I risk the briefest glance in Iris’s direction, and even with her shadowed eyes, she’s the brightest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I know what it’s like to want something you’ll probably never have.” Our eyes hold for the briefest moment before I tear mine away. “I understand the disappointment of someone saying you’ll never be able to. Dream of something else. There are too many things that say you can’t, so I’m here to say you can. Can what?”
I shrug, turning the corners of my mouth down. “Can whatever.” I point to my leg. “How many of you saw the game when I went down?”
Hands go up. Sympathetic grimaces cross several faces.
“Yeah, it was tough. Something I worked for my whole life felt like it might be over in an instant. I’ve spent the time since my surgery reconciling myself to that possibility. What if basketball was over for me?”
I scan the rapt faces, finding an answering hunger and curiosity in so many.
“If that happens, I’m not gonna front like I wouldn’t be messed up, because I would be.” I pause for them to laugh, giving them a smile, too. “But I found my place here in this community center, at Saturday pick-up games, in summer league, and camps. This place, more than any other, taught me to reach for something more. I know things aren’t always great at home. I know things don’t always make sense at school. I even know that sometimes, you want to quit, because I wanted to a million times.”
I slant them a wry grin. “Sometimes I still do, but I won’t ever. This place taught me that. The counselors here and the students—the other dreamers.” I point through the door and squint one eye. “My mom’s house is about ten miles that way. This city is my home. I sat exactly where you’re sitting years ago listening to someone tell me I could do whatever I wanted to do, even though my dream was unlikely.”
I lift my leg a little, lift my jeans, making sure they can all see the Aircast. “I’ve decided I’m coming back stronger and faster than ever. I’ve decided I’ll return sooner than everyone thinks I can and better than they expect me to be,” I say. “While I was lying on my back with these pins in my leg and everyone speculating about my future, I decided that I wouldn’t give up hope. Hope is the gap between what if and what is, but you have to fill that gap with a lot of hard work. And that’s what we’re going to talk about this week. Hope. Dreams. Work.”
I glance at my watch and then to the pizzas Iris and the other two women are setting up at the back of the room. “I think your lunch is here. My time’s up for today, but if you wanna talk, I’ll be here for a few minutes while the food is being served.”
I’m signing autographs and talking to the kids who gather around after my talk. I give them my full attention but sense Iris’s eyes on me every once in a while. It’s a heady feeling to be in the same room with her for this long, something I’ve wanted so I could test these sensations and see if they hold up under normal wear and tear. Now, it doesn’t matter. Once she’s another man’s wife, these feelings aren’t to hold up, but to be put down. And I’ll start doing that today as ruthlessly as I’d approach an opponent on court. Only the opponent is me, because the stubborn part of me that never let me give up on my dream of playing in the NBA doesn’t want me to give up on her either.
Sylvia and I are walking toward the exit, reviewing plans for the week. I’ll talk, share some drills with those who play basketball, though I’m limited in what I can physically do, and participate in a beautification project in one of the rec rooms.
We’re wrapping up when Iris calls my name.
She’s walking toward us, her daughter on her hip. This isn’t fair.Bothof them? If you ever want a man to keep dreaming, give him a glimpse of what could be.
They could be mine.
A wave of misplaced possessiveness rolls through me. The thought of them returning to Caleb’s house grinds my teeth together. The thought of Iris in his bed is physically painful, clenching my gut. They’re both Caleb’s, and I covet them.
But one flash of that however-many-carat diamond on her finger reminds me how futile hope is.
When they reach us, Iris glances uncertainly from me to Sylvia and clears her throat.
“August, could I, um, speak to you before you go?” she asks, fixing her eyes on me and not straying to Sylvia.
“Sure,” I say easily, like she and I talk every day. “See you tomorrow, Sylvia.”
Sylvia interprets the comment as the dismissal it is and considers us speculatively before smiling, saying her goodbyes, and walking away.
“You need something?” I ask abruptly. “My ride’s probably waiting.”
She flinches at the impatience in my voice, and I feel like an asshole. Sarai wiggles on her hip and blinks at me with long, curly lashes. I bend until I’m level with Sarai and smile into her violet–blue eyes. I’ll regret this, but the kid’s as irresistible as her mother.
“She’s gotten so big,” I tell Iris but don’t look away from the little girl staring back at me.
“Yeah.” Iris laughs. Sarai’s dark curls have grown longer since I last saw her, and Iris brushes them back from her face. “It’s going too fast already.”
Sarai reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my face closer. It also brings me closer to Iris. I ignore the electric field our nearness creates and focus on Sarai. She drags her little hand over my eyes and nose, leaving a wet trail of exploration.
“Oh, God.” Iris points to the wet patch I feel on my cheek. “She got you. I’m sorry.”
When I allow myself to look at Iris again, the shadow is gone. Humor and affection light her eyes, for her daughter, maybe for me. If anything, she’s more beautiful than the girl I met in the bar a few years ago. There’s a strength, a maturity, a resolve—I don’t know what has added dimension to what she was before, but it stirs a hunger in me. Not just to taste her body, but to know her heart. To read her mind and share her thoughts.
Fuck. I cannot make myself stop wanting this woman. And as Sarai flashes her little dimpled smile up at me, I want her in my life, too. I want too much. I want things I can’t have, things that aren’t mine, but that kid who showed up every Saturday before the community center doors opened, who was always the last to leave the court, he never learned to stop wanting impossible things.
The humor fades from Iris’s eyes, the smile melts from her wide, sweet mouth, and she releases a ragged breath. She feels it, too. I don’t have to ask if she does. Her widened eyes and stuttering breath, the answering jerk of awareness from her body to mine tell me. But too much stands between us: another man and the gaudy ring on her finger, circumstances I don’t understand. We’re separated by an incalculable distance, but she feels so close.
