I glance down and notice for the first time, my gris-gris ring from MiMi is gone.
In its place is the ten-carat diamond.
23
August
Number thirty-three.
I lift my father’s old basketball jersey out of the cardboard box, coughing a little from the dust. I’ve seen pictures of me as a toddler wearing this. It hung off my shoulders and dragged on the floor. Now, when I slip it over my head, it fits perfectly. At six foot seven inches, my dad was an inch taller than I am. His wingspan outreached mine and his feet were a size larger, but that’s where I stop making comparisons. I leave that to the pundits and media who speculate about what he could have been and what I may achieve. He was cut down so young before he really had the chance to fulfill even a fraction of his promise.
I massage the soreness in my leg and wonder if I’ll repeat history. The easy part of this recovery is over. I’ve been mostly off my feet for the eight weeks since surgery. I recently started upper-body work in a gym close by, just outside of Baltimore, and that is only the beginning. Months of grueling rehab lie ahead with no guarantee that I’ll be a hundred percent at the end. Speed and agility, the ability to turn on a dime—those are trademarks of my game and are things this injury could compromise irreparably. Only time and the hardest work of my life will tell.
Fucking Caleb and his dirty play that wasn’t ruled a dirty play. He’s slithered his way out of consequences all his life. It’s made him spoiled and cruel, but also clever enough to hide it. Me, he hates, so he did some underhanded shit that shoved me, at least temporarily, out of the way.
He’d never hurt them, though, right?
The more I’ve considered it, flat on my back and staring up at the ceiling, the less confident I am of Caleb’s boundaries. God, if I had Iris, I’d treat her like a queen.
Can you miss someone you’ve never had?
Because I miss Iris. I can’t even share that with anyone because they’d think I was a lunatic. Obsessed. Fixated.
I like to think of it as certain. Like when I’m in the zone, the game comes to me easily and I’m certain I’ll make every shot before the ball even leaves my hands—that’s how I feel about Iris. She’s a shot that hasn’t even left my hands, but I know will be nothing but net. I’m certain that if ever given the chance, it would be that way for us. Not that things would be easy all the time, but we’d just . . . click. We’d belong, something we’ve both needed for a long time. I felt hints of it the first night we met, and with each encounter, it’s become clearer. It’s quantified in breathless moments and skipped heartbeats. Nothing I can point to or prove, but it’s real. I’ve only grown more sure that together, we could belong.
“What are you doing out here?” my mother asks from the open garage door. “I was looking all over the house for you. Your phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning.”
“Probably Lloyd.” I grimace at the thought of another conversation with my agent. “He thinks he may be able to get me a good trade.”
“Trade?” Mom’s brows collapse into a frown. “Do the Waves wanna get rid of you because of the injury? Don’t they know you’ll be back stronger than ever? What’s wrong with them?”
I wish everyone had a mother like mine who believed in them even when they weren’t sure themselves.
“Lloyd’s just looking at contingencies.” I shrug and pull my father’s jersey over my head and drop it back into the box. “The Waves are an expansion team, and this was their first season. Decker invested a lot in me. Me getting hurt my first year probably has them considering cutting their losses in case I don’t come back as strong.”
“Your first season ended with you as Rookie of the Year.” Her eyes and smile are all pride. “They’d be fools to let you go.”
“Maybe I’d be a fool to stay.” I release a puff of air. “I could end up on a team that’s championship caliber now. Maybe in the playoffs next season, playing for a ring. If Lloyd can make that happen, I’d be a fool to turn it down.”
“You’ll know what to do when you get to it. You’ll know what’s most important. I’m sure Jared will have opinions.”
“Oh, always.” I laugh. “And on everything.”
She hands my phone to me. “You two still considering getting Elevation off the ground early?” she asks, poking through the box of memories.
“I want to. He’s not sure, which means we probably will.”
She chuckles, nodding and pulling out a photo album at the bottom of the box. “You do tend to get your way, August.”
“Eventually. Sometimes.” I pause at the look on her face as she flips through the album. It’s love, and pain, and regret. “What’s that you’re looking at?”
She turns the album to show me a photo. It’s a picture I’ve never seen. My mom, dad and I are standing on a basketball court with a packed stadium in the background, and my father is holding me, his arm wrapped around my mother. I’ve never thought we looked alike, but in this picture, I see echoes of my features in his.
“Wow,” I say softly. “We actually do look a little alike.”
“Of course you do.” She brushes a fingertip over my father’s face. “He’s darker and his hair is coarser, but that bone structure. Same handsome face. Same mouth.”
Her smile is wistful, and maybe slightly wicked. I’m sure she has memories of his mouth that I want to know nothing about. So much of what I know about my father has been through the media and old friends telling stories. There are things I never asked my mother that maybe only she knows.
“Was he a good man?” I ask, watching her face for the truth. I don’t miss the bitter tilt of her lips settle into ruefulness.
“He was a great father.” She looks up from the photo. “He loved you more than anything. He was so good to you.”
“And to you?” I ask softly, prepared for whatever she answers. “What kind of husband was he?’
She hesitates, considering the picture again before looking in my eyes. “What kind of husband was he?” She tosses my question back before twisting her mouth into that rueful little curve. “A young, handsome one, with lots of money and time on the road.”
“Like me then,” I half-joke. “Sometimes I see so many parallels between us.”
“You won’t make the choices your father did when you’re married, August. I’m not worried about that.”
“Really?” I ask, thinking about all the ass I pulled in my rookie year. “Why not?”
“Because I raised you better than that.” She winks and brushes her hands over my hair. “You just need to find the right girl.”
Of course, my mind defaults to Iris—to the last time I saw her laughing with Sarai and bouncing her on her knee. Reminder. Another man’s baby bouncing on her knee.
“Maybe I’ve found the right girl.” I close the flaps of the box. “Maybe it’s just a matter of timing.”
It’s hard for me to surprise my mother. She usually sees everything coming from a mile away, but her eyes stretch, and her mouth drops open.
“Do I know her?” she demands. “Is she in San Diego? How did you meet her? When can I meet her?”
“Uh, Mom.” I hold up a hand to stay the tsunami of questions coming off her in waves. “It’s not like that. I mean, it is. For me it is. I’d bring her to meet you right now if I could.”
“She doesn’t want to be with you?” She rests her fists on her hips, the Irish feistiness to match that red hair sparking in her eyes. “Does she have any idea what she’s missing?”
“She doesn’t care about my contract or the money or any of that stuff.” Even though Iris is with Caleb, I know it’s not because he has any of those things. And as soon as I figure out why she is with him, I’ll convince her it’s not enough. Not as much as I could give her.
“Those aren’t the things I meant either,” Mom says. “You’re kind, and generous, and smart, and ambitious. I raised you to know how to treat a woman. She’d be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Mom, though you might be just a little biased. I think you’d like her.” My smile drops. “I mean, if she ever leaves her boyfriend.”
“August, what?” Her eyes stretch. “Tell me.”
“It’s a long story.”
She crosses her arms and sits on one of the nearby bins in the garage. “Do I look busy?”
I pull up a bin and tell her about that first night before the tournament, how Iris and I talked about any and everything; we shared our pasts, our families, our dreams, and hopes. I tell her how disappointed I was to realize Iris was dating Caleb. I leave out the part where I saw her naked breast at All-Star weekend, but I hit other highlights, ending with the last time I saw her, at the game before Caleb’s dirty play.
“So you’ve only seen her a few times?” Mom asks. The consternation on her face gives me pause. She thinks I’m crazy. I know I am.
“But we talked for hours the first time,” I say, hearing the defensiveness in my voice. “We talked about everything. I’ve never felt that connected to someone so quickly. And even at the All-Star game, it was like we just picked right back up.” I toss my phone back and forth between my hands and shrug. “I know what you’re thinking—it’s some infatuation. Or maybe you think I just like her because she’s Caleb’s girl, right?”
“I knew Matt was the one after our first date.” She chuckles at the startled look that must be on my face. “I did. We had exactly what you’re talking about. That ease. That spark. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world.”
That first night in the bar, I didn’t even notice the other customers leaving. I didn’t notice the bartender cleaning up. I barely noticed the game ending.