Prologue
Damon
Last April
Heavy thuds dislodge flakes of drywall from the ceiling and onto the thrifted rug of my living room. Mrs. Garcia, the tiny septuagenarian in the apartment above mine, must’ve finally convinced Mr. Garcia to try Pilates. It’s about time. His hip has been bothering him for as long as I’ve known him, which is…wow. Eighteen months now.
I bought the rug during Mom and Dad’s last visit—a “pop of color”, as Mom had called it. The drywall flakes blend nicely with the existing dust coating the rest of the apartment; a consequence of it sitting vacant most nights as I travel with the team to away games.
I moved into the building of mostly multi-generational families right before last season. It’s further from the stadium thanrecommended by Liga ACB’s coaching staff, but I’d grown tired of blowing cash on trendy places I barely saw in between the thirty-four games of the season.Longer if we make the playoffs, which we’d done my first year here.
Practices consisting of endless drills followed by hours in the gym had put me in a rut these past months—years, if I’m being honest—and the quiet comings and goings of the neighboring families had wrapped me in a blanket of community as soon as I’d arrived. Here, at least, I’m a real person instead of the circus pony I fear I’ve become after so many years playing professional basketball. The cozy feel of the building also helps keep my homesickness at bay. Somewhat.
My dating life may have taken a hit since moving away from the buzzing nightlife of El Raval to Gràcia, and my commute to the stadium is definitely longer, but at least I get to see my future wife every morning.
Kendra Gray.
The billboard outside my window changes every six weeks or so, and for all of last season, it was one sugary soda after another. It was barely noticeable outside of the noise the maintenance crews made when changing it. But then, six months ago, instead of another bottle of “Pineapple Explosion” or “Grapefruit Fiesta”, I awoke to findherstaring back at me.
Kendra Gray.
The name hardly fits. With golden skin that reminds me of the sand at Barceloneta Beach, burnt umber eyes like the leaves back home in Brooklyn, when it’s just cold enough fora denim jacket, and copper curls that fall past her shoulders, she’s a kaleidoscope of color, almost blinding in her beauty. And don’t even get me started on her freckles. They dust her cheeks and the bridge of her nose like a constellation, one I’d spend my life mapping with my lips if given the chance. I was bewitched from that day forward.
I shake my head to clear the poetic bullshit that’s been swirling around ever since she showed up with her full, pink lips, long, thick thighs, and generous breasts, advertising a ruffled maxi dress from ASOS. I remember pulling out my phone, Googling “current ASOS models”, and then digging through her Instagram until I could’ve listed every photographer she’d worked with in the last year and knew her favorite coffee shop in the Lower East Side.
She was married to some slick R&B singer, but filed for divorce once the news broke that he was sleeping with one of his background singers.Dumbass.To fumble a woman like that was criminal, but it technically meant I had a shot.
I frown at myself and swipe on my deodorant with more force than necessary.
It’s pathetic.I’mpathetic. To be smitten with a complete stranger is ridiculous. But her eyes haunt me. They stare out at me from every post on her social media, every spread in a magazine, and every morning, right outside my window. They tell me she isn’t just beautiful; she’s intelligent, passionate, and has a bit of a wild side. Since she showed up on that billboard,every woman I’ve met has been as close to her doppelgänger as I can manage.
I step into my track pants and lean against my windowsill, glancing at the people on the street below. As always, my gaze wanders back to Kendra. She’s modeling swimwear now, a lime green two-piece that shows every dip and curve of her tall, obviously powerful frame. A frame that has starred in countless fantasies as I lay alone in my bed.
“I have a meeting with the coach today,” I tell her, blowing out a breath. “It’s too early in the season to be about playoffs, and he asked to meet before practice instead of after like he usually does.” I grip the ledge tighter in frustration. “I’ve got a really bad feeling.”
Kendra’s smile is unmoving. Steady. Calming me without words. I unfurl my hands from the wood and resume my morning routine. Socks. Sneakers. Barça hoody. And now to the kitchen to mix protein into my travel shaker.
“I know it’s ridiculous to be this worried about something I’ve been considering for years now,” I mutter.
I set the plastic cup down on the counter hard enough to send up a plume of protein powder.
“Retiring from basketball has never been a matter ofif, butwhen. I even told Adam I was considering coming back home last year,” I continue, not quite convincing myself.
I pour oat milk into the cup and screw on the lid, shaking idly while brooding over my impending meeting.
“I guess I just thought I’d get to leave on my own terms, you know? I played smart, avoided any career-ending injuries, squirreled away money from my endorsements. And now they’re just gonna put me out to pasture on a random Wednesday? Like I’m nothing?”
I look up at Kendra who, as always, says nothing.Billboard Kendramight be a woman of few words, but that hasn’t stopped me from talking to her about things I’m too scared or ashamed to discuss with my brothers, or even Mom and Dad.
Adam, the baby, is the brother I’m closest to. I may have become the middle child of five when he was born, but I always knew my place with him. Even when I came overseas to play ball, we’ve always talked on FaceTime at least once a week. Well, until he met Maya. But even with all the wedding planning, he’s still called more than any of my other brothers.
Cory’s between Adam and me in age, but he’s always been a bit of a lone wolf. I have Adam, Henry and Noah—the twins—have each other, and Cory is the odd man out. If I ever got a call from him, I’d worry something was seriously wrong at home, but we do talk in the group chat with the rest of the bros, and he’s always ready to party with us when I’m home for the summer.
As the oldest and a lawyer, Henry and I talked whenever it was time to renegotiate my contracts. Noah, the second oldest and a talent agent, helped with my endorsement deals and is the biggest partier of all of us, since it’s practically his job to schmooze and network with Hollywood types.
But here, in Barcelona, thousands of miles from home, surrounded by families and struggling to connect through a language barrier, talking to Kendra just became natural. I talked, she listened, and if my daily fantasies turned into a full-blown crush, so be it. It’s not like I’m ever going to meet her in real life.
I finish shaking the chalky mixture, sling my backpack over my shoulders, and grab my keys from the table by the door.
