Page 87 of Hard to Take

“My mom actually gave me good advice for once. Not that it was free.” She grimaces. “She wants me to meet Kevin as a favor to her and the campaign.”

My hackles rise. He was always an asshole, but as a guy who makes his living with strokes of pens and pieces of paper, it’s easy to underestimate how dangerous he is.

“I don’t like it.”

“You’re telling me not to?”

I hiss out a breath. “I’m telling you I’ll be watching from the street with my face plastered against the window in case he so much as looks at you wrong.”

She laughs. “That’s sweet. I’m not going to do it.” Her thumb strokes my face. “There’s nothing that ties you to him, right? That could come back to hurt you?”

“Nothing.” I try not to think of the photographs long buried, focusing instead on the relief on Brooke’s face.

“You coming to the game tomorrow?” I ask.

“Boston. It’s a big one.”

I nod. “Sponsors are going to be there, so I want to put on a show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

26

MILES

“How much does this game matter on a scale of one to ten?”

“Twelve.”

Coach’s response to the reporter at the pre-game has a finality that resonates through your bones.

Some of the guys keep their heads down before tipoff, but I caught the press conference on my way into the locker room.

We’re playing Boston, and Jay’s rival, Hawkins. Who finishes first determines who’ll get the advantage if we face them in the post-season.

Earlier, it was a question of whether we’d face them due to the luck of the draw. Now, though, it’s starting to look like there’s a question mark about us even making the playoffs.

It hasn’t escaped me that the shoe sponsor is in the stands. I get that they were looking at both me and Hawkins for the deal that’ll make sure Grams is taken care of forever, and I want to show them they made the right call.

The tension in the locker room feels as if it’s dialed up to a new level.

“Bring it in.” Jay motions to us, and we group around him. “It’s been a tough road, but we need everyone tonight. Let’s get a win. Kodiaks on three.”

We shout together, then straighten and file toward the doorway.

The past couple weeks, Jay’s been forgoing touching the photo of Waffles, our unofficial locker room mascot. Tonight, he hesitates but touches it on the way out the door.

Hope kicks in my chest.

Maybe this is a turning point.

When we get out there, the crowd is deafening already. I don’t see Brooke, Nova, or the others though. The team box has only a few familiar faces, and no Brooke.

From the opening seconds, it’s competitive. Boston goes at us hard.

I cut around the court, and Jay finds Atlas in the post early for a layup. Good start.

I feed on the sounds of the crowd, the appreciation, then I shut it out and get back to work.

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