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“I tried.”
“So that’s a no.”
I bristle. “She came here for me. She was the bright spot in my life. I wanted to be strong for her. I couldn’t tell her I hated everything.”
Kat pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes the same shade as mine. “When someone loves you, they can tell.”
I saw every time Nova looked at me when she thought I didn’t notice. With worry, with disappointment, with sadness.
“She didn’t want to be here with me.”
“She didn’t want to be here without you,” Kat corrects. “If you don’t like the team here, I bet you have a dozen offers.”
“My last contract was six years. The longest anyone’s offering is three.” I say something I haven’t voiced out loud to anyone. “It means they think I’m going downhill. That it’s only a matter of time.”
“Until your career is over? Or until you’re over?” she prods.
I rub a hand over my face. “Don’t shrink me, Kat. Pretty sure that’s against your ethics.”
“No way, I get extra credit if I practice on family.” She grins. “But for real, you been talking to anyone? Professional, I mean?”
I shake my head.
“I think I’m going backward,” I say after a moment of silence. “This is the first year I’ve gotten offered more money for endorsements than to play basketball. Like the teams think I’m over the hill. I don’t have it anymore.”
It’s insulting that my face matters more than what I can do. I spent all my life being the best, and reaching the top wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
“One of these days, your career will be over, and you’ve never thought about it.”
My hand flexes convulsively. “What if all I am is basketball? And that’s all I’m good for?”
“What if it is?” she repeats evenly.
By my age, most people know who they are.
Everything about me is tied to a game. One that’s given me as much as I’ve given it.
Problem is, I never took much time to think about what would happen when it stopped giving back.
“Clay!” Andy hollers. “You’ve got to see my layup!”
“Ever since you gave him that hoop for Christmas, he’s been hooked,” Kat murmurs to me.
I find a smile, for his sake. “I’m watching.”
10
NOVA
“This is harder than barre class,” I pant as I follow Brooke along the hiking trail.
“How are the portraits going?” she asks to distract me.
My face screws up. “Most of them are done, but I haven’t done portraits before. They could be completely wrong.”
“Like… you painted the wrong people?” Brooke quips.
Since my art supplies arrived, I’ve been working on the portraits for Annie Jamieson’s film premiere. It’s happening next week, and I’m trying to get the paintings of the stars done on time and to the brief we discussed.
