Chapter 27
BYRON
The team has beenon the road for the past three games.
It’s been weeks since I attended a training session, and I’ve barely seen my teammates, who I usually see every day. While the world seems out of sorts, at least I’m home days before Christmas.
I stare out to the pool overlooking LA. It’s been a while since I swam, and the memories of Giana in the pool flood back.
She needs to follow her dream while she can because none of us know when it might be ripped out from under us. I’ll fight to get back on the court, but I have a long journey ahead of me. I need to be focused.
Giana fussing over me and spending hours at the hospital while ignoring her work are not acceptable. She needs to be painting with a clear mind. How do I tell her we need to give each other space without hurting her? Because when I asked her to leave, I saw the pain in her eyes. She deserves her dream, and I’m taking it away from her.
With a boot on my foot, I hobble on crutches to the kitchen. My chef has left meals for the next two days. I prefer to cook, though I still need to elevate my leg as much as possible. Charlotte has arranged everything. My meals, cleaning, physiotherapists coming to my home, and the team psychologist. We have an appointment this afternoon. I open my cell and find Brandon’s number.
Can we talk?
I need to apologize, and I’m not doing it in a text.
I won’t be a jerk.
I toss my cell on the counter, and before I open the refrigerator, my cell alerts me to someone at the door. I check the camera.
Charlotte.
I hear her rushing up the stairs. She runs into the kitchen, and I’m about to tell her I’m fine, but her distressed expression can’t be about me. I saw her yesterday.
Charlotte almost knocks me off balance as she runs into my arms and hugs me, sobbing into my shirt. “He’s left.”
“What?” I take her shoulder and try to pry her off me, but she tightens her arms around my waist and cries louder.
“He’s been traded to Chicago,” she says through sobs.
“The fuck?” I’m stunned into silence, my thoughts mashing together in confusion. I pat her back, then hug my sister.
“Is it a done deal? I can talk to him.”
She shakes her head. “He’s already gone.” She leans back and looks me in the eye. Her eyes are red and swollen, like she has been crying for hours. “He didn’t even say goodbye. I hate him.”
I swallow hard. Tears burn my eyes, and I can’t fight it. I pull her into my chest for a tight squeeze because I also need to be comforted. I just lost my best friend.
“Who signed the contract?”
“Coach… and Frank.”
The fuck?
“Frank said it was in the best interest of both parties. BJ is not a point guard, and Chicago has been interested in him for some time. We signed another guard from Philadelphia,” she rasps. “In their meeting, BJ told Frank he thought it was best for everyone if he left.” Charlotte’s hands scrunch my shirt into a ball as her cries become louder. Her knees buckle, and she leans into me. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Nothing, Lott. You do nothing. Remember the hurt. Wear the scar like a trophy tattooed on your heart. You’ll survive and be stronger for it. In time, he’ll understand his mistake. But don’t give him the power of seeing you like this.” I pat her back. “We’ll all make amends when the time is right. You can’t force it to happen.”
I think about Giana. I need to take a page out of my own book.
Every Christmas Eve,we meet at our parents’ home and one by one add an ornament to the Christmas tree. Dad opens his favorite bottle of whiskey, and Mum pops champagne and distributes ghastly knitted sweaters that we pretend to like.
This year is different.
She unwraps the sweaters, and after giving everybody their green and red sweater with a reindeer on the front, she shoves the one meant for Brandon back into the packaging. With a fleeting look, she checks to see if Charlotte has noticed—she did. We all saw it. The silence in the room speaks volumes. Everyone is hurt by Brandon’s hasty transfer to Chicago. While my father and Franklin signed the contract, Brandon initiated it and without a word to Charlotte.
The fucker.
He has hurt my family.
Crushed Charlotte.
Disappointed me.
Still, I miss him. But I need to show courage and put it all behind me for my sister’s sake.
“Quickly, put them on. I have new decorations for the tree and a special one for Summer’s first Christmas.” Mom beams her radiant smile, and while she loves this time of year, I can tell she feels the weight of sadness that surrounds Charlotte.
And me.
“Give it to me, Mom.” Charlotte holds out her hand and moves Summer to her other hip. “When I see him tomorrow at the game, I’ll shove it up his ass.”
Mom’s expression sags. “It won’t change anything, darling.” She goes to her and takes her hand, pats it softly, then goes to decorate the tree. Dad takes Summer and bounces her on his knee while he sits in his chair, sipping whiskey and talking business with Franklin.
“I can help.” I hobble after them on my crutches. I’d rather be decorating than listening to my father and Franklin discuss numbers and the stock market. Jobe is in the corner chatting to Penny. Odd, because I also noticed he was sitting with her at our last family dinner when I thought he didn’t want to hear about happy families and the benefits of commitment.
When Mom leaves the room, Charlotte stands beside me to admire the lights on the tree.
“Have you heard from him?” I whisper.
She shakes her head.
“Same, and he’s blocked me on social media.”
“What?” she snaps. “I thought it was only me?” She quickly wipes her eyes. I hate how fast the tears well in her eyes, revealing her shattered heart.
Fucking coward.
I’m furious. “He knows he’s fucked up.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” she says in a hoarse voice. She wraps an arm around my waist and leans her head on my chest. “Besides, I know you’re hurting as much as me.”
Mom enters the room with the rest of the family following her. “Franklin, please hold Summer while you add the final decoration. And this year, I have decided we all get to open one present tonight.”
Charlotte forces a smile in an attempt to brighten our mood. She turns to me and lightly punches my shoulder. “We’re going to have a fun night. Because if we’re sad, it means he’s won. And we can’t let that happen. Ever.”
“Especially not tomorrow,” I murmur.
It’s one Christmas I’m not looking forward to. For the first time, I’m contemplating avoiding the game and watching it on the television.
“You’re not staying home and moping,” she says, wide-eyed.
“Christ, can you read my thoughts?”
“I know you.” Her brow pinches. “And you’re not leaving me to face him alone.”
I pull her in for a hug. “I’ll be there for you, Lottie.”
Christmas Day…
It’s our home game, and we are playing Chicago. No—we are playing Brandon Johns. We never thought this is what our Christmas would be like.
He hasn’t returned my calls or texts. He is treating Charlotte the same way, and I’m livid. Years of friendship gone. Burned. Evaporated in a puff of smoke. Despite how much it will hurt to watch him play for another team, I’ll sit on the bench and scrutinize his game.
My gut is still tight after last night.
We didn’t joke around like we usually do. It was more about presents for Summer, even though she is too young to understand. Mom needed a distraction from all the drama, and there was barely a moment when Charlotte didn’t have Summer in her arms.
The music ramps up, and I focus on what is happening around me in the locker room. Our team is motivated. Coach has barely mentioned Brandon, and it’s probably a good thing. My attention is on Drew, our new point guard from Philadelphia. I watch his every move, how he warms up, even the way he prays. The players gather and proceed to the tunnel, all shouting a chant.
“We’ve got this.”
“The game is ours.”
Charlotte is beside me. I hobble on the crutches, following the guys in the tunnel past cameramen and journalists.
“How are you, Byron?” A camera is shoved in my face.
I fake a smile at the lens. “Recovering well. Ready to watch my team get the win.”
“Can you give any insight as to why Brandon Johns made a hasty exit?”
Charlotte pushes between me and the camera. “Sorry, we need to get to our seats.” We head straight to the courtside seats behind the players. She keeps her chin high, refusing to look at the opposition. My parents are not sitting in the VIP seats, instead choosing to remain in the glassed corporate box, where they have sat ever since my injury.
Charlotte and I find our seats, and I lean close. “Remember, the cameras will turn to us without warning, so I need your best poker face, no matter what happens or how you feel.”
“I know,” she murmurs, taking a moment to adjust her long, blonde ponytail over her shoulder. I give her another look and notice the heavier makeup, the longer lashes on her eyes, and her bright red lipstick. She is dressed to impress or to ignite regret in a certain player.
In the final minutes of the warm-up, I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt. In my mind, I was prepared for the onslaught of emotion at not being on the court, but not how much it would hurt seeing my best friend on the opposing team.
What do you call a friend you’ve barely uttered a word to in weeks?
He still gets to do what he loves, and I’m on the sidelines, dressed in a fucking suit and in a post-op boot.
When the players line up on the court, Brandon refuses to look our way. Not once does he look at Charlotte until the final quarter, when Charlotte calls out to the team. I look up to the circular scoreboard overhead to see Charlotte’s and my faces on one of the screens. I assume the commentator is talking about our family. I give a little wave, but Charlotte is watching Brandon. The camera enlarges her pretty face. One of the opposing players looks up at the screen and nudges Brandon. He looks at the screen, then his gaze darts to our players and Charlotte. His expression sags, and his gaze flits to mine. He gives a subtle nod before focusing on the ball. Most people would have missed it, but I didn’t, and I recognized the look in his eyes. There’s a slight chance we’ll come out of this as friends on the other side.
We get the win. It wasn’t in contention, and Brandon played less than his best. It’s not surprising, but I know him and his skill level. He was more than capable of coming away with twenty points, not a mere six. He’ll bounce back. I wouldn’t underestimate his drive to win. He passes us as he heads to the tunnel with his team. Charlotte calls out to him. I walk ahead slowly, hobbling along, following my team into the tunnel.
“How are you?” she asks in a quiet voice.
“Fine.”
I slow up. He’d better not break her fucking heart.
“Why didn’t you call me? We could have worked something out.”
Silence.
“Why haven’t you returned Byron’s calls or mine?”
“I have a new phone and a new number.”
What?
“Why?”
Come on, Charlotte. No desperation in your voice.
“Because I threw the old one in the lake?”
“You’re a coward.”
“It’s fate, Lottie. We’re not meant to be.”
I turn to see him walk away from my sister. A message loud and clear—he’s starting anew. “Lottie,” I call out. She looks from Brandon to me. Even from here, I see her red eyes. I shake my head and gesture toward the tunnel. She strides over to me with a straight face.
I turn back to Brandon, and his gaze meets mine. “I’ll see you on the court next year,” I warn him. He looks away and, with his head down, follows his new team into the tunnel.
Charlotte and I walk past the cameras. She manages to hold it together. Closer to the locker room, we dart into one of the storerooms. She takes one deep breath, then lets it all go. I hold her tight while she cries muffled sobs into my shirt. It’s going to take more than a nod to forgive him for breaking my sister’s heart.
“This is why you were always off-limits to my friends,” I whisper. I hold her tight and allow her to cry for the next fifteen minutes.
When she finally comes up for air, she thumps my chest. “Fate, my ass.”