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She snorts. “It’s a bean. You can’t see anything yet.”
“No, I totally can. It’s got a huge brain. And an even bigger heart,” I insist as she laughs. “And everyone will love them so much.”
Mar’s quiet for a minute but finally sighs. “I hope so. How are things for you and Clay?”
“We’re figuring it out. I’d never say it to Clay, but I miss Denver.”
At night after the games, Clay calls and we talk for an hour. I ask him about each game, but he steers the conversation to what I’m doing, or the city he’s in, or how the house is. We end up having phone sex, and I fall asleep in the California king bed, my body humming from the long-distance orgasm and ocean of space beside me.
During the days, I’ve been painting in my growing studio. I got so used to painting the mural every day that it feels strange not to have that be my focus.
The money from the commission is sitting in my account, but there’s been limited interest since the gala. If I want to make a career at this, I need to keep working.
On a morning walk, a billboard for a modern dance performance stopped me in my tracks. I went to see it by myself that afternoon and was swept up in the artistry of it.
Over the next three days, I paint the dancer. I pull from my memory and from supplemental images I find online. As the sunlight streams into my studio, I draw and paint, and my heart feels full in a way it hasn’t since coming to LA.
Brooke comes to visit for a weekend while Clay is on the road, and we go for dinner and shopping and to Huntington Beach and to see a show.
As we head out of the theater, I say, “Can I ask you about your brother?”
“Miss Denver enough you want to date him instead?” she replies dryly.
I laugh. “No, I mean about what happened when Clay left. I didn’t expect it to cause such a rift. Clay says it’s only business, but I don’t believe that.”
More than that, I don’t believe him. That it’s nothing personal for him. Clay misses those guys. He might even feel responsible for what happened. But he won’t talk to me about it. We’re spending more time alone together than we ever have, but he’s even more of a mystery.
“Jay understands how the league works. He’s been in it as long as Clay. But it’s a weird system. As an influencer, I decide who I work with and when and for how much. I choose my partnerships, and I can end one for any reason. If I’m exhausted, I can take a break.
“But as a pro athlete, they pay you enough money and you stop being a human. You’re a god, but you’re also a commodity. A rare, expensive one, like a diamond. Everyone around you worships you, but it’s all about getting the most out of you until you’re used up—the most points, the most endorsements, the most cash. People buy and sell you, trade you and show you off, and expect you to be grateful because it’s done by the rules of the player agreement, and at the end of the day, you have a house in Malibu and three ex-wives to show for it.”
I arch a brow. “That’s a very specific example.”
We head down the street, through the crowds of well-dressed Californians, sunglasses on their heads and sandals on their feet.
“My brother is loyalty first, the job second. There’ve been times in his career he could’ve gotten ahead at the cost of someone else, but he didn’t do it. Chances to make more money and sell his soul, but he won’t,” Brooke says. “When we were kids, our mom always said, ‘None of it’s worth it if you can’t live with yourself.’ He took that to heart.”
We stop at a corner, waiting for a light to change. “I wish Clay could square things with the guys.”
“Distance makes it hard.”
“But they’re coming to town next week.”
An idea grabs me, and I grin at my friend.
Brooke’s eyes narrow. “What are you planning?”
5
CLAY
“First game against Denver,” Nova calls as she shifts into the car Sunday morning.
“I shouldn’t be eating pancakes. They kick my ass, it’s on you.”
Nova arranged to go to brunch before the game to help me relax.
I’ve been anticipating this game since I got to LA. It’s going to be intense. Always is after a big trade. Players on both sides want to prove their new team won out.
