Chapter 14
Cal
When Nia told me I needed to leave that morning, I honestly couldn’t even argue with her.
Not because I wanted to go, but because deep down I knew she was right.
The second things between us started becoming emotional, we both panicked in completely different ways.
Nia pulled away while I suddenly wanted more access to her than I’d ever allowed myself before.
Still… none of it fully distracted me from her.
Not hearing from Nia all week sat weird in my chest in a way I hated acknowledging.
Normally after nights together, we bounced back easily.
A joke. A text. A little flirting. Something.
This time? Nothing. That silence bothered me more than I expected.
By Wednesday, even Mars noticed something was off. I was sitting in my office downtown reviewing updated production notes when she walked in carrying her coffee and tablet. Her eyes narrowed immediately the second she looked at me.
“Wow,” she muttered while setting her things down. “You look terrible.”
I barely glanced up from my laptop.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious, Cal. Have you shaved this week?”
“I’ve been busy.”
Mars crossed her arms while studying me harder.
“You’ve also been wearing the same hoodie for two days.”
I finally leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly.
“Mars, can we please focus on the program?”
That made her pause slightly because she immediately knew I was irritated.
“Fine,” she sighed while pulling up the finalized itinerary on her tablet. “You’re onsite Friday at four. Network prep starts at five. Hair and makeup at six. Live preshow starts at seven-thirty.”
I nodded quietly while she continued walking me through the schedule.
Since Mars handled most of my management and public relations coordination, she’d basically spent all week making sure everything attached to my name stayed polished and organized.
Press interviews had doubled after the network announced I’d officially be joining courtside coverage for the opener alongside veteran broadcasters.
That opportunity alone should’ve had me fully focused.
Instead, I’d spent half the week looking rough and overthinking a woman who clearly needed space from me.
But as the days slowly passed, the ache in my chest dulled little by little.
Not completely. Just enough for me to breathe normally again.
And by Friday morning, something in me finally shifted.
Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was pride.
Maybe I simply got tired of feeling sorry for myself.
Whatever it was, I woke up before sunrise feeling clearer than I had all week.
I hit the gym first thing that morning and pushed myself harder than usual, letting the sweat and weights clear my head completely.
By the end of the workout, my body felt lighter and my thoughts finally quieted down for the first time in days.
Afterward, I headed home, showered, shaved, and got cleaned up properly for once all week.
My barber squeezed me in late morning, and by the time I looked in the mirror afterward, I almost laughed at myself.
There you are, I had thought to myself.
Fresh fade. Clean beard. I finally looked like myself instead of some man spiraling.
I grabbed lunch downtown afterward at a quiet steakhouse near the arena while reviewing final notes on my tablet.
The closer game time got, the more alive I started feeling again.
Surrounded by executives, athletes, producers, and broadcasters moving through the city preparing for one of the biggest games of the season, I slowly started settling back into my zone.
I realized I had been tripping a little. Nia and I were complicated. That didn’t mean my life stopped.
By the time I packed my overnight garment bag and headed toward the Houston Phantoms Arena Friday evening, I felt sharper mentally than I had all week. The second my car pulled beneath the private media entrance, adrenaline immediately hit me straight in the chest.
This was different.
The deeper I got into the arena, the more everything around me started feeling real.
Production assistants moved quickly through the halls with headsets on while camera operators rolled massive rigs past us toward the court.
Security guards stood at every entrance checking credentials, while giant monitors throughout the tunnels streamed warmup footage and countdown graphics for the live broadcast. Giant digital banners of J5 stretched across nearly every screen inside the building, while fans crowded outside hours before tipoff, hoping to catch a glimpse of players arriving.
The energy surrounding the arena buzzed like playoff season had already started. And I was part of it.
By the time I reached the backstage talent prep room, my adrenaline had officially kicked in. Mars stood near one of the styling stations, already going over paperwork on her tablet when I walked in. She looked up immediately and smiled.
“There he is.”
I smirked slightly while setting my bag down.
“You nervous?” she asked.
“A little.”
“You should be,” she laughed softly. “This is huge.”
I moved toward the wardrobe rack where my outfit waited freshly steamed.
For tonight, I kept it polished but still true to myself.
The tailored navy suit fit perfectly without looking overly corporate, and underneath it, I swapped the typical tie for a crisp white collared shirt left slightly unbuttoned at the top.
Clean. Sharp. Comfortable. Like an elevated version of how I normally dressed.
Mars looked me over approvingly once I finished changing.
“Okayyy,” she grinned dramatically. “Mr. National Television.”
“Relax.”
“No, seriously, Cal,” she said, softer this time. “You look good.”
I adjusted my cuffs while one of the audio techs clipped a mic pack beneath my jacket. Mars stepped closer then, straightening my collar lightly before looking up at me with a completely different expression.
“I’m proud of you.”
That caught me off guard a little.
“You’ve wanted this since you were like sixteen,” she continued quietly. “You used to sit in your room watching *Inside the NBA*, talking about how one day you’d be there, too.”
I laughed softly, remembering it immediately.
“Yeah.”
“And now look at you.”
For a second, I just looked around the room, taking it all in. The producers. The cameras. The controlled chaos of live television happening around me. And somehow… I had made it here.
Mars squeezed my arm gently before stepping back into manager mode again.
“I’ll be courtside below the media platform if you need anything,” she said, glancing at her tablet again. “Just text me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A production assistant appeared a few minutes later.
“Mr. Sinclair, we’re ready for you.”
It was go time.
I followed him through a long tunnel beneath the arena while the sound of music and crowd noise grew louder with every step. My heart started thumping against my ribs, a fierce surge of pregame nerves and excitement locking me fully into the zone.
Then suddenly the tunnel opened.
Damn.
The arena looked insane.
Fans filled the lower bowl already while lights flashed across the massive jumbotron overhead.
Music blasted through the speakers loud enough to shake the floor beneath my feet while camera crews moved around courtside capturing warmups and celebrity arrivals.
Everywhere I looked somebody important stood talking.
Former players. Executives. Reporters. Athletes.
The entire building buzzed with anticipation for J5’s return.
The production assistant guided me toward the elevated media platform positioned courtside near halfcourt where the live analysts sat overlooking the floor. Multiple cameras faced the desk while monitors beneath it streamed live footage and stat tracking in real time.
And seated there already were the other analysts.
Marcus Vaughn looked up first the second he saw me approaching.
“Well there he is,” he smiled while standing to shake my hand. “Houston’s loudest podcaster.”
I laughed immediately.
“I learned from the best.”
Terrence Cole dapped me up next.
“You ready for this young fella?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.”
“You’ll be alright,” James Bishop added while adjusting his earpiece. “Just talk basketball. That’s all this is.”
That actually settled my nerves a little.
Within minutes I was seated beside them getting fitted with my final IFB earpiece while producers talked rapidly through our headsets reviewing opening segments and camera assignments.
“Cal, you’ll lead the J5 recovery discussion in segment two,” somebody
instructed through my earpiece. “We’ll come to you after Vaughn finishes the opening commentary.”
“Copy.”
I adjusted my mic slightly while glancing out across the arena.
I felt good.
Comfortable.
Like I belonged there.
The crowd continued filling quickly while music thundered throughout the
building and giant player introductions flashed across the screens overhead.
Players moved through warmups below us while photographers crowded
the sidelines trying to capture every moment.
Then my eyes landed on her.
Nia.
Standing alongside J5 on the sideline near the bench area while watching him during warmups.
And for a second, everything else disappeared again.
Her hair was slicked back into a clean bun tonight, exposing every beautiful feature on her face, and something about seeing her hair like that hit me unexpectedly hard because I hadn’t seen her wear it that way since we were
kids.
She looked incredible.
An all-black Alo set hugged her body perfectly while she moved confidently across the court beside J5, completely locked into work mode. My chest actually ached looking at her. For a moment my mind completely blanked.
Then like she felt me staring, her eyes lifted toward the platform.
Straight to me.
A soft smile spread across my face and she returned a smile immediately.
And right there in the middle of all the confusion between us lately, one
thing still remained true.
We were proud of each other.