For now, Montgomery’s focus will be on her recovery, but the broader implications of this injury will be felt throughout the basketball world.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
The highway leaving Boston’s Logan International Airport better resembled a parking lot the way traffic wasn’t moving. My rideshare crawled along, hemmed in by orange cones and blinking signs about construction delays. I’d taken the earliest flight out of Miami that morning with every intention of getting to the hospital well before Eva’s surgery. But apparently the Massachusetts Department of Transportation hadn’t factored me into their road improvement timeline.
It had been weeks since Eva and her mom had left Miami for Boston, weeks of me counting down practices and off-days until I could be here. Now that the day had finally come, I was stuck in gridlock.
By the time I finally reached Mass General, I was a wreck. I stumbled through the sliding glass doors with an overnight bag slung over my shoulder and travel sweat clinging to my skin. I barely had time to ask a passing nurse for directions before I found myself stepping into the waiting room.
Virginia and Clyde Montgomery were already there, poised and composed in a way that only made me feel worse. I’d wanted to be there for Eva before she’d been prepped for surgery to reassure her that everything would be fine. But I’d also wantedto be there on time to prove to Eva’s parents that I could be counted on. I loved their daughter, and I wanted to show that she was my priority. Instead, I looked like a scatter-brained disaster who couldn’t be trusted to show up when it mattered the most.
Mrs. Montgomery looked up from her phone. Her gaze slid over me, unimpressed.
“Alexandra,” she said coolly. “Nice of you to stop by.”
My apology caught in my throat. I bit it back. It wasn’t my fault Boston was fixing the damn roads. I was doing my best.
Another woman in the room stood to greet me. “Lex Bennet. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Veronica Haddish,” she introduced herself.
“Oh. Hey.”
I hadn’t realized Eva’s publicist had made the trip, too. The waiting room was turning into quite the entourage.
Veronica Haddish was striking in a corporate, no-nonsense kind of way—tall, lean, and impeccably put-together, with dark-brown skin and blunt-cut bangs that framed her angular face. Her tailored cream blazer was so pristine it practically glowed under the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Her stiletto heels were silent as she stepped forward to shake my hand. Every part of her looked intentional, from her lipstick combination to the precise arch of her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry about that energy drink pitch,” she said. “I apologized to Eva, but I wanted the chance to personally apologize to you, too. If I had known they were going to usethatparticular angle, I wouldn’t have wasted your time.”
I glanced in the Montgomerys’ direction, feeling awkward all over again. This wasn’t an appropriate setting for a business meeting, after all.
“It’s no big deal,” I found myself saying, desperate to shut down the conversation. “Water under the bridge.”
I found a chair a few seats down from Eva’s parents—close enough to be seen, but not close enough to start a conversation. I tried to relax and get comfortable, knowing that the wait was going to take some time. The surgery itself was only supposed to be two hours, but there would be added recovery time as Eva woke up from the general anesthesia.
Technically, the procedure was relatively routine—outpatient, in fact—but that didn’t mean any of this was easy. The stakes were high. A mistake over the next two hours could tear away Eva’s biggest passion, her livelihood, the reason she got out of bed in the morning. I’d flirted briefly with the fear that I might never play basketball again beyond a pick-up game at the YMCA when I’d injured my wrist. It was a short-lived doomsday scenario, however, considering I’d still been drafted to the pros.
The road to recovery for Eva would be far more intense and prolonged. And depending on what happened in the next two hours, she might not ever return to her previous form.
Eventually, the anxiety and worry proved to be too great. I hopped up from my waiting room chair like my coach had called for me to enter the game. I felt the curious gaze of Eva’s parents and her publicist.
“Just going to the bathroom,” I explained, my throat tightening.
I stalked out of the waiting room and followed the hallway signs until I found the restroom. I locked myself in an empty stall. It was stupid, but I needed the semi-privacy of a public bathroom to fall apart a little.
I pulled out my phone and texted my mom. My fingers shook, prolonging the simple message.
Hey. How are you?
I’m good. How are you?
I knew my text was unexpected—suspicious, even. My mom wasn’t a big texter; she preferred when I called. But I didn’t trust myself not to cry on the phone the moment I heard my mom’s voice.
Eva’s in surgery.
Oh, honey.
Everything’s going to be fine.
