Page 103 of The Wrong Move

“Give it to me, Mom.” Charlotte holds out her hand and moves Summer to her other hip. “When I see him tomorrow at the game, I’ll shove it up his ass.”

Mom’s expression sags. “It won’t change anything, darling.” She goes to her and takes her hand, pats it softly, then goes to decorate the tree. Dad takes Summer and bounces her on his knee while he sits in his chair, sipping whiskey and talking business with Franklin.

“I can help.” I hobble after them on my crutches. I’d rather be decorating than listening to my father and Franklin discuss numbers and the stock market. Jobe is in the corner chatting to Penny. Odd, because I also noticed he was sitting with her at our last family dinner when I thought he didn’t want to hear about happy families and the benefits of commitment.

When Mom leaves the room, Charlotte stands beside me to admire the lights on the tree.

“Have you heard from him?” I whisper.

She shakes her head.

“Same, and he’s blocked me on social media.”

“What?” she snaps. “I thought it was only me?” She quickly wipes her eyes. I hate how fast the tears well in her eyes, revealing her shattered heart.

Fucking coward.

I’m furious. “He knows he’s fucked up.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” she says in a hoarse voice. She wraps an arm around my waist and leans her head on my chest. “Besides, I know you’re hurting as much as me.”

Mom enters the room with the rest of the family following her. “Franklin, please hold Summer while you add the final decoration. And this year, I have decided we all get to open one present tonight.”

Charlotte forces a smile in an attempt to brighten our mood. She turns to me and lightly punches my shoulder. “We’re going to have a fun night. Because if we’re sad, it means he’s won. And we can’t let that happen. Ever.”

“Especially not tomorrow,” I murmur.

It’s one Christmas I’m not looking forward to. For the first time, I’m contemplating avoiding the game and watching it on the television.

“You’re not staying home and moping,” she says, wide-eyed.

“Christ, can you read my thoughts?”

“I know you.” Her brow pinches. “And you’re not leaving me to face him alone.”

I pull her in for a hug. “I’ll be there for you, Lottie.”

Christmas Day…

It’s our home game, and we are playing Chicago. No—we are playing Brandon Johns. We never thought this is what our Christmas would be like.

He hasn’t returned my calls or texts. He is treating Charlotte the same way, and I’m livid. Years of friendship gone. Burned. Evaporated in a puff of smoke. Despite how much it will hurt to watch him play for another team, I’ll sit on the bench and scrutinize his game.

My gut is still tight after last night.

We didn’t joke around like we usually do. It was more about presents for Summer, even though she is too young to understand. Mom needed a distraction from all the drama, and there was barely a moment when Charlotte didn’t have Summer in her arms.

The music ramps up, and I focus on what is happening around me in the locker room. Our team is motivated. Coach has barely mentioned Brandon, and it’s probably a good thing. My attention is on Drew, our new point guard from Philadelphia. I watch his every move, how he warms up, even the way he prays. The players gather and proceed to the tunnel, all shouting a chant.

“We’ve got this.”

“The game is ours.”

Charlotte is beside me. I hobble on the crutches, following the guys in the tunnel past cameramen and journalists.

“How are you, Byron?” A camera is shoved in my face.

I fake a smile at the lens. “Recovering well. Ready to watch my team get the win.”

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