“When he finally left, I shoved everything into my suitcase and went straight to the airport. I told my agent I got food poisoning and had to miss the last day of the shoot. I think that lie was the only reason Viega kept me in the final photos.” I shake my head. “And now this story is his way of making sure I never talk.”
Damon starts rocking me, whispering soothing words into my hair. He doesn’t ask if I said no or tried to scream. What I was wearing. Whether I led him on. Why I’ve kept quiet all these years. He skips all the misogynistic victim-blaming and comforts me instead. Apologizes for the evil in the world that allows this to happen every day.
I relax into his hold, into his care. Let it wash over me and relinquish my need to be OK for once. I’m not OK. Not all the time, anyway. But I’m ready to try again with someone whoknows I’m strong, but still cherishes me like I’m precious. I’m ready for the real thing with Damon.
Chapter twenty-four
Damon
Ireach out to block the pass between Eric, our second-string center, and Luis, our power forward, finally back from academic suspension; I don’t even get a finger on it. We’ve been running the four corners passing drill all week, but the players got it down the firstday, testing my stamina to chase a nonstop line of high school kids around a basketball court.
After months of grueling practices to master the new plays I developed, and several after-school pizza party-slash-movie night-slash-study sessions, the team is finally gelling, working together like the movements in Dad’s Chronoswiss watch. It’s impressive. Even more impressive is that the in-fighting has all but stopped, unless you count the usual ribbing and rivalry that’s to be expected among teenagers with raging hormones and underdeveloped prefrontal cortices.
I can’t help but smile. I’m proud of them, and not just because they’ve been on a winning streak since the weeks leading up to the exhibition game. They’ve also grown as young men. Whether or not we make it to state, I’ve had a positive impact on these kids, and that’s a big part of why I wanted this coaching job in the first place.
“Alright, alright!” Coach Paulson shouts, blowing his whistle for good measure. “Two-hand catch, Bryce! Right! To the right!”
He moves quickly to avoid colliding with a player.
“OK…That’s it! Two-hand pass, Robbie! Go, go, go!”
I scramble to intercept a pass, knock it out of bounds,something!But I’m outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and in serious need of some oil for my Tin Man knees. Liga ACB may have had a point when they said I couldn’t keep up with the younger players.
A bead of sweat drips down and into my eye, forcing me to squint.
At least it’s a good workout. Maybetoogood. After a few more passes, Coach Paulson relents and blows his whistle.
“Alright, boys. Good hustle! Good hustle! Now let’s call it there before we give poor Coach Park a heart attack.”
His tone is so deadpan, I almost miss the dig. I don’t, however, miss the tiny smirk peeking from under his mustache, or the snickers and outright laughs from a few of the players.Can I assign laps for third-degree burns?
Carter walks up to me, still panting from the drill and holding a ball under his arm.
“Great practice, coach.” He looks around before leaning in to say under his breath, “Coach Paulson said a scout from Villanova called about me!”
I stop in my tracks, one of the practice cones I was collecting clattering to the floor, and return his beaming smile.
“That’s awesome, man! Have you told your parents yet?”
He shakes his head adamantly.
“No way. I don’t wanna jinx it. Let them come see me and make an offer. I don’t want to break the champagne out too early.”
“That’s smart,” I agree with a nod. “Who knows how many kids they’re looking at or how you’ll fit into their program.”
It’s a sensible response to his sensible choice to temper his expectations. I have a good feeling, though. I know from experience that no scout is driving two hours to see you play unless they’re already considering an offer. Carter’s been playing like his life depends on it; if he hopes to play professionally, it does.
When he looks at me with suspicion, I stop, concerned. Did I say something wrong? Maybe sensible wasn’t the right choice after all.
“What?” I ask when he continues to stare. He shakes his head again.
“Nothing. It’s just that you’ve been smiling a whole hell of a lot lately, even during wind sprints. No one smiles during wind sprints.”
I shrug and resume collecting the practice cones.
“Does this have anything to do with your hooking up with Kendra Gray?”
I turn toward him so fast my neck pops.
