“You don’t have to wear basketball shoes,” I said.
“Because I’m not playing, you mean.”
We both knew it was true.
“Because there are lots of footwear options,” I countered, rummaging through his half of the closet. “You could wear…what the hell?”
My fingers closed on massive rubber feet.
“Flippers?” I brandished the bright purple fins as long as my torso. “Are you secretly a scuba diver and you’ve been holding out on me this entire time?”
Clay grinned. “Nah, they’re from one of my sponsors. Got sent to me as part of a promo.” He pointed to the logo on one side.
“Well, you could wear flippers to finals. You’ll be the only one in snorkelling chic courtside.”
He wrapped both arms around me and crushed me against his huge chest. “Thanks, Pink.”
“At least you don’t need another surgery.” I lifted both palms, the flippers flopping with in my hands. “You can do most things, just not play elite basketball.”
He huffed out a breath near my ear.
“If I can’t play elite basketball, I don’t know what I do.”
Brooke’s phone rings, breaking into my memories.
“Jay?” she answers, frowning at the spotty reception. “What’s the…? I can’t hear you.” She presses the other hand to her ear, then blinks. “Okay.”
She clicks off, laughing in disbelief.
“What?”
“Coach is awake.”
I stare at her. “I didn’t know people got better after being in comas for months.”
“Miracle of modern medicine? A few of the guys are going to see him. Then everyone’s meeting at Mile High.”
We hustle our butts back down the trail and shift into her Lexus.
Clay. He needs to know about this.
I hit his contact, and it rings until his voicemail picks up.
I can’t think of the right words, so I click off without a single one.
“Look who it is.” Miles catches sight of us when we walk in the doors of Mile High. “Tour de France Barbie and Camp Counselor Skipper.”
Brooke flips him off.
Rookie and Atlas smile in welcome, already in the booth. Everyone looks up as Jay and Chloe come inside, him holding the door for her.
When Jay reaches us, he says, “I had to tell him we didn’t make the playoffs. From the expression on the old man’s face, the only person who was gonna die in that room was me.”
Laughter has the knot in my chest loosening. Miles and Rookie already have pints of beer, and when a waitress comes over, we order more drinks.
“So, how’s LA, Skipper?” Miles prompts me.
I fill him in, glossing over some details.
“Saw he got his ring,” Rookie says. “How’s he doing?”
The door opens again, and we all look up. Clay walks in, his hand on the back of a woman.
“What the…?” Brooke says under her breath.
He’s gorgeous in jeans and a camel zip-up sweater shoved up to his elbows, standing a foot and a half above the woman at his side.
She’s pretty. Not like the Kodashians’ try-hard kind but naturally, her hair falling in soft waves and her face freckled. They exchange a few words, and she looks at us, biting her lip.
She throws her arms around him. Disbelief rises up inside me, chased with white-hot jealousy.
Nowhere in the “break” did the idea of him cozying up with some other woman enter my mind.
Maybe it should have.
The woman leaves and Clay comes over to the booth, his gaze circling the crew. One by one, they size him up. Except Jay, who doesn’t move.
“Hey, man,” Miles says, breaking the quiet.
“Long time,” Clay says, but his eyes land on me.
Apparently.
CLAY
When I heard about Coach, I jumped on the first commercial flight I could get out of LAX, Kat and Daniel insisting they’d be fine finishing their trip in LA without me. After I landed, I saw a missed call from Nova.
Probably about Coach.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised she tried to let me know, but I am.
I haven’t seen Nova in weeks.
Now, she’s sitting between Miles and Atlas with her hair piled on her head, her face and arms tanned from the sun. Her T-shirt sleeves are shoved up over her shoulders. The Kodiaks logo on the front of her shirt taunts me.
For a moment, I’m stunned by the sharp feeling of regret in my gut, along with another emotion I can’t look at too hard because it might bring me to my knees.
After so long without feeling, I’m finally feeling something.
“Ah, you probably want to sit—” Miles starts to get up so I can sit next to Nova, but her hand clamps on his arm. “Right.” He looks between us.
“You heard about Coach?” This is from Atlas.
I shove down the irritation at Nova and Miles and focus on my former teammate. “Yeah.”
“How was he?” Miles asks, pulling me back to the present, and the guys lean in.
“Eyes open,” I respond.
“He say anything to you?” This is Atlas.
“Not really.”
“How you been? Helluva tan,” Rookie says.
“Sitting around doing nothing will get you that,” Miles adds.
“Winner’s tan.” Atlas nods.
Nova’s only a few feet away, and I’m aware of all of her.
“Clay, you want a drink?” the waitress, the owner’s daughter, asks as if I never left Denver.
Jay stands suddenly. “I gotta go. I’m late for some shit.”
We watch him head out, banging the door against the frame.
Guess some things change and others don’t.
Over by the bar, the waitress is struggling with a tray.
“Thanks,” she says as I help her right it.
“How’s business?” I ask. On paper, I own just less than half of the place, but I rarely review the financial statements that come through.
“You’d be proud of Dad. He modernized the system back here.” She shows me the new register. “It’s faster for customers during busy times and easier for accounting.” Her phone beeps, and she swears. “Can’t fix everything. Someone left some pallets out in the alley.”
“I’m on it.”
“Below your paygrade, champ.” She cocks her head.
“I’m off the clock, and you have customers.”
I head to the alley. I know I’ve been absorbed in my own stuff these past months—didn’t need Kat to put a fine point on my ahead-of-schedule mid-life crisis.
Still, seeing Nova in person, this break feels like an extra shitty idea.
She looks good. Is she really getting what she wants here instead of with me?
I grab a few cases and bring them into the storage room. On my second trip, she’s gone from the booth. I push out the door and pull up when I see the flash of pink hair on someone kneeling in the alley.
“What are you doing?”
She straightens to face me, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “I tripped over this case and broke a bottle.”
“On your way to what exactly?”