“Victoria Renee Taylor never, ever breaks girl code, Mary Leigh. That’s the one and only rule.” I stop walking, turn and stare solemnly into her face. “Can you follow it? If not, we can’t go any further.”
She stares at me, her lips pursed. She holds up a hand and sticks her pinky in the air, and I wrap mine around it.
* * *
Things aretense inside Ethan’s private suite at Madison Square Garden. The crowd is getting restless, and so are Vincent and Evan. They’re both running around chasing each other, neither one of them paying attention toor caring about the game. I wish I could be as carefree. My heart’s been in my throat since Colt left us in the apartment a few hours ago. He left like a man off to war, not to a game. I didn’t miss his slight limp when he walked away. I’m not sure if it’s from fatigue from all the games, or if it’s because of something else. I’ve been too afraid to ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
We’re in the fourth quarter, and Milwaukee’s team is up by two points with only four minutes left to go. In basketball, that’s almost a lifetime, but I’d feel better if our team was the one in the lead.
“You want another orange juice?” I whisper in Mary Leigh’s ear. I wink at her. Orange juice is our code for mimosa.
“I’ve had more today than I’ve ever had before. I think I need a clear head, but some water would be nice, honey.” She pats my lap. A few seconds later, a server comes with three waters.
“I’ve never seen you so nervous,” Tara whispers. “He’s got this.”
I ignore her, stand up, and approach the railing. I grab my binoculars and watch when Colt gets the ball. The stadium cheers when he passes to Wakowski, who scores, tying the game. I reach over and hug Tara, then turn and hug Mary Leigh, but our celebration was a little too premature. There’s still three minutes to go, and in less than thirty seconds, the other team scores two baskets, giving them a four-point lead. One of the Mischiefs have the ball, and defense is surrounding him. He shoots and scores, but before we can cheer, someone bumps into Colt, sending him crashing to the floor.
The three of us stand there, frozen. This has happened before. This is a physical game, and this isn’t the first time Colt’s fallen or been bumped by another player, but he’s always gotten right back up. He doesn’t this time. Mary Leigh puts a hand to her bosom, and I hold my breath. The boys come running to us, and I put my hand in Evan’s curly hair. He reminds me of his father, and right now I need to be surrounded by everyone close to Colt.
Two teammates help sit him up, and the team doctor approaches. I pull out my iPad and watch the instant replay while they figure out what’s happening on the court. In slow motion, I watch as he lands hard and awkwardly on his left knee. He closes his eyes, and I can see him screaming from pain. Mary Leigh gasps from over my shoulder. I shut the iPad off and toss it on one of the chairs. Colt’s escorted off the court, and Coach Walsh calls a timeout. This is when I wish I could pick up the phone, call him, and find out what’s going on. Or go to him and figure it out myself. We all stand there, stock still, and wait with bated breath. Alan keeps the boys busy while we all wait. My phone vibrates, and it’s my mother. I ignore her.
The next ten minutes feel like ten hours, but eventually, Colt walks back on the court. We all breathe a sigh of relief. I tune out the announcers as they speculate what happened and focus on Colt instead. I’ve become attuned to his body, and even though he’s running around on the court, I can tell it’s not with the same lightness as before. He’s hurting, but he’s going to push through the pain and bring home the championship for his team and for his city. This is the last game. Whoever wins tonight, wins. He’s playing at home, giving his team the advantage. Someone hits him, and a foul is called. He gets two free throws, and he makes them both, tying the game with two minutes to go. A few seconds later, the Mischiefs score two baskets back-to-back, giving them a four point lead. Everyone in Ethan’s private suite cheers. Alan picks up Evan and spins him around. I hug Mary Leigh and she squeezes me tight. A minute later, the other team scores a three pointer, shrinking the Mischief’s lead to one point. A foul is called on the Mischiefs and the opposing team gets two free throws, which they make, giving them a one-point lead, and the stadium has gone deathly quiet.
The game resumes, and the clock starts to run down. Jarvis, a shooting guard on the team, has the ball, but he’s unable to shoot. With only a few seconds left, he throws the ball to Colt, who attempts a three-point shot from down the court. The buzzer goes off immediately after he shoots the ball in the air, aiming for the basket. My life turns to slow motion, and I feel myself stand up and grab Mary Leigh’s hand, certain that he’s going to score and win the game for his team at the last possible second. It’s like I’m floating outside my body as my eyes follow the ball. The next second seems like an hour, and I wish I knew then how wrong I was, and how one basketball game, a sport I never cared about before, was going to change my life.
The ball hits the rim, but never makes it inside. Colt stands in the middle of the court with his hands on his hips and his head down in defeat when he realizes The Mischiefs have lost the game by one point.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I don’t thinkI’ve said a word since I left the stadium. I was on autopilot when I congratulated the other team and talked to the press. I made eye contact with no one. When Coach Walsh taps my shoulder, I shrug away from him.
“We’re a team, Chastain. We lost as a team. Not one single player lost the game for us.”
I nod, but I don’t respond. Coach Aidan Walsh, the black sheep of his filthy rich family. The black sheep because he didn’t want to go into the family business and chose to play basketball instead. When his career in the NBA ended after four short years, they expected him to take this rightful position, but he wasn’t interested and took a job as an assistant coach instead, working his way into the head coach position for The Mischiefs. I read most of that online. Some of it was from Wakowski, who gossips more than an old church lady. But one time, I heard Coach on the phone with his sister, and he was refusing to attend a family function. When he hung up the phone, it looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I was able to relate to that. For that split second before he wiped the defeated look off his face and turned back into the professional I’ve known for nine years.
The ride home is quiet. Dante looks at me through the mirror, but he doesn’t utter a word. I don’t make eye contact while I walk through the lobby and to the elevator. For the first time ever, I dread seeing the people inside my apartment.
I pause and rest my head on the door, unable to turn the knob and go inside. All I want to do is be alone right now in my failure. The idea of dealing with Mama and her fake enthusiasm and Vickie’s words of encouragement are more than I can bear tonight. I know Evan’s already asleep, and all I want is to slide into bed and watch the game, but I won’t be able to do that right away. The pain in my knee continues to throb and shoot down my right leg. After a final deep breath, I turn the knob and walk inside. All the lights are on, and Vickie and Mama both fly into my arms. The best-case scenario happened when the two most important women in my life met. They genuinely like each other. I wrap my arms around them both for a split second before I step away.
“Come on. I’ve set the table so we can all eat together tonight.” Vickie wraps her arm around my waist, but I hobble away, refusing to acknowledge the crestfallen look on her face. I’m sure I imagined it. She’s not the type of girl who would be hurt by my actions.
“Not tonight. I’m going to bed.” I leave them both standing in the middle of the hallway. I can feel their eyes boring into the back of my head, but I limp into my bedroom. Knowing Vickie will be right behind me, I limp to the bathroom and lock the door. I don’t need a shower. I took one after the game, but right now I turn on the water to give myself more time alone. I’ve never regretted having Vickie here. I worked really hard to get us to where we are, but tonight, I only want to be by myself. My wants aren’t granted. She’s waiting for me on the bed, eagerly patting my side the minute I step out.
“Oh my God.” She runs over and helps me limp to the bed. “Your knee is swollen. Maybe we should go to the emergency room.” Once I’m seated, she runs out of the room and returns a few minutes later with an ice pack.
I hiss when the cold hits my skin, but I lean against the headboard and hold it in place.
“I thought I’d give you a massage and lull you to sleep. You played a great game, champion. You’ve had a great season.” She reaches for my hair, and I flinch and pull back. I want to kick myself for hurting her, but all I want is space right now.
“I want to rewatch the game.” I slowly position myself on the bed and grab the remote.
She reaches over me and tries to take it away, but I hold it straight up in the air. This is when I’d tease her about being short, but I don’t have it in me tonight.
“Why don’t you give it a few days before you watch it? I’ll ice your knee and massage your back until you fall asleep. We can dissect the game another time.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“We? Basketball is my game. This is what I do after every game, whether we win or lose.” I can feel her looking into my face, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. This should be a night of celebration, but I not only failed the team, I also failed her.
“Okay. Let’s watch.” She sighs in resignation, turns off the light, and cuddles to my side. Normally, I’d put my arm around her and hold her close. Some nights, we’d share popcorn while she gives me nonsensical advice. Tonight won’t be a night like that. She must sense it. She stays quiet until she falls asleep sometime in the third quarter.
