I could pursue legal action against my father, but it’s not a road I’m comfortable going down. I had my agent contact the site so they’d remove the products knowing full well my dad would only take the crap elsewhere. He left me two voicemails after my win the other night. One of them was sugarcoated and sweet, all about how my “old man” is so proud of me; the other was straight to the point. I need money, rent’s due any day now. Apparently the stipend my financial managers send him every month isn’t enough anymore.
“Think they’ll have us staying in those cabins?” Anthony asks, craning his head to get a good look at the one we just passed.
“Who the hell knows. You know how Coach Dalton is.”
Jerry Dalton is an NBA legend with more wins under his belt than any other coach in history. He’s also led the U.S. men’s Olympic basketball team to four gold medals, and this year, he wants to make that five. He has more sway than any other coach I’ve worked with, as evidenced by the fact that I’m here in the woods right now.
When we first got word that he wanted us in Texas for a few weeks before the Games, we all rolled our eyes. We’re the best of the best—the top twelve professional players from the United States. We could show up in Tokyo tomorrow, tie our hands behind our backs, cover our eyes with a blindfold, and still dominate the playing field, but Coach Dalton has it in his mind that we need practice and privacy, so that’s what we’ll get.
This land is his, and he must own a lot of it. Most of the acreage is still covered in dense forest, but the cleared area at the end of the winding road boasts quite a few buildings. The assistant who gives us a tour of the place explains that there’s a main house, a large indoor basketball complex with three regulation-sized courts, a training facility where the physical therapists and nutritionists are housed, a few outdoor practice courts, and then our individual cabins. The assistant also gives us our cabin assignments. There’s not enough space for everyone to have their own. Some players are bringing family with them, so they get first dibs. I don’t have a family, but I have seniority. Anthony doesn’t; he’s bunking with Carmelo Taylor, and he’s got my deepest sympathies.
“Oh you feel bad for me?” Anthony taunts. “Good, then switch. I’ll take your cabin.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Never gonna happen.”
These situations are always tricky. Trey, Anthony, and I are all coming from Los Angeles, but our other nine teammates are from all over the country. For most of our careers, our loyalties lie with our respective franchises. My blood, sweat, and tears belong to my fans back in LA, but the Olympics are different. Until we walk away with that gold medal, our enemies during the regular season—Carmelo included—are our new teammates. Starting today.
Chapter Four
Raelynn
I visited Nan last night, and I’m still in a bad mood from it. I know she’s likely to start having more bad days than good days, but my optimistic heart just can’t give up hope that she’ll pull through and somehow be the first person in history to beat Alzheimer’s. Her caretakers have warned me that it’s futile to pretend she’s going to recover. They know each day she’s going to slip further away from the person I used to know. There are no exceptions. No special miracles. No matter how much I might wish for one.
Yesterday was a particularly hard day, a day I knew was coming: the first time she didn’t recognize me when I walked into her room at the nursing home. She blinked up at me with watery eyes and unfurled a smile devoid of any recognition. She assumed I was one of her caretakers, and she patted her bed with a shaky hand and told me to sit down.
She had her dinner sitting on a tray but wasn’t touching much of it. I asked her if she wanted me to help her eat it.
She nodded, and for a while we sat in silence as I cut up tiny bites of chicken and held them up to her mouth.
She studied me while she ate, and I naively held out hope that she was trying to place me in her mind.
Eventually, she spoke.
“You have the prettiest eyes. They remind me of someone.”
You.
They’re your eyes. The same pale cerulean blue.
“Order up,” Cook says, drawing me out of my worries.
I refocus my attention on the plates piling up, ready to be delivered around the bustling diner. The place has been packed the last few days, so much so that Christine came in early today to help me out. There’s no denying that the rumors about the Olympic basketball team coming to town are true. There’s been a flood of people into Dale’s recently: fans and press hoping to get a glimpse of players, groups of people wearing jackets and t-shirts embroidered with the Olympic symbol, and today, the players themselves.
Two of them arrived thirty minutes ago, and I knew right away they were part of the Olympic team. Two young, confident guys who had to bend to make it past the doorway and walked in with an untouchable swagger. Yup, doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Since then, more have arrived. They’ve pushed tables together and nearly taken over the whole diner.
Old-timers still surround them on the perimeter and press linger outside, trying and failing to get in thanks to two bodyguards stationed out front. I’m not sure it’s legal to bar them from entering, but I have no stake in the game so I’ve been minding my own business.
“You gonna get those?” Christine asks, rounding the side of the counter with a tray topped with dirty plates. Her tone implies she’s slightly annoyed with me for just standing here, but I’ve been working my butt off all morning too. I only stopped for a second to make another pot of coffee, and then I got distracted thinking about Nan.
“I’m on it,” I say, reaching for the plates Cook just placed near me before I start to strategically arrange them on my arms. I’m a master at delivering food, and the guys take notice.
“Whoa, whoa. You need help?” one of them asks, jumping to his feet. He’s an Asian guy with a smooth complexion and sharp, handsome features.
The guy beside him tugs him back down to his chair. “She’s got it. Look at her—she’s a beast.”
I chuckle. “Honestly, if you try to help, you might make it worse. You’re better off just staying put and letting me finish.”
A guy down the table coughs and mumbles a “That’s what she said” under his breath.
There are a few laughs and a lot of grumbles.
“Ignore him,” the Asian guy says. “LaMarcus, you’re an idiot.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” LaMarcus says to him, then he turns to me with big puppy dog eyes. “Hey, ma’am, I didn’t mean anything by it. You forgive me, right?”
I smile and shake it off. “No worries, but please don’t call me ma’am. I’m probably younger than most of you.”
They laugh as I finish placing their plates down in front of them, and then I run back to get the next bunch so I can deliver those too. Soon, the place quiets down while they all get busy eating.
“Can I get y’all anything else? Some strawberry jam for those biscuits?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips.
“Do you hear her? Jam. I think I’m in love,” another guy says, this one with fiery red hair.