Page 32 of Hard to Fake

I lift a brow and head for the custodian’s closet.

"It's an old building,” Trina calls after me. “Sometimes things just don't work right.”

* * *

“Bad news, gentlemen—Atlas is out indefinitely,” Coach informs us grimly.

The gym falls silent.

In the corner, one of the cleaners whistles to a song on his headphones in as he mops.

“What happened to day-to-day?” Jay demands.

“New set of scans came back. There’s a bone fracture we didn’t see.”

Clay rubs a hand over his face. Jay paces as if he can make sense of it.

There’s no making sense. There’s just you and the basketball gods, and today they decided we aren’t going to have a full roster.

"Miles." Coach calls me over once the group starts running drills. "We need you to step up with Atlas out.”

“You got it. I’ve been working on my shot all summer.”

“Shooting from the outside’s not enough. You’ve got to be physical. Getting into the paint. Driving and kicking it out to your teammates. High-level footwork. Finishing at the rim.”

I frown. “None of that’s how I’ve built my game.”

Coach sighs. “This team’s going to have to change things up if we want to win.”

I stare after him as he rejoins the assistants.

What the hell does that mean?

His words stick with me as we get back to practice. Passing, guarding, free throws, three-pointers—I work through the drills I know in my body even more than my head.Been doing them for years, even before I turned pro.

I always loved to play basketball, loved being around other guys who feel the same.As a kid going through tough times, each day my fingers touched the ball, that I got paid to run around a court, it was a joy.

In high school, I had the most points of any shooting guard in the state. My college team got to Final Four once, division champs twice.

Sure, I’m not intense to the point of self-destruction like Clay or strategic like Jay. My magic on the court is being a sharpshooter, but in the locker room, I’m a glue guy.

I made some mistakes as a rookie, did things I’m not proud of. I finished out college ball and got my degree before getting drafted to Dallas. Then the chance came to move here a few years ago, be back playing with Jay, and it felt right.

Thing is, I’m worth the most I’ll ever be right now. I’m not twenty-one like Rookie, not an MVP like Clay. I have to make my money now and be smart about how I manage it.

Especially with Grams depending on me.

Seeing the gaps at her home was a reminder that I need to keep my eye on her and support her to the best of my ability.

I work on my jump shot for an hour until it's just me and a couple of other guys. I hit a shot off the iron, and it bounces wild.

My phone vibrates from my gym bag, and I go over to check it.

Brooke: We need to talk about your wardrobe for next weekend. What clothes do you have?

I glance down as I reach the locker room.

Miles: Right now, sweaty ones.

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