“Boy, you ain’t have to.” Banks grinned. “Your energy screams that y’all been fucking. Don’t even try to tell me you justbe having some good conversations. Good conversations, my ass.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. There was no point. Banks had already figured it out.
“So…what?” I asked. “What do I say now?”
“Say you’re going to stop trying to be a martyr and let someone be on your team. Say you’re going to fight for yourself and for whatever’s happening between you and Harper, instead of sacrificing yourself because you think that’s noble.”
“I’m not sacrificing myself. I’m fighting. I just don’t want her caught up in whatever’s going to happen to me.”
Kim and a few others had drifted to the far end of the court, giving us space. I nodded downcourt and gave them two fingers, meaning give us a couple of minutes.
“Look, I like her, okay?” I said finally. “More than I expected to. More than I should, given the circumstances.”
Banks’s grin softened into something more genuine. “Good. You deserve some happiness in your life.”
“But if this goes badly?—”
“Then you deal with it together. That’s how relationships work, Cole. You don’t get to decide unilaterally that you’re going to take all the damage so she doesn’t have to. That’s not protecting her. That’s just you being a control freak.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I’m always gon’ be real.” Banks punched my shoulder. “Harper’s grown. Real grown. Let her make her own choices. If one of those choices isyou, don’t fuck it up.”
I sucked my teeth. “So much easier said than done.”
“Everything worth having is. Ask me how I know.” Banks winked, then tossed me the ball. “Now can we please work off the humiliation of losing to plastics?”
I smirked. “Y’all lost to sorry ass plastics and now it’s my problem?”
“Yes. Now we beat them so badly they never want to play us again.”
We played three games. Trauma won two out of three, with me scoring the winning basket in the final game. By the time we were done, everyone was heaving hard breaths and dripping sweat.
“That’s more like it,” Banks said, high-fiving Kim. “Trauma’s back on top.”
I showered in the locker room and changed back into my street clothes. The parking garage was mostly empty, just a few cars scattered across the levels. I was halfway to my car when I saw her.
Bag slung over her shoulder, phone pressed to her ear, she looked exhausted—shoulders tight, face drawn. She was nodding at whatever the person on the other end was saying, her free hand rubbing her temple like she was fighting off a headache.
She hadn’t seen me yet. I could get in my car, drive away, give her space.
But watching her walk alone through the garage, looking like the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders… I couldn’t just leave.
I changed direction, heading toward her car instead of mine. She looked up as I got close, her eyes widening slightly. She said something into the phone—an excuse to get off—then lowered it.
“Cole…uhm, hi.”
“Hey. You alright?” I asked. “You look…”
“Like it was a long day?” She slipped her phone into her bag. “Yeah. You?”
“Had a fun conversation with Webb this afternoon.”
“Shit.” Harper glanced around the garage, checking for cameras, for people, for witnesses. Finding none, she moved closer. “How bad was it?”
“Bad enough. He made it clear the hospital expects me to play nice on Tuesday.”
“Did he at least pretend to have your back?”
