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“Because I’m not playing, you mean.”
We both knew it was true.
“Because there are lots of footwear options,” I countered, rummaging through his half of the closet. “You could wear…what the hell?”
My fingers closed on massive rubber feet.
“Flippers?” I brandished the bright purple fins as long as my torso. “Are you secretly a scuba diver and you’ve been holding out on me this entire time?”
Clay grinned. “Nah, they’re from one of my sponsors. Got sent to me as part of a promo.” He pointed to the logo on one side.
“Well, you could wear flippers to finals. You’ll be the only one in snorkelling chic courtside.”
He wrapped both arms around me and crushed me against his huge chest. “Thanks, Pink.”
“At least you don’t need another surgery.” I lifted both palms, the flippers flopping with in my hands. “You can do most things, just not play elite basketball.”
He huffed out a breath near my ear.
“If I can’t play elite basketball, I don’t know what I do.”
Brooke’s phone rings, breaking into my memories.
“Jay?” she answers, frowning at the spotty reception. “What’s the…? I can’t hear you.” She presses the other hand to her ear, then blinks. “Okay.”
She clicks off, laughing in disbelief.
“What?”
“Coach is awake.”
I stare at her. “I didn’t know people got better after being in comas for months.”
“Miracle of modern medicine? A few of the guys are going to see him. Then everyone’s meeting at Mile High.”
We hustle our butts back down the trail and shift into her Lexus.
Clay. He needs to know about this.
I hit his contact, and it rings until his voicemail picks up.
I can’t think of the right words, so I click off without a single one.
* * *
“Look who it is.” Miles catches sight of us when we walk in the doors of Mile High. “Tour de France Barbie and Camp Counselor Skipper.”
Brooke flips him off.
Rookie and Atlas smile in welcome, already in the booth. Everyone looks up as Jay and Chloe come inside, him holding the door for her.
When Jay reaches us, he says, “I had to tell him we didn’t make the playoffs. From the expression on the old man’s face, the only person who was gonna die in that room was me.”
Laughter has the knot in my chest loosening. Miles and Rookie already have pints of beer, and when a waitress comes over, we order more drinks.
“So, how’s LA, Skipper?” Miles prompts me.
I fill him in, glossing over some details.
