Chapter 25
CLAY
“Helluva game,” Harlan greets me as I drop into the booth opposite him and unzip my jacket. I grab a fry off his plate.
The waitress comes by. “Can I get you something, Clay?”
“Coke. Thanks.”
“Rebel.” Harlan’s eyes crinkle as she departs. “When I came through, you showed up to practice on time and drilled your shots. You were fine. Now everything is about optimizing. Nutrition, sleep—it all gets tracked and improved to the finest point. There’s no such thing as good enough.”
I turn that over as my Coke arrives and I take a sip. “You sound like you miss those days.”
“I miss when guys were treated like people instead of scorecards.”
The leather booth creaks as I shift back and study our GM.
He turns his beer in his hand before taking a long sip.
“Things are challenging with Coach out. Emotionally, for everyone, because no one figured he’d still be in this position a week out, but also for making decisions.
Because deals have to get signed and players need to be locked down. That’s why I want to talk about LA.”
A bit of the friendliness fades from his eyes, replaced by resoluteness. “I called your manager this weekend—”
“I don’t want a trade.”
His nostrils flare.
I'm sure the words sound as strange in his ears as they feel in my mouth.
“Since when?”
“A while,” I say.
I’ve always thought taking control of my destiny was about getting to the best team and creating a legacy for myself.
What if I’ve been seeing it wrong the whole time?
Harlan curses under his breath. “Your entire career, you’ve known you were the best. But I won’t build a team around a man who doesn’t want to be here. Can’t put a house on an unwilling foundation.”
“I can lead this team,” I say.
“But do you want to? Or is this about Nova?”
My hands fist. “I think you’re beyond asking questions about my love life. But I wouldn’t be the first player to make a decision to stay near the people he cares about.”
This is how I’ll show her I’m committed to us. To a future together.
I can give her some of the stability she craves without making decisions for her.
Harlan’s expression softens a bit. “She’s certainly making an impression around here. And I’m sorry for trying to keep you apart. I thought it was for the best, but that doesn’t make it right.”
I shift in my seat, take another sip of my drink. Guess some part of me thought that too, or I wouldn’t have done it. “You still sleeping on the couch?”
“Spare bedroom,” he corrects.
“Not much difference.”
“Not in the ways that count.” Harlan slings an arm over the back of the booth. “Mar’s been going through something. But she hasn’t talked to me about it.”
The fact that he’s suffering too blunts my animosity towards him. In this, at least, we’re the same.
“I meant what I said, Harlan. I’m committed to this place. This team.”
The waitress comes back to offer Harlan another beer, which he declines and then asks for the bill. I nod that I’ll pick it up.
“Why’d you want to meet at Mile High?” Harlan asks.
“I haven’t been around in a while and wanted to check in.”
“Because you like the fries.”
I study him, wondering what his game is.
Nova would show her cards and trust that the rest would work itself out.
“Because I own forty-nine percent of this bar.”
Harlan stares me down for a minute before he shifts out of his seat and wraps his scarf around his neck, tucking it into his wool coat. “You’re full of surprises.”
I rise too and reach for my coat. “Thank fuck. I’d hate to be predictable.”
He considers, then nods. “LA will be disappointed to hear they won’t be getting a veteran all-star for their post-season lineup. I’ll talk to James and confirm with you.”
The tension in me releases.
Another week and the trade talk will be dead. Nova will know I’m here for the long haul.
“You realize this is called all-star break for a reason?” Jay comments from across the court as he passes to Rookie in practice.
Normally, most of the guys who weren’t invited to the all-star game would spend a few days relaxing with friends and family afterward.
Today, I called in a favor and grabbed us the college gym.
“You know who lays on a beach in February? Retirees,” I reply.
Rookie grunts as he cuts through the defenders and goes in for the dunk. Atlas stops him, sending him to the floor. Rookie falls on his back, and I’m over the court, extending a hand.
“Layup,” he says as he grabs it, shaking his head because he doubts his decision.
“No. You had it. That was a blocking foul.” I ignore Atlas’s protest. “Take it.”
Rookie nods. I pull him up and clap him on the shoulder.
The entire team was supposed to be back for the gala, but I asked them to come a day early to practice.
In fact, this is an unscheduled practice.
We’re at this gym because I don’t want anyone knowing what we're doing. None of the coaching staff is here. Only the players. It’s off the books.
I want a man-to-man talk with the roster.
“Let’s keep it going. I gotta be home in an hour,” I say.
“Your girl waiting on you with spread… arms?” Atlas amends at my look.
“Nah, I’m moving my trophies and shit out so Nova can move in.”
Miles shakes his head. “Still think she’ll wake up and realize her mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake. She’s mine and I’m hers.”
They all stare at me.
“Now get back to work.”
We finish running the drills. I jump in to get the reps and prove I’m not only good for talking.
After, I gather the team around a whiteboard. “Next week, we’re going to LA. Back-to-back. One guess what our goal is.”
“Get Kim Kardashian to sign my dick?” Rookie volunteers.
I grab a marker.
“Wow, he’s really lost his mind,” Atlas mutters to Jayden.
I write four numbers on the board, a hyphen separating the first two and second two. “You know what this is?”
“Our record.”
I write another number. Three. “What about this?”
This time there’s hesitation.
“Games out,” Rookie says.
“That’s the number of games out of first place we are.”
One more number.
“How many teams are ahead of us. And this is the bonus round.” I write one final number. Ten.
Jay frowns. “It’s not the number of games we need to get a playoff spot."
“That’s the number of games we need to win to guarantee home court for the first series.”
“Home court.” Atlas laughs. “We’ve never had home court.”
“Otherwise, we play somewhere like this. Unfamiliar. Hostile. I want our fans in the seats. Our banners in the rafters. Our colors on the floor. Not because we can’t beat a team on the road. Because when we do this, I want witnesses.”
The guys exchange looks.
“We can win ten games,” Rookie says, but it’s cockiness, not belief.
“You tell me.” I look at him.
Rookie knows what I’m asking. “Yeah. We can."
I turn to Miles.
“Sure, Clay.”
Atlas. This guy’s been around a few teams, made deep playoff runs.
He nods.
Then Jayden. My long-time friend and teammate.
“What do you say, Jay? We gonna take ten?”
He frowns. “Let’s take ‘em all.”
A cheer goes up.
After we finish, Jay waits a bit for the room to empty, grabbing for his towel on the seats. “What was that about? Not that I don’t appreciate the Mighty Ducks shit, but it’s not your style.”
“Maybe my style is changing.” I drag off my practice jersey and stuff it into my bag, reaching for a fresh T-shirt.
He checks his phone. “Hear LA is looking to make some trades. Deadline is the day of the gala.”
“Won’t be with me.”
Jay’s eyes narrow. “How do you know?”
“Because I asked Harlan not to. And he owes me.”
My friend's tense face dissolves into disbelief. “You’re staying?”
Harlan’s commitment replays in my mind.
“I’m staying.”
He grabs me in a hug so hard it’s my turn to be stunned. It didn’t occur to me that this was eating him up so much. But I can feel his relief and happiness.
Come to think of it, I’m pretty glad to be staying too.