Chapter 10
NOVA
“This is harder than barre class,” I pant as I follow Brooke along the hiking trail.
“How are the portraits going?” she asks to distract me.
My face screws up. “Most of them are done, but I haven’t done portraits before. They could be completely wrong.”
“Like… you painted the wrong people?” Brooke quips.
Since my art supplies arrived, I’ve been working on the portraits for Annie Jamieson’s film premiere. It’s happening next week, and I’m trying to get the paintings of the stars done on time and to the brief we discussed.
“I can’t believe I’m going to a movie premiere,” I say as we stop at a scenic clearing and I wipe a hand across my face.
“Because it’s in LA or because you’ve never done anything like that for yourself?”
“Both,” I admit.
“Are you going to see Mr. Needs-No-Contract while you’re in town?” Brooke takes a long swig from her leopard print water bottle.
“I haven’t told him about the gig.”
My friend spits out a mouthful of water. “Didn’t you get it when you were still in LA?”
“It was right before I left. It didn’t seem important compared to everything else going on.”
“Whatever you do, don’t make yourself small. For him or anyone.” She nods pointedly. “Let’s keep going. I’m earning nachos.”
I tilt my head to look up the mountain. “Maybe you can earn nachos for both of us.”
We’re both dressed to work out, her in a tank top and leather-looking bike shorts, me in shorts and a Kodiaks T-shirt, a ball cap pulled down over my face and a pink ponytail sticking out the back.
My things arrived by courier from LA. I unpacked the first box but couldn’t bring myself to open the second.
Kat posted a couple pics of them at the arena when Clay got his ring. It hurt not to be there, but I’m glad she went. It reminded me of right before they won.
“Which ones?” I held up two sets of dress shoes.
Clay looked up from his phone and tugged out his AirPods. “Huh?”
“Which of these amazing shoes are you wearing to what might be your finals-winning game?” I prompted.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t jinx it.”
That night was the finals of the championship. LA was up three games to two, and they had a chance to clinch it.
“You guys and your superstitions,” I teased. “Everyone knows you can do it.”
“Not up to me.”
Clay hadn’t played since getting hurt in the Denver game. It sucked. He was in the worst mood he’d been in since I met him. I felt for him, but at the same time, I was thrilled he was on the verge of making history.
There’s a reason a roster is fifteen guys and not five. Players need to rest. Others get injured. It sucks, but it’s part of the game.
“You helped this team get where they are. Everyone wearing a team jersey did,” I reminded him. “Plus, your stats line this year is beyond impressive.”
“My stats line?” He crossed to me and brushed a kiss across my forehead. “What is my stats line?”
“Um… fifty?”
Clay smirked. “Fifty what?”
I considered. “Points per game? And fifty assists too?” I added for good measure.
“And fifty blocks and steals?”
“No, only forty of those.”
He grinned as he took both pairs of shoes from my hands and walked past me.
I followed him into our room and the giant walk-in closet.
My dress was on a hanger. One of the walls had been fitted with a custom shoe rack filled with sneakers, and I got there in time to see Clay grab a pair of Nikes off the shelf.
“You don’t have to wear basketball shoes,” I said.
“Because I’m not playing, you mean.”
We both knew it was true.
“Because there are lots of footwear options,” I countered, rummaging through his half of the closet. “You could wear…what the hell?”
My fingers closed on massive rubber feet.
“Flippers?” I brandished the bright purple fins as long as my torso. “Are you secretly a scuba diver and you’ve been holding out on me this entire time?”
Clay grinned. “Nah, they’re from one of my sponsors. Got sent to me as part of a promo.” He pointed to the logo on one side.
“Well, you could wear flippers to finals. You’ll be the only one in snorkelling chic courtside.”
He wrapped both arms around me and crushed me against his huge chest. “Thanks, Pink.”
“At least you don’t need another surgery.” I lifted both palms, the flippers flopping with in my hands. “You can do most things, just not play elite basketball.”
He huffed out a breath near my ear.
“If I can’t play elite basketball, I don’t know what I do.”
Brooke’s phone rings, breaking into my memories.
“Jay?” she answers, frowning at the spotty reception. “What’s the…? I can’t hear you.” She presses the other hand to her ear, then blinks. “Okay.”
She clicks off, laughing in disbelief.
“What?”
“Coach is awake.”
I stare at her. “I didn’t know people got better after being in comas for months.”
“Miracle of modern medicine? A few of the guys are going to see him. Then everyone’s meeting at Mile High.”
We hustle our butts back down the trail and shift into her Lexus.
Clay. He needs to know about this.
I hit his contact, and it rings until his voicemail picks up.
I can’t think of the right words, so I click off without a single one.
“Look who it is.” Miles catches sight of us when we walk in the doors of Mile High. “Tour de France Barbie and Camp Counselor Skipper.”
Brooke flips him off.
Rookie and Atlas smile in welcome, already in the booth. Everyone looks up as Jay and Chloe come inside, him holding the door for her.
When Jay reaches us, he says, “I had to tell him we didn’t make the playoffs. From the expression on the old man’s face, the only person who was gonna die in that room was me.”
Laughter has the knot in my chest loosening. Miles and Rookie already have pints of beer, and when a waitress comes over, we order more drinks.
“So, how’s LA, Skipper?” Miles prompts me.
I fill him in, glossing over some details.
“Saw he got his ring,” Rookie says. “How’s he doing?”
The door opens again, and we all look up. Clay walks in, his hand on the back of a woman.
“What the…?” Brooke says under her breath.
He’s gorgeous in jeans and a camel zip-up sweater shoved up to his elbows, standing a foot and a half above the woman at his side.
She’s pretty. Not like the Kodashians’ try-hard kind but naturally, her hair falling in soft waves and her face freckled. They exchange a few words, and she looks at us, biting her lip.
She throws her arms around him. Disbelief rises up inside me, chased with white-hot jealousy.
Nowhere in the “break” did the idea of him cozying up with some other woman enter my mind.
Maybe it should have.
The woman leaves and Clay comes over to the booth, his gaze circling the crew. One by one, they size him up. Except Jay, who doesn’t move.
“Hey, man,” Miles says, breaking the quiet.
“Long time,” Clay says, but his eyes land on me.
Apparently.
CLAY
When I heard about Coach, I jumped on the first commercial flight I could get out of LAX, Kat and Daniel insisting they’d be fine finishing their trip in LA without me. After I landed, I saw a missed call from Nova.
Probably about Coach.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised she tried to let me know, but I am.
I haven’t seen Nova in weeks.
Now, she’s sitting between Miles and Atlas with her hair piled on her head, her face and arms tanned from the sun. Her T-shirt sleeves are shoved up over her shoulders. The Kodiaks logo on the front of her shirt taunts me.
For a moment, I’m stunned by the sharp feeling of regret in my gut, along with another emotion I can’t look at too hard because it might bring me to my knees.
After so long without feeling, I’m finally feeling something.
“Ah, you probably want to sit—” Miles starts to get up so I can sit next to Nova, but her hand clamps on his arm. “Right.” He looks between us.
“You heard about Coach?” This is from Atlas.
I shove down the irritation at Nova and Miles and focus on my former teammate. “Yeah.”
“How was he?” Miles asks, pulling me back to the present, and the guys lean in.
“Eyes open,” I respond.
“He say anything to you?” This is Atlas.
“Not really.”
“How you been? Helluva tan,” Rookie says.
“Sitting around doing nothing will get you that,” Miles adds.
“Winner’s tan.” Atlas nods.
Nova’s only a few feet away, and I’m aware of all of her.
“Clay, you want a drink?” the waitress, the owner’s daughter, asks as if I never left Denver.
Jay stands suddenly. “I gotta go. I’m late for some shit.”
We watch him head out, banging the door against the frame.
Guess some things change and others don’t.
Over by the bar, the waitress is struggling with a tray.
“Thanks,” she says as I help her right it.
“How’s business?” I ask. On paper, I own just less than half of the place, but I rarely review the financial statements that come through.
“You’d be proud of Dad. He modernized the system back here.” She shows me the new register. “It’s faster for customers during busy times and easier for accounting.” Her phone beeps, and she swears. “Can’t fix everything. Someone left some pallets out in the alley.”
“I’m on it.”
“Below your paygrade, champ.” She cocks her head.
“I’m off the clock, and you have customers.”
I head to the alley. I know I’ve been absorbed in my own stuff these past months—didn’t need Kat to put a fine point on my ahead-of-schedule mid-life crisis.
Still, seeing Nova in person, this break feels like an extra shitty idea.
She looks good. Is she really getting what she wants here instead of with me?
I grab a few cases and bring them into the storage room. On my second trip, she’s gone from the booth. I push out the door and pull up when I see the flash of pink hair on someone kneeling in the alley.
“What are you doing?”
She straightens to face me, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “I tripped over this case and broke a bottle.”
“On your way to what exactly?”
She doesn’t answer but lifts a hand.
I grab her hand and yank her toward me. There’s blood oozing from a shallow slice half an inch long. “Don’t move.”
I go inside to get a first aid kit before returning to the privacy of the alley.
“How’re Mari and the baby?” I ask as I set the kit on a barrel and open it.
“Mari’s exhausted, but she’s obsessed with Emily,” she says.
I take out the gauze and disinfectant. “Amazing.”
Nova cocks her head. “Did you just say ‘amazing’?”
I ignore her and swipe at the cut. Her blue eyes peer up at me from under dark lashes. Nova stiffens but doesn’t move away.
“The ring as massive as it looked? I saw the pics,” she goes on.
“It’s two pounds. Ideal for pawning to fund a gambling debt or smashing through drywall.”
“Never know when you need to do some home improvements.”
Despite the tension, our easy banter is there just below the surface.
“You get your things?” I ask.
“Yes, thanks. I needed my art supplies.”
Her art supplies. Not her clothes.
It feels less like a dagger.
“I’m doing these portraits on commission for an upcoming movie premiere. It came up the night of the party.”
I glance up, surprised. “You never told me.”
Because of our argument or because she didn’t feel like she could talk to me about the good things going on?
The wound clean, I cover it with a Band-Aid.
“I tried to call you,” she says. “About Coach.”
“I had my phone off for the plane ride.”
“Oh.” She tries to pull away, but I don’t release her hand.
She can’t be jealous. Not the free-spirited woman who could charm a room with an easy smile.
“You said you wanted a break,” I remind her.
“I didn’t know it would be so easy for you.”
The tightness in my gut springs up. “You have no idea how it’s been for me.”
“Which is the point,” she murmurs as she pulls away. “You haven’t talked in months.”
I exhale hard and seriously consider grabbing her hand again if only to force her to look at me. “Coach’s niece called me before you did. I got on a plane and met her at the hospital. She wanted to thank me in person for helping.”
“His niece,” she echoes, brows lifting.
“You think I was waiting for you to leave so I could hook up with another woman.”
“It’s not funny.”
It is in my head.
I haven’t so much as looked at another woman with interest since I met her. She’s it for me.
So how the hell did we get here?
“Nova…”
“Wait.” She interrupts. “How did you help Coach?”
“His insurance expired a while ago, but he stuck with me. I was going to stick with him.”
Her lips part, eyes widening with compassion and other emotions I want to name but can’t.
“I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings. But you need to try. If you don’t, you’ll lose more than you already have.” She clears her throat. “About the break…”
Fuck, I can’t handle her saying all the reasons it’s not working between us.
Not again.
“It was the right move,” I say before she can.
She squares her shoulders, chin lifting. “Right.”
The door behind me opens, and I turn to find Kyle hovering in the doorway.
“Hey. Didn’t expect to see you back in Denver,” he muses as he takes me in. “Am I interrupting?”
“No.” Nova shifts off the barrel.
Kyle flashes his teeth. “I’m Kyle.”
“I’m—”
“Nova. I know.” His grin lingers as he surveys her. “I’m Clay’s replacement. New and improved.”
Like fuck you are.
I don’t like how he’s looking at her. Not one bit.
I pick up the first aid kit, clenching it in my fingers.
She brushes past me, her scent lingering as she reaches the door.
“Huh. Guess LA wasn’t the city of dreams for you after all,” Kyle observes.
“Don’t even fucking think about it.” I grab his shirt and drag him close.
“What? You’re worried I took your town, now I’m gonna take your girl?” He flashes teeth.
It’s not his town. But he thinks it is.
If he believes for a second he’d have a chance with Nova…
“Kyle?” Miles calls from the end of the alley, and I force myself to let go of Kyle. “We’re making this get-well card for Coach. Our old coach, that is. Do you want to sign it?”
He brushes himself off, grinning. “Sure.”
Nova was right about one thing…
I have more to lose than I thought.