Page 104 of The Wrong Move

“Can you give any insight as to why Brandon Johns made a hasty exit?”

Charlotte pushes between me and the camera. “Sorry, we need to get to our seats.” We head straight to the courtside seats behind the players. She keeps her chin high, refusing to lookat the opposition. My parents are not sitting in the VIP seats, instead choosing to remain in the glassed corporate box, where they have sat ever since my injury.

Charlotte and I find our seats, and I lean close. “Remember, the cameras will turn to us without warning, so I need your best poker face, no matter what happens or how you feel.”

“I know,” she murmurs, taking a moment to adjust her long, blonde ponytail over her shoulder. I give her another look and notice the heavier makeup, the longer lashes on her eyes, and her bright red lipstick. She is dressed to impress or to ignite regret in a certain player.

In the final minutes of the warm-up, I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt. In my mind, I was prepared for the onslaught of emotion at not being on the court, but not how much it would hurt seeing my best friend on the opposing team.

What do you call a friend you’ve barely uttered a word to in weeks?

He still gets to do what he loves, and I’m on the sidelines, dressed in a fucking suit and in a post-op boot.

When the players line up on the court, Brandon refuses to look our way. Not once does he look at Charlotte until the final quarter, when Charlotte calls out to the team. I look up to the circular scoreboard overhead to see Charlotte’s and my faces on one of the screens. I assume the commentator is talking about our family. I give a little wave, but Charlotte is watching Brandon. The camera enlarges her pretty face. One of the opposing players looks up at the screen and nudges Brandon. He looks at the screen, then his gaze darts to our players and Charlotte. His expression sags, and his gaze flits to mine. He gives a subtle nod before focusing on the ball. Most people would have missed it, but I didn’t, and I recognized the look in his eyes. There’s a slight chance we’ll come out of this as friends on the other side.

We get the win. It wasn’t in contention, and Brandon played less than his best. It’s not surprising, but I know him and his skill level. He was more than capable of coming away with twenty points, not a mere six. He’ll bounce back. I wouldn’t underestimate his drive to win. He passes us as he heads to the tunnel with his team. Charlotte calls out to him. I walk ahead slowly, hobbling along, following my team into the tunnel.

“How are you?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“Fine.”

I slow up. He’d better not break her fucking heart.

“Why didn’t you call me? We could have worked something out.”

Silence.

“Why haven’t you returned Byron’s calls or mine?”

“I have a new phone and a new number.”

What?

“Why?”

Come on, Charlotte. No desperation in your voice.

“Because I threw the old one in the lake?”

“You’re a coward.”

“It’s fate, Lottie. We’re not meant to be.”

I turn to see him walk away from my sister. A message loud and clear—he’s starting anew. “Lottie,” I call out. She looks from Brandon to me. Even from here, I see her red eyes. I shake my head and gesture toward the tunnel. She strides over to me with a straight face.

I turn back to Brandon, and his gaze meets mine. “I’ll see you on the court next year,” I warn him. He looks away and, with his head down, follows his new team into the tunnel.

Charlotte and I walk past the cameras. She manages to hold it together. Closer to the locker room, we dart into one of the storerooms. She takes one deep breath, then lets it all go. I hold her tight while she cries muffled sobs into my shirt. It’s goingto take more than a nod to forgive him for breaking my sister’s heart.

“This is why you were always off-limits to my friends,” I whisper. I hold her tight and allow her to cry for the next fifteen minutes.

When she finally comes up for air, she thumps my chest. “Fate, my ass.”

28

GIANA

Dawn.

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