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My sneakers squeak against varnished wood as I pivot to grab another ball off the rack. I go in for a layup next, my fingers brushing the metal rim as I watch the ball fall through.
“I figured I’d find you here.”
I turn, watching Sydney walk across the empty court.
I’m alone in here, just a bunch of basketballs littering the ground that I’m putting off picking up.
Sydney has come up to Richmond for a few of my games over the past three years, but this is the first time she’s been in the gym when it’s like this—hallowed and silent.
It’s quieter than a church. Huge and empty. And while it’s not the same as being at the court back in Pembrooke, it’s the closest thing to it. It’s so huge in here, all my problems look small.
I could really use that perspective right now.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” she says, stopping a few feet away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts.
I glance toward the bleachers, where my bag sits. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”
Sydney nods, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Did you guys have fun last night?”
“Yeah, it was great. Aside from the obvious. Felt like the old days when she’d sleep over on Friday nights.”
I smile, nostalgic for those nights too. I was always eager to get home and find out if Cassia would be in the kitchen. Should have figured out back then I was a total goner for the girl. That the feelings I thought were an adolescent crush wouldn’t go anywhere, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them. And God, did I try.
It’s always been her for me.
“Good.” I pause, trying to figure out what else to say.
“This isn’t your problem, Holden,” Sydney says. “It’s mine.”
I nod, although I’m silently disagreeing. We both know that isn’t true.
We’re the only reliable family each other has. It would be different if our dad was still alive. If our mom had stuck around. If she and Harrison were in a relationship.
But if Sydney decides to have this baby, she’ll need me.
And I’m not just stressing about that.
Her pregnancy added a new, complicated layer to the decision of whether or not I tell her about our mom’s illness.
I rest the basketball I’m holding on my hip. “When are you going to tell him?”
She looks up at the row of shiny banners hanging from the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
I shake my head. “Fucking Baker.”
Shock and guilt dulled a lot of my anger yesterday.
It’s back this morning in full force. I’m trying to tamp it down because I know it won’t help the situation and won’t change anything. But it’s still there, festering. Even if he hadn’t gotten herpregnant, I can’t believe he touched her.
He should have taken her out on a date first, at the fucking least.
Mentioned his interest to me.
That he didn’t do either of those things tells me she didn’t mean anything to him, and that makes me furious.
And hedidknock her up. I can’t direct any of my anger about the situation toward Sydney without making her feel worse than she already does. But Baker? As far as I’m concerned, he fucked up my sister’s whole life. Put her in this impossible position.
