Page 2 of Read With Your Heart

“I’m fabulous,” I say, and it isn’t a total lie. The divorce, the house . . . It’s going to be a good year. As a teacher, I measure the year from September to June, not from January to December, so my year is about to begin. I report to work on Monday to attend planning meetings and set up my classroom even though school won’t start for more than a week. This gives me the weekend to settle into my new home.

Home. What a great word. I grew up in an amazing house, filled with love and laughter, fights and folly. As the youngest of four, I can admit I was a bit spoiled. I fondly look back on my upbringing in a warm home with devoted parents and teasing siblings. My ten-year marriage was quite the opposite, though, and the house we shared was anything but a home. It was hardly even a house. We didn’t have any privacy from his family or his friends. It was a bachelor pad before we married, and most of his hunting buddies continued to treat the place as if it was still a hangout when we were newlyweds. Over time, I grew complacent.

It no longer matters, I remind myself.

“Need any help moving in this weekend?” Jess asks me, and I smile.

“Actually, I think I’m good.” I didn’t have much to move, having left most things with Trent. None of it was mine anyway. Just a few decorative pillows, some wall art, and a plant or two. I’d left everything behind, wanting a fresh start. I’d been slowly moving items back to my mother’s house, like my grandmother’s quilt and boxes of books. On the day I’d officially left, I filled my car with my clothes and didn’t look back.

“If you need anything, you call me,” Jess states, emphasizing in his glare that I better call him. Would it be so bad to lean on my family a little bit more? I’ve been holding too much inside for too long and accepting his help is such a simple act. Still, I want to do this on my own.

A beer is placed before me even though I hadn’t ordered yet. I pick up the bottle from the local brewing company and clink mine with Jess’s.

“Here’s to new beginnings.”

Lesson 2

Destiny comes from within us.

[Leon]

I’m completely trapped.

My imagination races as I bounce the basketball, pretend someone’s at my back, fake left, and spin right for the shot.

Swoosh. The synthetic rope net flips against the base of the fiberglass backboard.

I rebound my own ball and dribble to the middle of the open court. I have to give this small town credit. It has decent outdoor courts—nice boards, smooth concrete, and solid hoops. Not like home.

Home.

I will away thoughts of a place I can no longer consider my own. When I first made the decision to travel to this small lake town, I’d known it would be different, but when I’d arrived, it had felt like I’d entered an alternate universe. Mayberry-ish with one main street, complete with fancy streetlights and quiet businesses in architecturally pleasing buildings. No metal gates. No trash in the road. No blue police monitor blinking at the top of a pole.

This place was safe—serene and peaceful—and exactly what I wanted.

I’d done my time, and I wanted to be under the radar now.

“I feel within me a peace above all earthly dignities; a still and quiet conscience.” Shakespeare, man . . . he’s the bomb, and I want what he said. He’s one of my idols, and I’ve always had an affinity for him.

Still, life here is lonely. I miss a few of my boys, especially AJ, but he shouldn’t know where I am any more than anyone else. It is better this way.

A new beginning.

I take the two-point shot from the free throw line as if I’d been fouled on the last shot I took. It’s hard playing ball on my own, so I was grateful to learn there’s a pick-up game at the high school for adults. I need to take it easy because some of the guys who attend are older, but it’s a decent workout. I still like to practice more than one night a week, though. Dribbling the ball settles my thoughts. I focus on the movements of my body and not the memories pinging around in my head.

“He takes the shot,” I whisper and release the ball, watching, anticipating, knowing it’s going to glide through the hoop. “He scores.”

“Ahh,” I exaggerate, holding my hands cupped around my mouth. I don’t have to worry about anyone hearing or seeing me. There’s a public ball court in town, but I prefer the solitary experience of this one near the high school. Tonight, I stand out a bit in my gear—jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. Not your typical attire for a court, but I came here on my motorcycle tonight after taking a ride to clear my thoughts. I keep the basketball hidden between the bushes along the building.

It’s still beautiful and balmy up here despite being late August, and the drive tonight did me some good. My bike is the first thing I’ve ever owned outright. Even the parts are all legitimate.

No more stealing.

I rebound my ball and dribble back to the center court, weaving the ball between my legs as I move. This was my sport. I always thought I’d go all the way—NBA, baby—but those are kid dreams when you grow up where I did, how I did. I never made it out of high school, and now I’m thirty-five years old. I’m damn lucky I have a job. The work is decent and the pay okay. It’s enough I can afford to rent a house, but I’m living paycheck to paycheck.

Welcome to the honest life, Leon.

I don’t go by my street name anymore. I’m sticking to who I am now—Leon Ramirez.