Shooting guard.
Clarke-born.
Twenty-eight.
I’d done my homework with the help of Royce.
“My disdain for television has kept me away from him all these years.”
“Life did that, Ro, not you. Besides, you wouldn’t have known him back then if he’d looped you a hundred times. Back then there wasn’t a face. There wasn’t even a voice. Just a presence.”
“I would’ve known. I would’ve felt it. He feels special.”
“Maybe. But, you weren’t ready, baby. Now– now you are.”
“And, he isn’t.”
“He will be. I know he will be. He doesn’t have much of a choice. If I have to hand deliver him to your door then I will.”
“I know you will, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Fingers crossed.”
We’d had the most interesting conversation we’d had since I was able to form a full sentence.
Steam emitted from the top of the shower as it began to beep, confirming it had reached its desired temp. I removed my slippers and stepped inside. The water trickled down my body, warming me instantly. I closed my eyes, hoping to find someone in particular there.
I didn’t have to wait long. The second I was surrounded by darkness, there he stood in all his glory. Ready. Willing. And waiting.
THREE
I held the door open, welcoming Nadia inside of our parent’s home.
“They got to you, too?”
“Dad and his threats–” she huffed, “They sounded serious so I thought I’d come.”
With a shake of my head, I closed the door and followed her down the hall.
“I’m not with this shit. I could be at home resting my bones. I have an away game in two days.”
“Which is exactly why they chose today. They know your schedule better than you.”
Being that my parents were part of my staff, that was no surprise. My mother was my nutritionist and my father made all the brand deals with his eyes closed. His slick mouth was good for something.
“Unfortunately.”
“Sac!” My mother exclaimed. “Nadia. Good, you’re both here.”
“It only took three fucking hours. Neither of them were doing shit. Just holding us up.”
“We’re here, old man, so pipe down and let’s roll. I have to get back to the crib.”
“And sit on your ass. Go shoot some hoops or something. You missed twenty-four percent of your shots last night. That’s six percent more than the game against the Hawks. Instead of sitting on your ass… get in the gym.”
He turned around on the stool and waited for me to respond. If I did, we’d be all night. So, instead, I wrapped my arms around my mother.
