Page 82 of Breaking Away

“Why do you think that is?” she asks.

“I’m a dick,” I say between bites.

“No. Tell me, really. Why?”

“My dad.” Shit. There it is. The sharing. It happened when we were dancing when I told her about my mom, and now it’s happening again.

Tentatively, her hand reaches out. It taps the edge of mine.

The contact sears right through me. My teeth are on edge because of her warmth.

I pull away.

“He had a no feelings policy,” I say in a tone that means this conversation is shutting down. “If it wasn’t about how to get drafted to the league, he didn’t care to hear it. Whatever.”

“That’s…” Kavi shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

I watch her get off the stool like she’s on her way to hug me.

“Don’t.” A one-word warning shot.

She can’t touch me.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Basra.”

“That’s—It’s not what I was—” She bites her lip. “Then what do you need?”

She asks, as if the scale lives in her head. For Kavi Basra does not know how to be just a taker. Her eyes beg me to give her an outlet to repay the favors she’s been taking from me.

“What do I need?” I repeat. “Nothing.”

“There must be something.”

“Nothing.”

Coming to my side, she goes on her toes, trying to reach for a glass. I pluck it down, fill it with water, and hand it to her. She downs a third in one go.

Her mouth is tilted. She’s thinking.

It unnerves me.

I leave.

We lose our next game.

My knee hurts.

I have to sink into an ice-bath and then wrap it up. On my phone are voicemails from my dad telling me everything I did wrong tonight.

In my ear is the coach’s voice telling me I’m not performing because I’m not in sync with the team. I need to get stronger, faster, better.

My whole body is rigid from pent-up tension when I get home. I’m no good to anyone in this mood. I need to lock myself away.

Kavi is there, waiting for me in the kitchen. The smell of butter thickens the air. She greets me with a soft, “Hey.” And then, “Sorry about the game. You’ll win the next one.”

I open my mouth to tell her I’m shutting down for the night, but she gestures to a dish on the kitchen island. I mean to ignore it, even as I’m stepping closer.

I blink. “You baked… a giant cookie?”

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