Page 90 of Hard to Take

One of the guys asked, “Can’t you leave your kid sister at home?”

He said, “She’s family. Shut your mouth.”

Jay has always looked out for me, no matter the cost to him. I want to corner him and demand to know what the hell he’s thinking. But then the backs of my eyes burn and I know I’d do something stupid, like ask him if he doesn’t love me anymore.

I know he does. He wouldn’t be this hurt if he didn’t.

I pass the gym, where I collide with a huge form coming out. “Oof.”

Clay, I realize when I look up into his square jaw and dark eyes.

“You’re here late,” I say.

“Just finishing a workout.”

The guys work out after playing a full game. Intense conditioning is a part of the job people don’t usually appreciate.

He surveys me from my toes to the tip of my head. He’s wearing a black tank, his tattoos appearing to spring out of the fabric around his arms and shoulders.

Clay nods to my hand. “I’ll show you where that goes.”

I’m still holding an ice pack and towel.

He walks down the hall and I fall into step with him, taking two strides for every one of his. Miles is nearly as tall as Clay’s six-five, but Clay walks as if he’s eight feet tall. He’s like a statue of some god, right from his closed-lipped nature to his chiseled body to the art all over him. It could be graffiti.

“Tell me the truth,” I hear myself say. “Am I causing problems?”

“You and Garrett aren’t making it easier.”

The squeak of his sneakers echoes in the hall along with the click of my heels.

“I don’t see how it’s any of the team’s business,” I admit.

Clay exhales heavily. “I get it. It’s not fair. And I’m not going to stand here and tell you to do one thing when your heart is telling you something opposite.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But…there’s a window to get things right.” Clay shrugs a tattooed shoulder. “People think basketball is forever, but it happens fast. Careers start fast, end fast. Bottom line: the next couple of months matter a lot for the team. If you guys are long-term, ask yourself if it can wait until after the season.”

The Kodiaks’ all-star and MVP doesn’t speak his mind often. I take a moment to process, weighing the words.

“That’s probably good advice,” I say.

Nova’s husband shoots me a wry look. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But…you’re a hypocrite.”

Clay straightens, surprise filling his dark eyes. “Me.”

“Yes. You fell for Nova. Hard, Mr. All-Star-MVP. I watched you do it. Nothing on or off the court was going to get in your way. If you want to preach what you practice, you should be saying ‘fuck basketball. Follow your heart.’”

He’s quiet a minute. The guy isn’t used to people challenging him. “Pretty sure I can’t say ‘fuck basketball.’ That’s got to be in my contract somewhere.” His lips twitch at the corner. “But maybe you’re right about the rest of it.”

He takes the ice pack and towel from me and vanishes into the locker room.

28

MILES

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