Chapter 21
NOVA
“Are you ready to come out?” the gallery owner asks, teasing. She’s a few years older than me and seems to understand the nerves.
I’m hiding in the back room, chewing on my cheek and pacing the storage room filled with canvases.
My first dedicated art exhibition is at a gallery in NoHo.
Brooke texted a little while ago to wish me luck and say she’d be first in line tomorrow.
The team is on a back-to-backs, so they’ll be spending every second from the end of tonight’s game until tomorrow’s afternoon one in recovery.
My collection tonight is not about sports but people captured in motion. I like movement. It implies change, momentum, celebration. Everything changes. Everyone does.
“And here you thought no one would come,” the gallery owner says.
“They are?” My heart leaps.
“We’re nearing capacity.”
I follow her out to the main gallery, and my jaw hits the floor when I see a few dozen people milling around with drinks and canapés in hand.
“Let me introduce you around,” she says, tugging me toward a couple talking animatedly about a painting inspired by dancers in LA.
An hour later, I’ve managed to consume a glass of champagne and I’m buzzing happily, but it’s from the atmosphere and this place.
From the corner of my eye, I see the owner sticking red dots on the name cards of not one painting but two.
My breath catches. “What does that mean?”
“Sold. At preview.” She looks around. “To him.” She nods discreetly. “And them.” Another couple. “If we’re not careful, you might sell out tonight.”
She takes another red dot sticker and places it on yet a third painting.
“Who bought that one?” I ask, spinning around.
“That was someone on the phone who bought it sight unseen from the gallery’s website.”
Here, I am valuable. I do matter.
“Excuse me,” says a pleasant voice that has the hairs lifting on my neck.
Her gaze lifts to something over my shoulder.
“We’ll pick this up later,” the gallery owner murmurs to me.
I turn, and the blood drains from my face. The man standing in front of me is wearing tailored jeans and a sport jacket. He has a beard, unlike the last time I saw him, but his face is the same.
“Brad,” I whisper.
“Long time, Nova.”
It’s like seeing a ghost.
A couple moves to pass us, and Brad smiles pleasantly at them and takes my arm, moving me toward the canvases.
“What are you doing here?” I demand under my breath, aware of the environment we’re in. I don’t want to make a scene.
“I wanted to apologize for the way things ended.”
My eyes widen. “Like how you disappeared in the middle of the night without a word? This is one of those instances you could’ve just texted.”
He blinks, surprised by my boldness. “I had to see what you’ve created.”
I shift toward the next painting over. “Creativity is the one thing we had in common. You got creative with the company’s clients and their money. And you set me up to take the fall for it.”
Brad casts an uneasy look around.
“I was trying to provide security for us. You ran at the first sign of trouble.”
This man shared a home with me. Asked me to be his forever.
But my gaze runs over the strokes I put on one of the canvases. There’s the old version of me in that painting and the new one. Every layer is another layer of me.
I lift my chin. “I can see things through. At least when they’re worth seeing through.”
“Did I hear right that you’re dating some basketball player? Guys like that don’t stick around.”
The words are aimed at the soft spots between my ribs, but they glance off.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
The realization makes me stand straighter.
“As agonizing as it was to be left overnight and face the consequences of all you did, I should thank you.”
“Thank me?” Brad echoes, uneasy.
“You helped me clear everything out of my life that I didn’t want and made room for what I did. Now,” I lift my chin, “if you’re not here for the art, I’m going to ask you to leave. I know you have that part down.”
I watch him trip toward the door, stumble outside and cut across the street in front of the gallery.
I never wanted to see him again, but in a way I’m glad he came. It showed me he’s only a ghost with no power. A reminder of who I used to be and how far I’ve come.
Before I can turn back, my gaze lands on the bench outside. My heart kicks when I see a familiar form resting on the bench holding a bouquet, half illuminated by the gallery lights.
I’ve never run to a door so fast in my life.
CLAY
When I got to the gallery, I started to go in but stopped short when I saw her through the glass smiling with another woman.
She was wearing a pale gold dress, her hair pinned up in a pink knot on her head with dangly earrings.
She looked like an artist.
Or a goddess.
I was never much for sitting on the bench when I could be in the middle of the action, but tonight, I wanted her to have this moment for herself.
So I sat.
“You’re playing back-to-back games,” Nova murmurs when she sees me.
“You had your first gallery show. I needed to be here.”
She smiles, her eyes shining under the streetlights, raindrops collecting on her lashes.
Which parts of her created which parts of me? Because I wasn’t this man a year ago. Didn’t feel these feelings before her.
“These are for you.” I hold out the daisies—the largest bouquet I could order within walking distance of the gallery. “You always said they reminded you of home. Thought you might appreciate the reminder in the big city.”
Nova takes them, her slow smile and the way she cradles them in her arms making me glad I tried three different florists to find exactly the right ones.
“Who was the guy who just left?” I ask.
She huffs out a breath. “Brad.”
“Your asshole ex Brad?” I spin on my heel to see if he’s still out there, ready to do some damage.
“Don’t even think about it.” She tugs me inside.
We walk around the gallery, Nova telling me about each piece.
She’s beautiful and alive, her creations on the wall. Leaving pieces of her soul on the canvas the way I leave mine on the court.
“This never would have happened without you.”
“Yeah, it would’ve.”
“No, I mean it.” Her brows pull together. “You pushed me, made me believe I could be the kind of artist to have an exhibition.”
“You always saw people better than I did.”
“I see other people. You saw me.”
As a pro athlete, I’m used to my body hurting. Around her, parts of me that usually hurt feel better, and the ones I never noticed stretch and break.
I turn over what she said earlier. “So, your ex”—I can’t bring myself to say his name—“you have much to talk about?”
Nova snorts. “He showed me the things I wanted in my life.”
What the fuck? She’s not seriously forgiving him.
My gut twists, hard enough I think I’ll be sick on the sidewalk.
Maybe she’s moved on, wants different things than I thought.
“Did you eat?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Feel like Italian?”
We finish the exhibition, and the gallery owner starts to close up. Nova thanks the owner and discusses business for a bit, then she and I head over to my favorite restaurant in the city a few blocks away.
With help from the owner, we slip into a back corner table to order drinks and dinner.
“What happened to eating healthy during the season?” she teases after I put in my request for fettucine alfredo.
“Gotta live a little.”
We eat, but I’m barely tasting the food. I’m too focused on her.
The curve of her cheek.
The humor in her eyes.
The knowledge I could lean over and brush my mouth over hers.
That I’d give millions to do exactly that right this moment.
“You said the ex showed you what you wanted?” I pretend it’s a casual question. It means everything.
The past few weeks, I’ve been realizing how important Nova is. She’s the one who holds things together for me, who keeps me from being unhealthily obsessed with basketball. Not by pulling me away from it, but by reminding me how beautiful the rest of the world is.
“A home. A family. A place where I can do my art and explore the world.”
“You want those things with him?”
She blinks. “No. He showed me what I want by giving me what I didn’t.”
Relief slams into me, but it’s short lived.
“I didn’t give you that either,” I admit.
“I should have been there for you. When things got hard, I shut down and shut you out. I stopped being there for you when everything you did was for me. I’m sorry.
I’m still working on it, but my therapist helped me figure out some of it.
I’ve made appointments every couple of weeks for the future.
” I huff out a breath. “I was in a bad spiral. Like I was living in the middle of a storm I couldn’t get out of.
And no matter how much was good, I couldn’t see my way through. ”
“I keep wondering if I could’ve helped you more.”
“No. You’re not responsible for the clouds. You’re my rainbow, Pink. You’re the good that comes after.”
Her eyes soften.
We eat our dinner, and I remember how good it feels to spend time with her. It’s not even about sex but just enjoying her company, how relaxed I am when she’s near.
When the waiter comes with the bill, I hand him a credit card. After I pay, we head out, walking side by side.
I’m suddenly serious. “Before I met you, I thought life was as good as it would get unless I landed a title. You turned that upside down. Made me realize how much I have to learn about life and basketball. I wasn’t the best player I could be, and I sure as hell wasn’t the best man.
You matter more than any championship. If you give me a chance, I wanna win you back.
Slow and steady. You’re my endgame, Nova, and I’m going to show you what that means. ”
Nova’s silent, her brows pinched together.
It’s driving me crazy not knowing where her head’s at.
If she’s losing her mind being this close to me, like I am with her.
I reach for her wrist, tugging her to a stop and forcing her to look up at me.
I’m a foot taller, but she’s the one weighing me. Measuring me. Evaluating whether I’m worth taking a chance on.
She peers up at me from under her lashes. “Are you going back to Denver tonight?”
I reach for the back of her neck, tugging her close enough our noses bump.
“You tell me.”