Page 101 of The Wrong Move

“I’m just going to sit with you a while.” I take his hand in mine. He doesn’t attempt to hold my hand, but he doesn’t pull his away either—a positive. Charlotte stands behind me.

“We’re here for you, Byron,” she says in a gentle voice.

He opens his eyes, then closes them again. “You should go after your boyfriend.”

“I’m staying with my brother.” She steps around me and runs a hand over his hair as though fixing his style. “Do you need any pain meds?”

“No,” he says without opening his eyes. “I want to rest.”

Charlotte refills his water glass and dithers with something on his side table. He rips his hand from mine, twists his upper body away from us toward the window, then heaves. Charlotterushes around the bed and grabs his puke bag. She stands there holding it for him, sliding her hand over the top of his head to soothe him. He flops back onto the bed, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Charlotte wipes the side of his mouth with a tissue, then puts the bag in the trash.

“I’ll notify the nurse,” she whispers.

“Lottie,” he murmurs, and she pauses in the doorway. “Go to BJ. I said some things I didn’t mean.”

Her eyes meet mine, and my heart bursts. I can’t with all this emotion. I want to stay, but I think these two have much to talk about.

“He’ll be okay,” she says gently and continues on to speak to the nurse. I take his hand in mine, and this time, I feel a slight squeeze.

“Byron,” the nurse says as she enters the room with Charlotte. “I have something to help with the nausea.” She has a dish with a syringe and a vial. She adds it to the IV in his other hand. “You’ll feel better soon.”

For the next half hour, Charlotte and I sit in relative silence while Byron sleeps. We whisper a few things while scrolling on our cells.

“BJ isn’t responding to my texts,” she whispers. “I asked him if I should go over there, but he’s not replying.”

Byron’s family walks into the room. I stand the moment his parents enter. Jobe follows behind them, along with Franklin.

“I should go,” I tell Charlotte. “Tell him to call me if he needs anything.” I hug Mrs. Hendricks.

“It’s good to see you, Giana.” She gives me an extra squeeze.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to check in on him,” I whisper.

“Thank you.”

I turn and look back when I’m outside the room. His family gathers around his bed, every face etched with concern, especially his father’s. I remember his father not supporting hisdecision to play ball. He wanted him to be part of the Hendricks empire. What will he expect of his son now?

The entire drive home, I’m distracted by worrying thoughts.

As soon as I pull into the garage, I receive a text. I turn off the engine and grab my cell.

You should have stayed in Italy. You still have your dream.

My heart cracks with the final blow. I know what he is doing, and this time, trying to push me away won’t work. I’m older, wiser, more experienced than last time and more freaking stubborn when it comes to getting what I want. For once, Byron Hendricks is not going to beat me.

27

BYRON

The team has beenon the road for the past three games.

It’s been weeks since I attended a training session, and I’ve barely seen my teammates, who I usually see every day. While the world seems out of sorts, at least I’m home days before Christmas.

I stare out to the pool overlooking LA. It’s been a while since I swam, and the memories of Giana in the pool flood back.

She needs to follow her dream while she can because none of us know when it might be ripped out from under us. I’ll fight to get back on the court, but I have a long journey ahead of me. I need to be focused.

Giana fussing over me and spending hours at the hospital while ignoring her work are not acceptable. She needs to be painting with a clear mind. How do I tell her we need to give each other space without hurting her? Because when I asked her to leave, I saw the pain in her eyes. She deserves her dream, and I’m taking it away from her.

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