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The fans, I could hallelujah the heavens. The built-in fans, yes! Four in total, each one spanning a different corner. Of course!
Noise, noise, noise. I want it all.
Congratulations Finn! You’ve upgraded to daddy status.
Hailey hadn’t launched those words at me, she’d slung them like they were a torpedo.
The fans whir to life, more sounds.
The added breeze is nice but does nothing to cool down my overheated skin. This warmth has nothing to do with actual exhaustion and more burning, seething rage.
If someone saw my clothes, they’d probably assume I took a dip in our backyard pool, but they’d be wrong. What’s left of my attire from the party earlier is now permanently ruined.
My slacks will no doubt indefinitely cling to my thighs forever, and my shirt? For the most part, it was spared. I got rid of it hours ago. The white T-shirt underneath was not so lucky, it’s as soggy as my attitude.
How did this happen? I mean, Iknowhow it happened, I’m not that daft, but come on. Not only did Hailey ditch me without explanation years prior, I now find out this betrayal of hers goes deeper than I could’ve imagined.
Additionally, what would’ve happened if Rory hadn’t convinced Hailey to come back? Would I have ever found out? Would my sister have eventually said screw it and told me? I would like to say yes, but I’m not sure who I trust right now.
Rory knew…she knew, and she didn’t have the decency to tell me either….
My skull throbs, pounding. This is all so messed up.
The lights, so harsh and brutal anyone else would wince at the intensity. My eyes, however, are wide and alert to the truth. Reality.
I grab a fresh ball off the rack beside me. A wave of ease hums, settling my veins as much as a flashlight would in space.
Usually, this sport helps. Not tonight.
I step back behind the free-throw line. Its spot as trustworthy as I thought my own sister once was. How long has she known? Why didn’t she ever mention it before? How many surprises can one person take in a lifetime?
It would be alright with me if someone skipped my turn for once. I know I’ve had my share. Let someone else have a move.
My lungs heave beneath the bones of my ribs as I get back into position. Feet proportioned, balance even. Check. Toes pointed straight toward the target. Check. Middle finger on the seam and I’m ready to go.
Just me and the ball.
Check.
My arms arch up and the sphere finds its wings, gravity its only friend as it soars through the open air.
Bouncing, it knocks the rim of the hoop once, my arm somewhat frozen in place as it drops from the rim.
My chin squares in shortness. It didn’t go in.
“Guess there’s a reason your free-throw stats haven’t improved,” a tragically familiar voice hums from nowhere.
I didn’t hand out invites for anyone’s opinions, hers most of all.
If I wasn’t so furious, I might’ve found it more impressive—and not at all confusing—that Hailey’s kept up with my figures. Even if they are only from a technical standpoint.
Lowering, my focus shifts from the hoop and down to where her too-small hands curl around the black link fencing.
I reach for my phone again, staying locked and protected inside my cage while she continues to observe me from outside. Good.
“Don’t tell me you’re quitting on my account?” she jabs while I scroll through my playlist.
My thumb nearly punctures the screen at the playfulness in her tone. She wanted it to come off genuine but we both know it’s forced.
