Page 12 of The Wrong Move

“You didn’t mention it last time?—”

“You were high, Byron. I doubt you even remember.”

“I remember everything,” he says, his voice low and deep. His eyes narrow. “Did you know you were going to head to the other side of the world when you were with me?”

“Does it matter?” I ask gently.

“Yeah, it does.”

How is he turning this around on me?

Fiddling with the fork, I meet his gaze. “No. Watching you achieve your dreams kickstarted my brain into chasing mine harder.”

“So it had nothing to do with what happened between us that night?”

I twirl the fork a little faster. “I thought this was a coffee date between friends? It’s feeling more like an interrogation.”

“You changed your cell and made a new private Insta account. As one of your friends, not being privy to your life hurt some.”

I let go of the fork and place my hands in my lap. We were young, and it was all so inconsequential. We were friends.

“There are some things a girl doesn’t want to see on social media. You had your new life and were soon to be in the NBA. Your new friends were strangers to me. As to how you spendyour time off the court, you and the team had access to a fast-flowing river of fish.”

He pulls a face at the analogy. “We agreed not to wait for each other,” he murmurs. “We supported each other’s aspirations, and I wanted to watch you achieve everything you hoped for too. Instead, you cut me off like I was nothing to you.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t think you cared for art, and believe me, my account was all paintings. That was until some big collabs, then I needed another Insta account for the business.”

“Yeah, I found it.” He smiles at me, and this time, it reaches his eyes. “You’re a big deal, Gi. I’m proud of you.”

More than anything, I want to hug him, fall into his arms, and absorb every word he is saying. It’s the one thing I remember from when we sat here after graduation. He sang my praises, made me believe I could accomplish anything, and told me to chase my dreams without limits. He made me believe, but I struggled to let go of him.

I needed him in my life.

“If I didn’t cut you off then, I wouldn’t have achieved anything you convinced me I could.” I watch his face change as he absorbs my confession.

“You would have stayed for me?”

“I knew there were no promises, but I couldn’t handle seeing you with other girls.” I make a face. “Selfish, I know.”

His lips twitch. “Do you have a possessive trait I’m unaware of?”

“I have been known to be jealous maybe once or twice.”

“And was that directed my way, or did you experience these feelings with an Italian lover?”

“Ah, my Italian lovers. A girl never kisses and tells.”

He leans forward and holds my gaze. “I’m glad I didn’t see.”

My stomach flutters, but we are interrupted by the waiter. “Coffee,” I enthusiastically say as it is placed in front of me. “If we’re here to fill in the void, let’s backtrack a few years. Tell me what I’ve missed and about your new goals in life.”

Byron takes a sip of his green drink. He fills in the gaps about his family—his brother’s new wife and how his father bought the basketball team. “There were whispers he did it so I could play in the NBA. It’s such bullshit,” he says in a way that reminds me of a younger Byron. He was skinny and smaller than the average basketball player but had the tenacity of a tiger. If Byron set his mind to something, he always achieved his goal. It’s why I listened to him about my career. His advice was influential and motivating, though he struggled to cope with his own doubters. Still, Byron was filled with determination.

“I’m not sure if you remember…” he continues, “… but in high school, my father rarely attended a game. He was always busy with work or traveling. Basketball was insignificant to him. I remember his embarrassment at my choice to play in college. He believed it was taking valuable time away from study. Frank spent most of his years at college working his ass off for my father’s approval, then Jobe partied his way through. I have nothing in common with either of them.”

I tilt my head at him and pull a face. “I remember when you?—”

“Okay, I maybe havesomethingin common with Jobe, but I knew I didn’t want to work for my father, pumping out numbers all day in an office.”

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