“You’re being too hard on yourself. You had an off night.”
As if needing to prove something, Troy snatched his tablet off the side table. “The Brooklyn Lines—this morning.Is Troy Hartman facing a Sophomore Slump?”
Ouch. Those are the last two words you wanted to hear kicking off your second season in any sport.
“Don’t pay any attention—they’re just reporters looking for a headline.”
My brother looked up at me. His voice was rough and dry when he spoke. “What if it’s true?”
I sighed. This wasn’t heading anywhere good. Moving from the doorframe, I sat next to him. “It was one game.”
He was quiet. And we both knew why. This was how Troy always played—mediocre. The adrenaline of rookie year playing in the pro’s wore off and now Troy was playing how he always played. Minors level.
No place in the majors.
“Do you think I could play as good as I was last season?”
“Why the hell not?”
Troy shook his head.
I rubbed my hands together. “I’m going to be honest with you. You need to get out of your head. You need to stop reading what some headline-digging reporter said about you—that’s just…” I stopped, seeming to have talked myself into a corner.
“What everyone else is thinking?”
“There’s no such thing as sophomore slump.”
There was. It was real but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make this worse. I was sent here to make sure he showed at practice today. “Now hit the shower and call Ryan.” I stood and started for the door.
“No. I’m just—I’m not ready.”
“I hate to break it to you bro, but that’s not how this works. You don’t get a choice. You have a contract. You’re expected at practice this afternoon, and tomorrow and Thursday’s game. You can’t just wallow for days.”
Troy stood and started toward the living room for no reason other than to pace the larger room. “It’s over. I’m nothing. You always knew it too, didn’t you?”
“Troy, stop it.”
He picked up an empty beer bottle, which I guessed was from the other night and hurled it into the sink, shattering it and breaking some dishes in the process.
I blinked, but barely flinched at the impact. Instead, I turned and went to his bathroom, starting his shower. “Get in. I’m going to the arena later to make sure you’re there and if you’re not. I’m sending them all this way to drag you out themselves. Got it?”
He nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
I fought my hesitation to walk out but I wasn’t his fucking babysitter, so I turned to leave.
“Hey,” he called just as I had my hand on the door handle. “A lot of girls there for me last night?” he asked with a cocky smirk.
“There were a lot ofpeoplethere for you last night, Troy. People who will stand by you no matter what, who believe in you. You just need to get off your ass and go to practice later.”
“I need a few days, August.”
I checked my watch. “You have exactly four hours. I’ll see you there.”
4
Icrushedathrowpillow against my face and screamed into it, then removed it, gasping for air dramatically.
“What did I do wrong? I followed all the steps. Get him alone—strip him naked and the guy ended up being the hero of the night,” I practically shrieked.
