being a senior member of the team is skipping training camp. They trust you to prep your game and be ready to work when you land.
Literally.
I got off the plane and just had time to drop my bags at my place before driving to practice.
An interesting flight it was, too—
“Clay!” Miles shouts as he passes to me, nearly taking off my head.
I react in time and catch the ball, lob it across to Rookie, then cut behind the guy covering him. Rookie sends it back to me for a dunk.
Hollers go up from around the court.
But this time, when I land, my knee twinges.
I grit my teeth to hide my response to the pain.
Coach blows his whistle before anyone notices.
At first, I think he’s going to let us go, but then I spot the figure approaching from the bleachers.
I straighten, palming the ball as I take in the familiar form.
“Gather 'round,” Harlan calls.
I shake my head before turning to our new GM.
“There’s no mincing words. It’s my first full season here, and I want to win a championship,” Harlan says.
“You’ve got a ring already,” Jayden jokes.
The guys laugh.
“There’s a reason we’re having the wedding before opening day. This team is my priority for this year. Basketball is a family. It’s easy to put your own wants ahead of others, but at the end of the day, we need other people in order to succeed.”
Bullshit.
I turn and grab the black bag with my phone and personal shit on my way toward the tunnel.
“Clay!” Jay calls.
I pretend not to hear him.
It’s fake. Every word from Harlan’s mouth.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be. On you and everyone else,” Harlan calls, catching up to me.
I drop my half-open bag between my feet. Sweat drips off my face and lands between my Kobes on the polished floor. “You think I don’t care about basketball?”
“You care more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s why this team went to the effort to trade for you despite your baggage.”
I snort. “If you were part of this team when the trade came up, I would’ve passed.”
I keep my game dialed so the rest doesn’t bleed in. Except…
A flash of neon pink catches my eye.
It’s only a staffer wheeling a cart of colored basketballs for some charity thing at the other end of the hall.
Still, the sight drags me back to the plane, and the girl whose hair was the same color.
Nova.
The pixie sitting in my seat who said more in an hour than I say all day. Cute and bright, the kind of cheerful that tries to rub off on you when you’re not looking. Even when I tried to shut her down, she persisted.
She didn’t know who I was. Can't recall the last time I felt so invisible.
At first, it was entertaining, but after a while, it was liberating.
I could be anyone, do anything I wanted.
A hollowness has lingered in my chest ever since I arrived here in Denver last year. An emptiness or a dissatisfaction or both that I can’t talk about, let alone square with, because I’m living a life most people only dream of.
But when she looked up at me with those indigo eyes, trusting and vulnerable and talking about how she was gonna go to the wall for her sister, I felt something tugging on my heartstrings for the first time in years.
Harlan’s voice brings me back. “You’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen, Wade. You can make this team win. But your stock isn’t as high as it was. You’re coming off an injury, and even if you weren’t, you can’t do this alone.”
I grab a sweat towel out of my bag, wiping my neck.
“Save your breath. Don’t pretend to be my friend or whatever the new management technique is—we’re not friends. You made sure of that years ago.”
I ball up the fabric and shoot it into the used towel bin half a dozen feet away before continuing down the hall toward the locker room.