Chapter 19 #2
I just nodded. Her warm smile eased some of the tension sitting on my chest. She grabbed her purse and walked toward the door. Mr. Stone followed, but he paused before leaving.
“We’ll see you at the center.”
Kane didn’t answer him. The door closed, and silence filled the apartment. I slowly turned toward Kane. He stood beside the table with both hands pressed against the back of the chair, his head lowered.
“You good?” I asked.
“I’m straight.” He released a hard breath.
“I’m tired of that shit, Slim. Every time something good happen for me, he find a way to make it feel like I’m fucking up.
I finished college. I’m about to get drafted.
I ain’t got no kids running around, no criminal record, no scandals, nothing.
But somehow, who I love is still a problem. ”
I stood and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. Kane’s body relaxed beneath my touch.
“Don’t let him ruin today,” I said against his back. “You worked too hard for this.”
“I’m not.”
“You were about three seconds away from cussing him out.”
“I still might.”
I laughed and pressed my cheek between his shoulder blades. “Not until after you walk across that stage.”
Two months later
WNBA Draft night
The lights were so damn bright that I felt like everybody in the building could see the sweat forming beneath my makeup. Cameras were everywhere, moving from table to table, waiting to catch somebody crying, celebrating, or looking disappointed when their name wasn’t called.
I sat between Mama and Kane with my hands locked tightly beneath the table. My agent and coach sat across from us, trying to keep me calm, but nothing they said to me was registering. All I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears.
“You keep squeezing my hand like that, I’m not gon’ be able to use it tomorrow,” Kane whispered.
I looked down and realized I had abandoned my own hands and was damn near crushing his.
“My bad.”
“I ain’t tell you to let it go.” Kane tightened his fingers around mine. “Break that motherfucker if you need to.”
A nervous laugh slipped from my lips. Kane leaned over and kissed the side of my head, careful not to mess up what the hairstylist had done.
My locs were styled in an updo with a few curled pieces hanging around my face.
The stylist had put me in a fitted black pantsuit with a silver top underneath and heels I could barely walk in.
When Kane saw the heels, his eyes had widened so wide, I thought they’d pop.
I said I wouldn’t wear any makeup ever again, but Mama talked me into it.
She couldn’t stop taking pictures, even sneaking some in.
The pantsuit was the compromise. Everybody wanted me in a dress, but I told them they had lost their damn minds.
I was already nervous enough. I wasn’t about to be sitting in front of millions of people worrying about my legs being crossed the right way too.
“You look beautiful, baby,” Mama said for the fifth time.
I turned toward her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just so proud of you. Proud of all you’ve accomplished. I knew I birthed a star.”
Her watery eyes said otherwise.
“Mama.”
“What?” she asked, blinking rapidly. “I said I’m fine. You worry about getting drafted.”
I offered her a nervous, small smile and then turned to my man whose hand I was still squeezing.
Kane was drafted to the Heartville Hawks. He wasn’t far from home. So many teams were interested in me, I wasn’t sure who would choose me. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stay close to home.
Part of me wanted to experience something new. A new city. New people. Somewhere where no one knew me. Like…I could start my life over. The other part of me wanted to stay close by.
I glanced toward the stage as another player’s name was announced. Her table erupted. She screamed, hugged her family, and covered her face while cameras rushed closer.
“That’s the third pick,” my agent said. “You’re good, Scottie.”
I nodded like I believed her.
The truth was…it didn’t matter how many mock drafts had my name near the top.
It didn’t matter how many teams had interviewed me or how many coaches had praised my game.
Until I heard my name come out of the commissioner’s mouth, none of it felt real.
I had spent too much of my life learning how quickly good things could disappear.
My knee bounced beneath the table. Kane placed his free hand on my thigh, stilling it.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
I kept my eyes on the stage.
“Slim.”
I finally looked at him. His expression was calm, but I knew Kane well enough to know he was just as nervous as me. He wasn’t nervous about me getting picked, he was nervous about the distance. The tension was there in his jaw. We had a whole discussion about it last night.
What if I go far away?” I whispered.
“Then I’m getting on a plane.”
“You have a whole season.”
“And planes fly in both directions.”
“What if we barely see each other?”
“Then we make every second count when we do.” Kane leaned closer. “Stop trying to find a problem.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“Nah, you being scared.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised an eyebrow.
“Wherever you go, I’m with you. Regardless. You hear me?”
I slowly nodded.
“Say it, Slim. You know I need to hear it verbally.”
“I hear you.”
“With the fourth pick in the WNBA Draft, the Heartville Hornets select Scottie Grant from Law Grove University.”
Everything stopped. I heard my name, but my body didn’t move. I got to stay with Kane.
Mama screamed beside me. My agent jumped from her chair. Coach started clapping, and Kane pulled me out of my seat before I could understand what was happening.
“That’s you, baby!” Mama cried. “She said your name!”
“Oh, my God,” I breathed.
Kane wrapped both arms around me and lifted me from the floor. I buried my face against his neck as the room exploded around us.
“You did that shit,” he whispered into my ear. His voice sounded thick. “You hear me? You did that. We get to stay together unless one of us gets traded.”
When he set me down, his eyes were glossy. This was the first time I’ve seen him with tears in his eyes. This meant so much to not only me, but to Kane too.
“Are you crying?” I asked, already knowing he was.
“Nah, man. These lights just bright as fuck,” he replied with a lie.
I laughed even as my own tears spilled down my cheeks. Vani had to be looking down right now, beating his chest and screaming for me. He would have been the loudest in the room. My heart clenched.
“Go get your jersey and your hat, baby,” Kane cheered.
I hugged my mama tightly, hugged my coach and agent, and then headed toward the stage on wobbly legs. I prayed I wouldn’t bust my ass.
The walk toward the stage felt longer than any court I had ever played on. Cameras flashed from every direction. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other without falling.
When I reached the commissioner, she smiled and handed me a red and white Hornets jersey with my last name across the back.
Grant.
I stared at it for a second before holding it up. That name had been through struggle. It had survived overdue bills, long nights, worn shoes, empty cabinets, doubt, and every person who had ever looked at me and decided I wasn’t enough.
I was enough.