Page 85 of The Right Move

“But did you notice how Leon couldn’t look you in the eye? Or how half the team was having their own conversations? Team dinner is about team bonding. Gives us an excuse to get out of our uniforms and get to know each other as people not players. That didn’t really happen tonight.”

I’m self-aware enough to know my team dinner was lacking in comparison to the ones Ethan used to host. “Yeah, what the fuck was up with Leon anyway?”

Ethan narrows his eyes. “You can’t tell? The kid is scared shitless of you.”

“Of me?”

He laughs, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Shocking, right? Because you’re just the nicest guy on the court.”

“That’s work. Who I am on the court while I’m working is not who I am in my free time.”

“Ryan, you’re my guy, you know this, but you’re making the exact point I’ve been trying to prove this whole time. No one else knows you outside of basketball, so of course the guys think you’re some domineering dickhead that’s going to chew them out if they do the wrong thing. Leon’s afraid to be on the same team as you during practice. Did you know that?”

I scoff. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no reason he should take what I say or how I act while I’m working personally.”

“Guys are afraid to drop a pass from you. They’re afraid to miss a shot instead of giving you the ball and letting you shoot instead. We’re never going to make the playoffs if they can’t trust themselves and even more so, if you don’t trust them.”

Goddammit, I swear this man is a mind-reader. I know all of this. I see the fear in my teammates’ eyes when they fuck up, and of course, I’m aware of my own trust issues.

Ethan’s blacked-out sedan pulls up. “I’m not trying to be a dick—”

“No, you’re right,” I interrupt. “You’re right. I need to work on it.”

He gives me a quick slap on the back. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

The drive back to my apartment is silent. Sometimes I’ll chat with Harold, but tonight the quiet is necessary. I know what it takes to bring home a championship—I won two national titles while in college—but I’m a different man than I was then. Trusting my teammates, trusting anyone isn’t nearly as easy.

“Welcome back, Mr. Shay.”

“David?” I ask as I step out of the back of the car. “Why are you working the night shift?”

David, my usual daytime doorman, holds the lobby door open for me. And even though I’ve requested for him to call me Ryan, it’s evident he doesn’t feel comfortable being so casual with me while at work, so I let the formality slide.

“My granddaughter had a piano recital this afternoon. I couldn’t miss it.”

David is a good man with a big family. He’s also discreet and I appreciate him more than he probably realizes. He’s been a constant in my life since I moved to Chicago, so last year when he told me his granddaughter had to stop her piano lessons because their family could no longer afford it, I found a scholarship foundation to support her and pay her way for as long as she wants to keep playing.

He doesn’t know that said scholarship is simply my personal bank account, but the details aren’t important.

“How was it?”

His eyes sparkle. “Magnificent. Remi is getting good.”

I give him a pat on the shoulder. “I know you have a video. Show me tomorrow?”

“You got it. Your flowers were delivered. As well as your bookshelf. Should I have someone come up and assemble it for you?”

“I got it but thank you.” I’m halfway through the lobby when I turn back to the door. “David, did you happen to see Indy tonight?”

A smile slides across his lips. “Sure did. She looked beautiful, didn’t she?”

I swallow. “I’m sure she did. Did she mention where she was going? Did she take her own car?”

“She didn’t say, but she took a rideshare.”

“Got it. Have a good night.”

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