Chapter Twenty-Eight
Todd
As promised, Taylor doesn’t make it back home. I try to convince myself that it’s no different from any other time she’s spent the night in Cleveland, but the truth is I miss her more than I want to admit.
So I drag my feet through classes and practice for the second day in a row, shots clanging off the rim more often than they swish.
At one point Coach even glares at me and says, “Bergman, if you don’t want to be here, then don’t bother coming,” in front of the whole team.
There are moments, after losses, bad practices, or just days that feel like a wrong-sized uniform, when the last thing I want to do is go home.
It’s even worse when all that’s there is microwave ramen.
So rather than go home to stale air, I camp out in the locker room.
Post-practice banter fades out one guy at a time, lockers slamming and showers hissing, until I’m the last warm body in the place.
I lace up my battered shoes and drift toward the gym, letting the heavy door bang closed behind me.
The court is empty, the floor reflecting a ghostly double of the scoreboard.
I fetch a ball from the rack and start at the top of the key, launching three-pointers with the kind of casual focus you get from muscle memory and not much else.
As my arms settle into the rhythm, I catch myself thinking about Taylor again.
I remember how she says the sound of a ball hitting leather, or the crack of a bat, is her favorite kind of music—her soundtrack, like it belongs to her alone.
The idea sticks with me as the echo of the ball fills the gym: my own soundtrack, the bounce, the swish, and the squeak of sneakers.
Suddenly, the door swings open. “I thought I heard someone in here,” Jacob says casually.
“I’m not in the mood, Jake,” I say, deliberately using the nickname I know he hates.
He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just fishing for gossip. “What aren’t you in the mood for?”
I chug some water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You.”
“Well, I’m not particularly thrilled to see you here either.” He scratches his head. “Look, why don’t we just play a little one-on-one?”
“Keep the trash talking to a minimum, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” I reply, tossing him the ball.
He nods, and we start the game. Surprisingly, I become grateful for Jacob’s presence—it’s only when I focus on defending and scoring that I finally manage to clear my head.
It’s game point, and he tries to drive to the basket. My size works to my advantage as he reconsiders and attempts a shot over my head. I raise my hand and swat the ball away effortlessly, then take it back to half court before making my move.
Where he wouldn’t stand a chance shooting over me, I easily get the ball above his reach. There’s at least a foot between the ball and his fingertips as he jumps, but he can’t catch it.
Swish—the ball sails through the hoop.
I turn to him, pumping my fist in the air. “Game.”
Jacob extends his hand, and we shake, surprisingly good sports for once.
We fall silent as we rehydrate, but after a while I can’t help but ask, “So what are you still doing here anyway?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Jacob says, rolling his eyes. “I know you heard us in the locker room yesterday.”
“So you’re here because of Emma?”
He nods, sliding down the wall to sit on the court. “Dude, you gotta know something—I don’t believe that Taylor hasn’t confided in you.”
“I swear I know as much as you.”
“Did you see any proof?”
“No, but what does she gain from lying?” I start bouncing the ball again, realizing this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with him. “How’d you end up with her anyway? I thought you and Samantha had hooked up.”
“We did but it didn’t last long. She never actually said you were bad in bed, by the way—I was just trying to instigate you.”
I shake my head, but a smirk is playing on my lips. “It worked.”
“I went home over Super Bowl weekend, and we met at a party. Tony and his crew ditched her, so I offered her a ride home.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t end up being that innocent.”
“Hey, she came onto me, and who am I to refuse?” He chuckles. “She’s good, man, like really good.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Right, you wouldn’t go there since you’ve got Taylor.”
“Right . . .” I swallow my lips. “Have you tried talking to Emma?”
“No . . .” He picks at the rubber of his sole. “I’m afraid of what she might say.”
I can’t help but laugh—the idea of him being afraid sounds absurd. “Wouldn’t it be better to know for sure than to let it eat at you?”
“Probably, but I’m not there yet.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I keep thinking about what’ll happen if it is mine—I’m not ready to be a father.”
“I doubt Emma’s ready to be a mother either.”
“You think she’ll get rid of it?” he asks, not even trying to mask the excitement in his tone.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “That’d be a question for Emma.”
We fall into silence for a moment as I glance at the clock, realizing I’m still not ready to go home. “You wanna play another?” I ask.
He nods, and we dive back into the game.