She hurls the words at me like attack, but she’s the one who looks wounded. It’s not the accusation on her face but the hurt beneath that guts me.
I wanted to make room for her to choose for herself, to know she was enough. Instead, I gave her another reason to believe she wasn’t.
How fucking callous I must have seemed.
“You didn’t want me then. I’m not yours now,” she goes on, her voice wavering at the edges. “If you need that hand to play basketball, you’ll think twice before touching me with it again.”
She spins and heads back out, letting the door slam behind her.
5
CLAY
“Utah are grinders on defense.” Coach points at the screen in the dark theater room. “Watch these rotations.”
We’re reviewing game tape in our team meeting, and I shift back, extending my legs over the seat in front of me. Utah is technically sound but not as physical as LA.
Which is why instead of going over matchups, my mind cuts to wondering if a certain pink-haired princess is occupying a hallway a few hundred feet from here.
Now that I know how bad I hurt her, I can’t think of anything else.
She’s under my skin, in my blood, on my brain.
I’ve built an exceptional career being a selfish prick, but where she’s concerned…
I hate living in a world where she thinks I’m an asshole.
I don’t live my life regretting where I’ve been, but I can’t help wondering if I made the wrong call with her.
With us.
“… we’re going to make the playoffs, we gotta take Utah for three of four.”
The playoffs. I’m trying not to think that far ahead because if everything goes to plan, I won’t be in a Kodiaks uniform, but the excited rumble through the room makes it impossible to ignore.
Harlan promised to get me out, but for the time being, I’m still here, surrounded by guys who want to win in this city—for this city.
A hand goes up. Rookie. “We can get through them. They’ll be playing catch-up the entire night.”
Miles hollers and fist-bumps Rookie.
“Wade,” Coach barks, and all heads turn toward me. “You’ve played Utah plenty. Got any input?”
“I can get past their guards. Center’s a step slow.”
“What about for the rest of the team?”
I pause. “That’s above my paygrade.”
Later, on my way out of the room, Coach grabs me. “I need you to step up. You’re used to seeing the game for you, but the next evolution is you seeing it for all of them.”
I cock my head. “Next evolution of my game is holding the MVP trophy at finals.”
He swears. “You don’t get there without four other guys. This game isn’t only about stars, Wade. Someone has to take responsibility for this team.”
“That’s your job, old man.”
“What about when I’m gone?”
I scoff. “You’re gonna outlive us all in this league.”
After banging out the routine, my muscles are straining and my lungs burning. I grab a towel and wipe down, watching Rookie do lunges across the gym.
I’m never gonna be the leader Coach wants. I’m too focused on my own game.
But in the young guy working his ass off on the other side of the floor, I see a piece of myself.
“Your handle’s not gonna work against him,” I tell Rookie gruffly, naming one of the guards on the opposing team. “He’ll pick your pocket all night long. Best you can do is try to switch onto the four or five.”
His brows rise, his breath straining as he repeats the movement. “You don’t think I can take him?”
Doesn’t matter what I think, what matters is what Rookie thinks. What he’s committed to doing.
And there’s uncertainty in his eyes.
I might not know how to fix things with Nova, but this, I can fix.
“I bet you five large you can’t take him,” I say.
Rookie grins against the effort. “I’ll prove it to you.”
NOVA
There is no better companion for painting than Lizzo. She’s the best friend you never knew you needed cheering you on.
While she's been blasting from my headphones, I’ve painted the skyline twice. It’s the part of the wall that will be the grandest but also the most straightforward. The individual components are inanimate—buildings don’t have souls until they’re filled with people—while the other pieces of the mural will be more challenging to get right. It’s not enough that the brushstrokes are accurate. They have to feel alive.
Bumping into Clay at Chloe’s party had my emotions running high.
I still get hot thinking about how he slipped his huge hand over my thigh as if my body was his to command.
Hot with anger. Not arousal.
I swore I wouldn’t get off to him. It was part of the deal I made myself when I lit his jersey on fire.
No more fantasizing about Clayton Wade.
I didn’t plan on telling him how much he'd hurt me, but there was a flicker of shock and regret on his face when I did.
Well, I’m over it. Clay's used to getting what he wants when he wants it and casting it aside just as fast.
In the past week, I’ve been here early every morning working on the skyline that will form the foundation of the first part of the mural. It feels good to be making progress.
I tug the headphones off and step down for a break when I hear my name.
“Nova.”
I spin, wiping at my brow. “Hi, Mr. Parker.”
“James,” he says. “How is my wall? I need a photo to show stakeholders.”
“Soon,” I say.
James glances at his watch before meeting my eyes again with a smile. “By five?”
My stomach lurches as I realize how quickly I'll have to finish in order for it to be presentable for a photo.
His tone implies that if it's not done by then, there will be consequences for me personally. I read the paperwork as thoroughly as I could, but who knows if he could withhold my paycheck or maybe even fire me and start over with another artist?
“Of course,” I say, trying to sound confident.
My mind spins as I try to calculate how much more time it will take me to finish up this one area of the mural while being careful not to mess with anything else.
My back is already sore from bending and stretching, and I rub my hip absently as I survey what still needs to be done.
Three hours later, I’m still stretched out, my muscles complaining. I haven’t stopped for a bathroom break or anything else in as long as I can remember.
Why the hell did I promise to get this done today?
There’s one spot that’s high enough I might need a new ladder, but facilities hasn’t responded to my call and I don’t have time to go hunting for them.
My headphone batteries die, and I toss them onto my bag at the foot of the ladder. Even Lizzo has quit for the day.
I bend my forehead against the ladder and press my palm to my face.
“The Thinker. It’s a famous statue.”
Clay’s voice has me dragging a raw breath through my lungs.