Page 15 of Hard to Take

I straighten, aware of Hunter hovering by the door. “It might not measure up.”

There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes when Miles glances at the other man, then turns back to me. “You’ve seen the goods, Princess. Seemed to measure up fine.”

4

MILES

“Everyone wants Park Place, but real players know the value of a railroad.” I bump a set of houses with a finger and send them sprawling across the coffee table.

The Parker Brothers did not have basketball-player-sized hands.

“That means they’re all mine,” Grams decides.

“Nice try.” I reach for the nearest pieces and set them back on the Monopoly board as she glares at her cast.

The doctors suggested a cast instead of surgery for the break and since I’ve gotten back to Denver, I’m doing everything I can to keep her distracted from her new hindrance.

“It itches! Lord. Never had so much itching except this one time your grandfather and I?—”

“With all due respect Grams, we’re verging on too much information territory.” She smiles. “But for real, you haven’t taken any of those pain meds, and there’s no shame in it. In fact, an anti-inflammatory would help with?—”

“If I want your opinion on my inflammation, I will ask you for it,” she says tartly. “How’s basketball this week?”

“It’s a grind with Atlas still injured, but we’re hanging in.”

She leans in. “Atlas, like the statue that held up the world on his shoulders?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to step up. Not sure my shoulders are as wide.”

“It’s more about heart than shoulders,” she decides.

My mouth curves. “Not sure that’s true when it comes to outright feats of strength, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Spectators think playing pro ball is like a TV movie where a bunch of underdogs can come together with heart and a little luck to beat out the competition.

We did have some magic last year in our first championship run.

Thing is, it’s only an upset when no one sees you coming.

This season when we roll into a city, they’ve got a fifty-page scouting report on every Kodiak on the roster.

The opposing teams know all my stats. Hell, they probably know what I eat for breakfast and where I get my hair cut.

“How’s Brooke?” Grams asks.

“Fantastic.”

She laughs. “That’s what you said when I used to ask how your homework was in middle school, which means she’s a problem you haven’t started solving yet.”

Brooke’s not a problem—she’s my main preoccupation every second I’m not playing ball or with my grams.

“She’s moving in with me.”

Grams’s eyes light up brighter than I’ve seen them since before I got back to find her in the hospital, pale and disoriented in a gown and with some gnarly-looking X-rays.

“She needs someone,” I hear myself say. “She gets into trouble, and I like watching her do it, but…” I spot a lone hotel under the edge of the sofa and bend to grab it. “Only if I’m there to pick up the pieces.”

I tried to be the good guy, helping Brooke interview prospective roommates. When the first one showed at her door with stubble and a firm handshake, the plan changed.

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