Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
KANE-TWO YEARS YEAR LATER
The NBA draft has terrible snacks.
I’ve been here forty minutes and Hannah has already rated the cheese plate a four out of ten.
“Too much garnish,” she says.
“It’s cheese.”
“The grapes are decorative.”
“You ate them.”
“I was testing the theory.”
She is wearing a dark green dress.
Hair down.
Tortoiseshell glasses.
Twizzlers hidden inside a designer purse Stella gave her because apparently draft night requires accessories that cost more than my first car.
Hannah threatened to return it.
Stella removed the receipt.
Vale encouraged the crime.
Across the room, my parents sit with Coach.
Coach Goodwin is talking to my father like they’ve known each other for twenty years.
Hannah’s mom keeps crying.
Hannah leans toward me.
“If you get drafted during one of her crying episodes, the pictures will be terrible.”
“She’ll survive.”
“You say that because your mascara isn’t involved.”
My hand closes around hers beneath the table.
One year.
One full season.
Return.
Conference title.
Tournament run.
My draft stock climbed back into the first round by February.
She still yells at the television.
Still catches things.
Still tells me when I make a possession personal.
But basketball stopped being the price of admission between us.
She coaches sixteen-under now.
The thirteen-year-olds aged up and refused to let her quit.
Evan rebounds like someone insulted his family.
Tyler occasionally passes.
Progress comes in different forms.
Hannah also declared a second concentration that involves material culture and statistics, a combination she describes as “dead people finally getting revenge.”
My phone buzzes.
Another sports account has posted a picture of us arriving.
HAVERHILL AND HANNAH STILL GOING STRONG AT DRAFT NIGHT #H&H
I show her.
She studies it.
“H&H”
“You want me to fix it?”
A year ago, I would have answered for her.
Now I wait.
Hannah looks toward the media area.
Then at our families.
Then at me.
“Yes.”
I smile.
“Sure?”
She pushes her glasses higher.
“Use my soon to be new name. Mrs. Haverhill.”
My chest tightens.
A reporter catches me between picks.
“Kane, big night. Who did you bring with you?”
I look toward Hannah.
She’s opening her Twizzlers.
Pretending not to listen.
“Hannah Goodwin, my fiancée.”
Her head lifts. Then her ring hand showcasing the huge heart shaped diamond on her finger.
The reporter smiles.
“The basketball genius?”
I laugh.
Hannah groans from the table.
“She’ll hate that.”
I look at her.
Bookworm.
Footnote.
Mystery girl.
None of them fit anymore.
“Future Wifie,” I murmur kissing her hand.
Her expression softens.
“That’s enough.”
Ten minutes later, the commissioner walks onto the stage.
My mother grabs Dad’s hand.
Hannah goes still beside me.
The pick is announced.
My name.
Everything after becomes noise.
My parents.
Coach.
Vale hitting my shoulder.
Stella crying while denying it.
Coach Goodwin pulling me into a hug.
Cameras.
Hands.
Voices.
Then Hannah.
I find her in the middle of all of it.
Same as always.
She smiles.
Not because of the NBA.
Not because of the contract.
Not because everyone finally knows my name.
Just me.
I reach for her.
She comes willingly.
And this time, when the whole world watches, neither of us runs.