Page 15 of The Wrong Move

“It’s in a week.” Dead in the heart of preseason games.

“Have you talked to Coach?”

“Nope.”

Swish.He claps his hands, demanding the ball. I get that it’s a hard conversation for him, and I know he misses home. I keep passing. Brandon doesn’t miss a shot.

On Wednesday morning,I pick up Brandon, and we head to a peak performance center in Santa Barbara to train. This place is like being on a movie set. Tiny silver balls that hook up to a bunch of cameras get attached to our joints. The staff studies how we jump, run, dart, and leap. The data is analyzed, and the results offer ways to improve our bodies and modify our training to gain strength while minimizing the risk of injury. The intensity of pro-level basketball leaves us at risk for major knee trauma, and I’m doing everything I can to reduce my chance of injury and missing games. Preseason after the offseason is when I build strength and not only on the court. This preseason, I improved by shifting my mechanical baseline.

We switch into training mode. Quick feet are essential in this game, and the performance center equipment and drills enhance that skill. I need to catch my breath. I stop to grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face. Brandon grunts on the opposite side of the room. He has a three-foot iron triangle with a bar of one-hundred-pound weights on top. With a thick leather belt around his torso and a rope connecting him to the weight, he drags the weight behind him. Like a runner springing from the start blocks, he remains low to power forward.

I continue with my footwork drills before heading to the strength corner.

I groan as I finish the one-hundredth pull-up, drop down from the bar, and clap my hands together.

“Looking fine, Byron, looking fine,” Nate says. I laugh at his enthusiasm.

He holds up his tablet. “The data is showing a slight twist in your left knee as you leap up. We want to rectify your technique, so I’m emailing you some exercises for when you’re in the gym and for drills on the court.”

“My knee?” My knee feels freaking great.

“We think it’s stemming from your ankle.”

The fuck?

I glance down at my feet.

Nate rests a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. It’s why we’re here to prevent any potential injuries by improving your training. There are a couple of minor adjustments. You’re otherwise in perfect shape.”

I wipe my face with the towel. “Thanks, man.”

Nate stressed that it’s injury prevention data, but my gut is in knots. Ankle sprains are common, and a career-ending injury is my worst nightmare.

As we walk back to my Porsche, Brandon taps my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” I’m doing my best to push out any negative thoughts.

On the drive back to LA, I barely speak to Brandon. He closes his eyes, takes a nap in the car, and wakes when we’re close to home. He opens his cell.

“It’s my mum’s birthday,” he says quietly. “She’s sent photos of the family dinner.” Brandon swipes across the screen.

“Today?”

“Well, today for us. These were taken last night.” He looks up and grins. “You know us Aussies are from the future.”

“You idiot.” I laugh once, but he’s back to swiping his phone. “The party is this weekend, right?” He nods without taking hisfocus from the screen. “Why don’t you go back and surprise her?”

He stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

“Seriously, Brandon. My dad can talk to the coach. It’s one weekend—one preseason game. Being with your family is more important. We can chat to Dad tonight over dinner.”

Mom has askedthe entire family over. Brandon and I arrive before Jobe and Charlotte. Laughter comes from the family room. Franklin and Penny are on the couch with Mom while Dad pours his standard predinner whiskey and hands Franklin a glass. My father and brother wear their standard trouser-and-shirt dinner attire despite the weather being above ninety. Brandon and I are dressed in chinos and a T-shirt, standard smart casual.

Mom springs from the white suede sofa to greet us. “Byron. Brandon.” She hugs me and kisses my cheek, then moves to Brandon. She treats him like he’s one of the family.

“We could hear your laughter a block away,” I jest. I shake hands with Dad and Franklin, then lean down to kiss Penny on the cheek. Penny smiles up at me and rubs her rounded belly.

“Byron, it’s good to see you.” Her bright eyes sparkle. “We were laughing at how this little one will soon be putting her dirty hands all over Grandma’s couch.”

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