Chapter 3 Avery
Chapter three
Avery
It almost feels like we’re attending somebody’s funeral with how eerily quiet this locker room is. There isn’t anything that makes it even remotely obvious that we not only just beat the reigning champions, but the game wasn’t even fucking close.
To the surprise of everyone on my team, I didn’t get fouled off and got to play the entire second half while sitting very uncomfortably on four fouls until the final siren sounded.
But my team could be to blame—or thank—for that, considering they seemingly all but forgot about my existence.
It’s like…something in them switched when we walked back out onto the court for the final quarter. Like they suddenly remembered I was the person they’d heard about all over the news last year, and not the guy I’ve been my whole career.
One slip-up, caused mass destruction.
"Are you finished feeling sorry for yourselves?
" Coach White asks, his voice louder than necessary.
"There's no room in my fucking gym for self pity.
You either pat yourselves on the back for coming out on top, or you can head back out onto the court, and run suicides until the sun comes up.
" He pauses to watch us. "Are. You. Done?
" He spits the last three words, and I swear I feel the spray of his saliva slap against my forearm.
"Yes, Coach," fifteen voices repeat in unison, but none sounding enthusiastic or believable. We’re in the beginning of the season, every game is important if we want to make it as far as we did last year, and while I have no doubt every player in this room wants to go out and celebrate tonight, they don’t want to do it with me.
I’ll be heading back to my apartment, alone.
Madison Square Garden is my place of work. I don’t have a typical nine-to-five job, so I can’t ever switch off. And while I know deep down in my core that this is going to be the last season I ever play in the NBA, right now, I can’t seem to find it in me to care.
My career is over. I came to terms with that a long, long time ago, but last year’s incident was just the nail in the coffin.
I came to the decision alone, but I know Ryder figured it out when I did. He knows I’m not coming back. Our manager, Orlando, likes to pretend he doesn't know it, too. The only two people who don’t share my blood, but love me for who I am. Love me like brothers would.
Last year was a low point in my life. One I don’t think I’ve ever fully recovered from.
Since then, with every news article that came out about me, true or not, the entire country began to hate me more and more.
They deemed me reckless, irresponsible and downright selfish.
I understood why, though. They never had concrete evidence against me, but what they had was enough.
Everything was speculation to the public, but behind the scenes, it was a giant mess.
A mess I didn't have the energy to clean up.
It was easier for the press to paint me as the villain in their story. It gained more traction that way. It made them, as journalists, more reputable.
They all got greedy. Liked the way the public hung on to every word that was said about me, so they ran with it, milked it for all it was worth.
"He was drunk, jealous and spiraling. While sources and their version of events might be conflicting, one thing remains true: Avery Jones is aggressive."
Ryder, Orlando and I are the few people in the country who know what really happened, and the only people who would never speak up about it. You couldn’t pay us to tell anybody.
I’m the one who made that idiotic, sober choice, and now people assume I have something to hide.
I am a closed book, but if there’s one thing you need to know about me, let it be this: I’m not one to be fucked with, and my family are an extension of me.
Consequences, be damned.
"Good. Now, listen." Coaches’ eyes sweep over the room. "The season is well and truly underway, which means I need everybody to keep their heads down, focus on their jobs and nothing else."
Coach pins me with a look that probably would’ve lit a match under my ass twelve months ago, but now has no effect on me.
"Our place of solace is being used to house a couple of pop stars over the next few days. During that time, the only thing I expect from you is work. If it’s not paying you, your asses need to stay locked up in the place you call ‘home’.
No funny business. Do you hear me? Names out of the tabloids.
No drinking. Stick to your curfews. And for the love of the fucking team, keep your dicks in your pants. "
Coach huffs, gripping his clipboard against his chest.
Good thing we weren’t expecting any praise after that win, or we would be sorely disappointed. "I said, do you hear me?" His voice roars so loud, the entire roster of boys nod quickly, with the words ‘yes, coach’ being the only audible response.
"Good, now get the fuck out of here." His eyes land on me, and it feels like they’re burning a hole directly into the depths of my soul. Like the words he just spewed out weren’t enough, and that he still needs to tear me apart a little more than everybody else.
I always felt like I was undeserving of my spot as a professional basketball player. I worked hard to be here, I know that, but it’s always been a hard pill to swallow that this is my job, when it could’ve gone to somebody else.
Right now, I know Coach White feels the same way.
My brain even goes as far as telling me that Orlando only sticks by my side because I make him a shit load of money. Not because he, Ryder and I have all been inseparable since College.
"Jones," Coach White calls out over the sound of the team collecting their things, locker doors slamming as they scurry off to give us some much-needed space. "A word." My body stiffens.
"What’s up, Coach?" I ask, doing my best to keep my voice steady, grateful my hands are occupied by the t-shirt I was about to throw on.
He slams a magazine into my chest, and I know what’s on it before I even get the chance to look. I have the article almost memorized by now.
And while it was printed at the end of last season, the damage still feels raw, the heat in my wrist returning.
While I did everything in my power to protect Noelle from the onslaught and repercussions, she’s twenty-one.
There’s very little I can do to keep her safe.
New York nightlife for newly legal young women is dangerous territory. One, I encouraged Noelle to explore. Something I will forever regret.
"I want none of this shit this season." He pushes my chest slightly, and so badly I want to tell him that it won’t happen again.
That it was a misunderstanding. That the guy on the front cover isn’t who I am. That it was a lapse in judgment. A mistake.
But I don’t, because I’ve never felt comfortable lying to my coach, and I know if I were in the exact same position as last year right now, I would act the same as I did.
I know when to pick my battles. And if I want to continue to be on the starting five this year, having a disagreement with my coach isn’t the way to go about it.
He doesn’t offer another glance my way before stalking off to his office, leaving me as far behind him as possible.
"What did he want?" Ryder asks, and I shake my head in response, slamming the magazine into my bag, ready to be turned to ash the moment I get home.
"Eavesdropping isn’t a good look on you, York." I scowl at him over my shoulder.
"And neither is being a miserable prick all the time, but here you are. What did he want?" he asks again, resting his shoulder on the wall near the entrance, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Nothing new. Nothing I can’t handle." Ripping open my locker, I collect my things in a hurry and head for the door.
"You know we got you, right? Me and Orlando, whatever you need," he says, jogging to walk by my side as we head out to the car park.
"I was there. I saw it all happen. All I have to do is leak it to the press, and your name is wiped clean. Noelle can move on. And maybe you can too. Or, maybe you’ll want to play another season. "
My jaw ticks, and I feel my teeth grind together, knowing it wouldn’t be that simple, even if I wanted it to be.
"And like I’ve told you countless times, if you do that, my sister becomes the topic of conversation.
I want to keep her out of the public eye.
If you talk to the press, it opens up a can of worms that Orlando paid to keep quiet," I tell him with my bag slung over my shoulder as we close the gap between us and our cars.
"Noelle is an adult, Avery. The sooner you realize that, the better." He grips my shoulder. "You can’t baby her forever. What are you going to do when she brings a boyfriend home one day?"
"I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it." I ignore the pit growing in my stomach. My phone rings as I open my car door, and I see my sister’s name printed on the screen in big, bold letters. "I’ll see you later, man."
Sliding into the driver’s seat of my navy blue Mustang, my phone automatically connects to the speakers of my car, and it’s like my sister knows how long she has to wait before her voice can be heard.
"Avery," she says, high-pitched and way too excited for how I feel right now. I just want to go home, eat, and pass the fuck out after a long week of brutal training, being ignored by my teammates, and winning tonight.
"Hey, Noe," I say, looking over my shoulder to make sure the roads are clear before I make my way out and head in the direction of my apartment.
"I need a favor."
I freeze, knowing full well what implications this favor might just have for me and for her.
"You realize I can say no to you, right?" I merge lanes, sighing with relief when the outline of my building comes into view.
"Uh, yes. But you won’t. I want to go see the Akira Rain show." She stops there, waiting for an answer. Honestly, I’d go see Akira just to hear that one song of hers. Maybe sneak backstage and ask her who her friend is, while I’m at it.
"Akira Rain?" I ask, hopefully without raising suspicion. "The chick that sang that God awful song, like, fifteen years ago? She’s still around?" God-awful, yet it will no doubt be the number one song on my yearly wrap-up that I won’t show another soul.
"I don’t want to see her, not really. I need to see her opening act, Olive Herring. I missed out on tickets to see her last time they toured together, and totally forgot she was opening for her again so soon."
She didn’t forget. She just knew that I would have access to getting her better tickets than what she could’ve gotten for herself if she waited online like everybody else.
"You want to see a person named…what?" The door to the parking lot opens automatically for me as it scans the license plate on my car, and I make my way to my assigned parking space.
"Olive. She’s the hottest up-and-coming singer at the moment.
Keep up, Ave." I hear the way her phone rattles as she no doubt shakes her head at me.
"Do you think Orlando can get me tickets?
Please, Avery. Please," she begs, her tone light, cool, and not at all serious.
Not at all like a girl in her twenties who should be doing everything for herself.
"I think you mean us." I mean it. If that girl wants to do anything at the expense of me and thinks I’m not going to be tagging along right behind her, she’s got another thing coming.
She thinks I’m an overbearing brother, when really, I just want to hear that song live.
"If I’m putting you at risk, Noe, I’m with you at all times.
Or you can say goodbye to the tickets." She’s silent for a long time, no doubt trying her best not to remember that night in her head.
Like I do, every time I shut my eyes.
"Fine. Can you get an extra ticket for Leah, too? It’s at MSG, I figure you have some pull there." I roll my eyes, putting my car in park.
"Leave it with me."
I end the call while her ‘thank you’s’ linger through my car's speakers. I open my door and slam it shut before hitting Orlando’s name on my phone, bringing it to my ear.
He agrees to tickets, and I decide on the spot that if I have to go to some bullshit concert for a girl named after a plant with my twenty one year old sister and her annoying best friend, Ryder needs to come, too.
"Four tickets. If you can get a box, that’d be better," I tell him, his laughter vibrating through the phone into my ear.
"Five tickets. You think I want to miss this shit? Seeing you uncomfortable in a sea of fan girls for a woman whose song you claim to hate, but know word for word? And you think I’m going to let you hide?
Hell no, brother. I need some entertainment in my life, and you’ve just secured some for me. I’ll text you the details."
Ending the call, I open up my text thread with Ryder and shoot him a message.
Ryder York
The only plans you have tomorrow night are with me, Orlando, Noelle, Leah and some chick named Olivia or something.
Oliva? Sounds hot. Aye aye, captain, count me in
It might be brief, but I find myself feeling lucky in that moment. Because even when I could feel myself spiraling down the path my life has decided to take, Ryder and Orlando are still the only two people I can count on through it all.
I want this season to be over, and I want it over now.
Preferably with what little of my reputation and image I have is still intact.
If not, at least I’ll know I did it for the sake of my family.
I open up the calendar app on my phone and add in the details of the concert for tomorrow night, sending an invitation to the new group chat my sister has created.
Concert Crew
Be at my place by six, or you can stay home.
Ryder
Bossy.
Noelle
You’re the best big brother ever.
Leah
Thanks, Avery.
Orlando
Rolling my eyes, I look through the rest of my calendar, making note of anything of importance, and I physically feel all the color drain from my face when I see what’s in store for me.
The concert tomorrow.
Games and training galore.
The one that sticks out to me is the annual Youth Girls and Boys Basketball Association charity event I completely forgot about.
And when I see that Orlando has canceled his request for me to auction off something, I know he’s got it covered for me.
Not a good sign.
Shit.