Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You have no idea how it feels to have everyone turn on you.” His voice hardens, sounding so brittle I’m afraid it will break. “To have all you did your whole life count for nothing because of one bad call.”
I’m not sure if he means that ref’s bad call, or his bad decision-making in the wake of it, but I let him go on.
“And you don’t know how it burns,” he says, the words seething from hundreds of miles away, “to see someone you know is less talented get it all. Get the scholarship that was meant for you. Get drafted instead of you. Win a ring instead of you. It’s like he’s living my life, Tee.”
“I understand but—”
“He got it all,” he plows over my protest. “And now you tell me he even got my sister?”
“Our relationship isn’t about you, Cliff,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, reasonable, even though panic and frustration and anger and fear whir inside me like a typhoon.
“Of course it’s not about me. It’s about him. My whole life seems to always come back to him. Scrub ass, taking everything meant for me.”
“Look, I’m coming home next week. We can talk about it more when I get there.”
“Oh, yeah. I heard he was coming to the ceremony. The big baller who made it coming to share a few words with the little people he left behind. What? You his date?”
“No, I’m not coming with him. I’m…I’m coming for you. Mama thought—”
“Mama thought I might start using because I just couldn’t take Naz’s success? Seeing him again?”
“I’m coming because—”
“I may not be a big-time baller, a millionaire like your new boyfriend, but I have my job and my kids. I ain’t jeopardizing that for him.”
“Good.” Even though this went as badly as I’d thought it would, I take some heart from that reassurance. “I’m glad to hear that. When I come next week, we can—”
“Don’t bother.”
And the line goes dead.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Naz
It feels strange being here again.
Houston hasn’t felt like home in a long time. When I was drafted to Seattle, Mama moved out West to be closer to me. My sisters all married and settled with their families elsewhere. So there’s nothing here for me.
Well, there’s one thing in this city for me right now.
Takira is at her mother’s house. Even though her brother, that motherfucker, went off on her and told her not to attend the ceremony, she made the trip anyway. She opted to stay at her parents’ house instead of with me at the hotel, which is probably wise considering the circumstances but still pisses me off. I’m not sure if Cliff even knows she’s here. When I talked to her earlier, she hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t come by the house.
I walk the halls of St. Catherine’s, and it’s like I’ve been transported back to that year when I felt so out of place, felt like I didn’t fit anywhere, not even with the team I had come to play ball with. The closer I get to the gym where the ceremony is being held, the more I’m ready to get out of here. I’m doing this to honor Coach Lipton and for no other reason. He believed in me when I barely believed in myself. I’ll see him, say a few words, and get out.
When I reach the gym, I stare at the glass display case just beyond its doors. The retired jerseys hang in that case. From our senior class, there are only two. Fletcher’s because he broke every record any baller ever set in this place. And mine because I’m the only guy from our class who went on to play in the pros.
“Strongarm!”
No one’s called me that in years, and I turn toward the name with a frown.
“Myron?”
“Yup.” He preens, rubbing the goatee on his chin. “Look the same, huh? Ain’t aged a day.”
He actually hasn’t. Seeing him so unchanged makes me feel even more like I’ve gone back in time.
“Glad you could make it,” he says. “It’ll mean a lot to Coach.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I nod toward the open door of the gym. “He in there?”
“Yeah. Let’s get this party started.”
I follow him into the packed auditorium and take a seat on the front row reserved for speakers. The crowd, full of players and parents, faculty and staff—past and present—cheers when Coach Lipton waves at them from the stage. It is a party—a celebration of a stellar career and a legacy of teaching and service. It’s the send-off Coach Lipton deserves, and I’m glad I came, even if I do feel Cliff’s anger from a few seats away. I don’t bother looking at him, selfish asshole. When it’s my turn to speak, I keep it simple. If I say too much about my career or the success I’ve had, even in the context of thanking Coach for his part in it, it might set Cliff off. I’m already having to hold myself back after Takira told me how he treated her during their call. No need to provoke him or myself.