Chapter 25
CLAY
“This is a crock of shit.” Coach’s voice is raspy, but there’s no hiding his disgust.
“Interesting seeing as how I had to do hundreds of hours of rehab when I fucked up my knee.”
Coach sets down the light dumbbell and flips me off.
We’re at the gym together, working out for both of us, but mostly it’s for him.
“Body’s as strong as it’s going to be,” he gripes when we stop for a water break.
“When you’re bench pressing two-twenty, we’ll talk.” I reach for my own drink.
“You don’t need to come with me every time,” he says.
I cock my head. “Heard you don’t always show up when I’m on the road.”
“Todd is a dirty snitch.” He glares across the room at the forty-something head of therapy at the rehabilitation facility.
As if he hears us talking about him, Todd crosses the room, an iPad in hand. “How’s it going today, Coach?”
“Fine. Was good as new weeks ago.”
After months in the hospital, machines keeping him alive, he’s frailer than he’d admit.
“Yes, well, it’s good to continue to build strength and expand range of motion. Can you touch your toes?”
“Do I look like a goddamned ballerina?”
I cough and nod to a woman passing with a clipboard clutched in her hands.
“Am I cleared?” he asks Todd.
“For what?”
“To go back to work. The team needs me. The stand-in guy’s been doing all right, but he was never head coach material.”
Todd and I exchange a look. I nod to tell him I’ll take this one.
“The new guy’s holding shit down. Come watch practice if you don’t believe me.”
“Harlan doesn’t want to talk about me getting my job back, but I can’t sit on the sidelines forever. He likes you.”
I chuckle. “Not sure that’s true.”
“Respects you, then. You could put in a good word,” he says hopefully.
“When I get back. I’m going to Aruba for a couple days over all-star break. Don’t worry, Coach. I’ll do my exercises.”
“Huh. That sounds nice.”
“I’d invite you, but I already got a plus-one.”
He throws a towel at my head.
I’m looking forward to getting away with Nova. Yeah, it sucks to be passed over, but this is a damned good second option.
Plus, I want to show her I can handle the ups and downs of the season without going off.
Because as much as I’ve tried to resist it, there is a life outside basketball.
When we finish up at the gym, Coach and I head outside, and I steady him as he shifts into my car.
“What’ve you not done in this league?” I prompt. “Been coaching twenty years.”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three,” I amend.
He glares at me from across the car. “You know damn well what I haven’t done.”
A championship.
“All the work. The late nights and early mornings and days and weeks and months on planes… you do it to win,” he says wistfully.
I shrug. “You got to finals. A ring’s not all that.”
“Easy for you to say—you’ve got one.”
As I pull out of the parking lot, an idea strikes me. I promised I’d take him to his favorite fast-food place after training. Once he’s established at a table with his burger and fries, I pull out my phone and make a call.
“Yeah, I need it today. This afternoon.” I listen, one eye on Coach devouring his burger. “I know.”
More words stream through the phone.
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
After eating lunch, I take him to a park. He’s spent months indoors, and if I’m honest, I prefer to see him in the fresh air instead of in a hospital room or a gym for rehab.
We’re both bundled up in jackets, and people are skating outside on a public rink. We claim a bench nearby, watching.
“What time’s practice?” he prompts.
“We’re off today.”
He makes a disgruntled sound, as if the idea of rest is beneath him. But when he speaks again, I wonder if he’s thinking of something else entirely.
“You know why I’m here?”
“Because Todd wouldn’t take you to the park.”
Coach snorts. “No, I mean here at all. I could’ve tapped out during these last months. Just drifted off. God knows the doctors probably wanted me to.”
“I don’t think they—”
“When people talk about there being a tunnel, and a light at the end, I always thought it was bullshit. But there is a path. And there is light.” He inclines his head as if he’s picturing it. “But my work wasn’t done.”
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. “You’ll have to retire someday.”
“Why? What will you do when you retire?”
I’ve asked myself that a lot since I got hurt but never had a satisfactory answer. “Travel with Nova and my friends. Visit my sister. Take a pottery class.”
He snorts, and I laugh too.
“You’re joking.”
“Who the fuck knows. I’m no artist, but Nova makes it look good. Maybe I’ve been missing out.” We sit in silence a minute before I ask, “How about you?”
“I have no idea. That’s what terrifying. The not knowing.”
I nod. “It’s messed up, but this year signing with the Kodiaks felt like the biggest risk I’ve ever taken. How is it possible coming back to something you’ve done is more terrifying than doing something entirely new?”
“Because there are ghosts here. Ghosts of who you were. Where you’ve been. What you did in these halls, with these people. But after you’ve climbed the mountain, the most frightening thing in the world is finding yourself back at basecamp looking up.”
I shift an arm across the back of the bench, watching a kid skate with who looks like his brother. The younger one falls, waits to be picked back up.
“When I was young, all I cared about was being the best,” I say. “Now I look at a guy like Kyle, and I know I don’t want to be that. But I don’t want to keep going until my body fails more than it works. I don’t want to be remembered as weak.”
“You think Jordan or Kobe would’ve achieved what they did if they were looking for approval?
They wouldn’t have dared. They wouldn’t have risked.
” Coach sniffs, tugging his toque down on his head.
“We can’t control how people remember us, Wade.
We can only control how we remember us. If you go out fighting in a way you can respect, that’s enough. ”
I’m still turning that over when a black car pulls up in the parking lot nearby. Security guards step out.
“Come on,” I tell Coach, rising. “This is your ride.”
We cross to the parking lot, and a guard holds the door.
I nod for Coach to get in first, and I shift into the spacious back seat after him.
Inside the limo is a huge case and another guard. The guard opens the case, and inside is the championship trophy.
Coach’s eyes glass over as he inches closer, perching on the edge of the seat. His legs shake from the effort.
“The hell is that?”
“You wanted a championship,” I say. “I brought you one.”
The two-foot-high prize features a life-sized basketball, all of it gold. It’s been held by so many legendary teams.
Coach lifts a hand, tugging off his glove as if to brush a finger over the shiny face of the trophy, but he hesitates.
His eyes tear up. “I can’t.”
There’s a superstition around touching it if you haven’t won.
I take his hand and press his palm to the mirrored surface.
“We’ll do it together.”