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We finish hitting the rest of the leftover cans, then toss the ones that didn’t make it into the dumpster and head back toward the court.
Grass gradually gives way to the rectangle of cracked asphalt that marks one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve beencoming here since I was a kid, riding my bike until I was old enough to drive. It’s seen me through plenty of shitty times, and I wish it was totally empty now.
I’d love to stand and shoot.
Something about sending a basketball through the hoop over and over again soothes my annoyance like nothing else.
Maybe it’s the repetition.
Maybe it’s the purpose.
Maybe it’s that I’mgood, and there’s a special satisfaction that accompanies success you’ve earned. Whatever the reason, I could really use that sort of therapy right now.
Mark, Jordan, Finn, and I played some two-on-two earlier, but it was a friendly game lacking all the intensity I’m craving.
I’m not as tired as I should be after weeks of pushing myself physically. There’s a relentless buzz humming beneath my skin, one that amplified with each swing of a brown ponytail walking away.
I should have gone after her. Probably. Maybe. Fuck if I know the right move.
We didn’t hammer out any details of our “break” or discuss whether the space she asked for extended to when we were in the same place again.
Cassia has always complicated my priorities. I fought falling for her; it happened anyway. Fought it for lots of reasons, but high on that list was not wanting to hurt her. She deserves better than me and my baggage. She’s smart and kind and motivated, none of which are adjectives most people would use to describe me.
I’m driven when it comes to basketball, I guess. But that road is close to ending. Chances I’ll wind up getting drafted to play professionally are slim. So I’m staring at a future without the escape I’ve always excelled at. And possibly without the one person who’s my calm in the midst of chaos.
I might not deserve Cassia Nolan, but hell if I don’t want her. Need her.
And it’s always felt like she wantedme. Neededme.
Until now.
I talk with the guys for a few more minutes, finalizing plans for the trip tomorrow and catching up. I barely kept in touch this summer, using basketball and being away as an excuse.
“I’m headed out,” I announce, pulling my keys out of my pocket and spinning them around one finger.
Finn glances over. “You’re good to drive?”
He squints at me like he’s in any shape to assess my sobriety. Mark’s driving him and Jordan home.
“I only had one beer. I’m good.”
We say our final goodbyes and then I head for the makeshift parking area. My truck and Mark’s SUV are the only two cars left.
I have a longer trip home than most of my friends. The house I grew up in—the house across the street from the Nolans’—now belongs to a young couple with a toddler.
My aunt Catherine moved back to Pembrooke after my dad died, renting a condo in a newer development on the far edge of town so that my younger sister Sydney could finish high school here and to take in Lily, our family dog who died last year.
Both Sydney and I expected Catherine to leave once Sydney graduated, but she met a guy and chose to remain in town even once we were both in college. It’s meant Sydney and I can come back here over breaks, and as a bonus, Catherine spends most nights at her boyfriend’s, so the condo is usually empty.
I’m really hoping that’ll be the case tonight.
I don’t feel like talking to anyone.
Sydney stayed in New York for the summer, attending a theater program. I saw her briefly, before I left for basketball camp two months ago. And we’ve spoken sporadically since,mostly occasional texts checking in with each other. Mostly sent by Sydney.
I’m about as shitty of a brother as I am a boyfriend.
I near my truck, stumbling over tire treads and uneven clumps of grass in the dark. Feel my pocket for my keys and then curse when they slip through clumsy fingers.
