He laughs.
This morning, my agent and assistant got the logistics sorted while I packed a couple of bags to get me through the week or two until I get the rest of my stuff sent over.
Nova booked a later flight and volunteered to go apartment hunting.
I still can’t believe she agreed to follow me here. I’ve never had a woman take that kind of a chance on me. As if what we are transcends my wild career.
I want to show her she made the right decision.
The GM takes me through the halls, nodding to staff as we pass. “You belong here, Clay. This is a place for winners. We’re after a ring this year, and we’ve spared no expense to bring you here.”
I’ve played on a few different teams in my career, and every building feels different. This one’s like a gilded castle. The arena is full of banners hanging in rows from the ceiling.
Division champions.
Conference champions.
League champions.
Our tour ends on the court, where the team is getting warmed up for practice.
“This is Clayton Wade. As you’ve heard, we acquired him yesterday in a trade. You’ll miss Kyle, but come the postseason, Clay’ll be your new best friend.”
There are a few nods, but mostly the group is silent and composed.
Fine by me. I’m here to work.
Their point guard, Isaac, steps up and claps me on the back. “Welcome to LA. We’ll try to go easy on you the first day.”
We line up to start drills.
They’ll give me a locker and new stuff, but for now, I’m in Nike.
There are new formations, plays and coverages specific to each individual team. This year in Denver, I’ve appreciated learning the ins and outs that allow other guys to contribute.
“I’ll get up to speed on those soon,” I tell one of the coaches as I sit to catch my breath and watch the others run a defensive sequence.
“Or we’ll cut them if they don’t suit your style.”
Isaac, on the court nearby, overhears. His grin fades.
They have an unfair number of stars, especially with me. They have an A-list fan base—everyone from Tyler Adams to Harrison King sits courtside—and winning with style is what matters.
With that come egos.
No matter how many guys want to be the best, there’s only one ball.
I line up again to run the next drill. Isaac comes over to guard me.
“You found a place to live yet?” He asks it so casually I’m not sure he’s addressing me.
“My girl’s looking—”
Before I can finish, the ball goes up.
Isaac gets to it first, darting past me and taking it to the hoop for a layup. A few guys shout their approval, and Isaac jogs back.
“Sorry, man. Couldn’t help it,” he says easily.
It’s irritating, but I brush it off.
“Today,” I finish as we set up again. “She’s looking today.”
The ball goes up. This time I get it, hitting him harder than necessary as I grab the ball, and take it up the court, flipping it to another teammate to dunk. He nods after, a cool thank-you I return.
“I dunno how you deal with it. Thad”—he nods to one of the other guys—“was saying how his girl does nothing but complain about all the shit she wants, that he’s never home, all that crap. Not cool when you’re carrying everything. No way that doesn’t affect your game.”
It’s not straight trash talk, but he’s calling me out.
“You’re single,” I guess.
“Hell yeah. I can think about all that after I retire.” Isaac shakes his head as we change to another drill.
I’m not a defensive specialist, but there’s no way I’m letting Isaac score. I slide in front of him, setting my feet to absorb the charge as he tries to fight his way to the basket. Isaac’s charging six-five collides with my blocking six-five.
I go down hard.
The floor slams into me as I land on my hip and knee. Pain radiates from both joints, and I grind my teeth.
“Defensive foul!” Coach calls.
Isaac appears over me, silhouetted against the lights as he holds out a hand. “Welcome to LA.”
On my feet, I walk off the discomfort, refusing to let it show.
“That’s practice for today,” Coach calls before blowing the whistle. “We have a game tomorrow. I expect to see you all for shootaround. Clay, we’ll get you video time with our lead analysts and a meeting to go over some of the coverages.”
“You good?” one of the trainers asks me when I cross to the bench.
I nod, ignoring the pain.
Even if some of the guys aren’t happy to have me here, we all want to win. As I grab my phone, I see two missed texts.
Nova: OMG, I found the perfect place! Can’t wait to show you.
Nova: I’m on my way over.
Her name on my phone makes the knot in my chest ease instantly.
I tug on a hoodie over my jersey only to glance up and see Nova hovering in the stands, halfway up. She’s dressed in a denim skirt and a white tank that cling to her curves. Her blond-pink hair falls in waves around her bare shoulders.
When she sees me looking, she waves and smiles, bouncing on her toes.
My lips twitch and I nod back.
Despite the GM’s words, maybe I don’t quite fit in here.
But neither does she, and I love her for it.
4
NOVA
Clay always looks good after practice. Exhausted and invigorated, like he just slayed a dragon.
Or his own personal demons.
He meets me in the hallway after showering, his hair still damp.
“Did you show them how to play?” I ask.
Clay wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me until I’m breathless. If I’m surprised by the urgency, I don’t show it. I kiss him back, pressing up onto my toes as his mouth slants across mine.
I want to be his anchor. The one person he looks for, smiles at.
We’re in the middle of the arena, and I’m suddenly wishing we were in private.
“Didn’t realize PDA was still a thing,” an unfamiliar voice says from the other side of Clay.
I look past him at another guy in a hoodie.
He’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. There are too many players in the league for me to remember all of them, but I vow to memorize all the LA guys this week if it kills me.
I smile and extend a hand. “I’m Nova.”
He glances at it before shaking it, his mouth curving. “Isaac. This is a big move. Nice of you to drop everything for Clay. You got friends here? Family?”
“They’re back in Denver.” I feel Clay tense at my side, but maybe it’s my imagination. “I’m excited for the opportunity. We both are.” I take Clay’s hand and squeeze.
Clay’s already tugging me toward the door.
“That was weird,” I murmur as we head for the parking garage.
“No shit.”
“I meant you. You don’t like him.” I cut him a look as we reach Clay’s rental.
“It’s not about liking everyone. Sometimes you just have to work with them.” He unlocks the doors.
I shift into the car, dismayed. “You guys will be teammates, right? You have to get along.”