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Finn doesn’t answer right away, lips pursed tight together in thought. The guilt begins to eat away at me the longer he takes to respond.
“I can’t,” staring into nothing as he whispers that out. The small sentence weighing him down like a boulder on his back.
“You can,” I say, turning the paper in his direction, I rise from my spot. “This paper says exactly that.”
His neck cranes, blinking as he comes back to, bypassing the paper, his focus is on me instead. What I’ve said. Hearing that I only want the best for him. Sincerity my companion.
“Coach told me he thought he might have some scouts that might be interested. He sent them some tapes, and at the last game one of them actually showed.”
“Finn, you were on fire at that game,” I remind him.
His mouth hooks to one side, grin coy at the compliment before it’s gone completely. Never is Finn shy, but suddenly he seems less self-assured.
My throat dries seeing the shadow cast over his irises.
“I got the email this morning,” Finn’s statement littered with his own feeling of disbelief.
Guess that explains why he’d been up.
“You should be so proud of yourself,” I say, handing the paper back over to him. He takes it, tucking the ball under his other arm. “I’mproud of you.”
He chokes out a laugh, but it’s halfhearted. His excitement and reprieve intermix. The look however doesn’t last long before he’s clearing his throat and his entire posture smooths back out. Stiff and unmovable.
“I don’t have a choice, remember? Hardin’s my legacy, not basketball.” My insides revolt at the words. His voice so robotic, soun-Finn-like.
The embers, that fire he always has any time the topic of this sport came up slowly dying, like his dream. Right before my eyes and it’s gut wrenching.
A weight settles around the room, the paper falls the same as any grasp he ever had on going for it. The acceptance letter lands with a soft thud on his mattress.
“This was always a fantasy, Hardin is reality,” he muses unsympathetically. Eyes hard now.
My mouth parts, but then it’s withering back closed. His belief rubs my lungs raw. He’s left but I already know where he’s headed. His refuge, the only place that matters.
The court.
I yank at the paper, charging from his room and over to mine. If he’s not willing to try, then I will for him. Doesn’t he know the heavier the crown, the higher you hold your head?
We’re hellhounds, we don’t give in. We don’t give up.
nineteen
Rory
Mybody’sasheavyas my resolve. The elevator lifts, carrying me up to the top floor of Hardin. If Finn doesn’t think it’s possible then I was about to meet with the one person who could change his mind.
Finn may not be up for confronting Abram right now, but that’s one thing that’s never been a problem for me.
I could’ve waited until tomorrow after school when I came for work, but I’m too fired up right now to care. Besides, he should be grateful I had a small amount of time to compose myself on the drive over.
Finding his home office empty, working in his favor or I’d most likely have blown up and been told to come back once I calmed down.Again.
Finn deserved some happiness and this morning on our run I got a glimmer, a speck. Now I want back the full-blown, in-your-face, obnoxious ray of sunshine that he is.
Besides, the longer this elevator takes, the more I grasp that this environment isn’t for Finn. This place has sharp boundaries and pointed lines. His personality is too lighthearted and carefree for such a strict domain. It’s like trying to combine water and gasoline, they just don’t work.
My tactics are quickly thwarted. A pair of familiar arms snaking around my waist and spinning me as soon as I step off. Those ever-present butterflies reemerge as his hands find my back.
“Whoa there, Princess,” Cole chuckles, pulling back to examine more of my face. “You look like you’re on a mission of sabotage.”
