Page 43 of Your Secret to Keep

“You’re making it to at least twenty-seven.” His voice matches the joke.

I know it’s risky, us touching like this while Megan’s words from earlier run through my head. My eyes scan the seats around us and notice everyone is in their own little world. No one looks the least bit bothered. Surely no one is paying attention to the two of us, which makes me feel the tiniest bit better.

Not enough, though. My heart pounds quickly enough that I push my head into the headrest, a little afraid I could pass out. The fear of the unknown wins and I squeeze Brooks’ hand as the plane takes off, feeling like my stomach gets left behind on a tarmac in New Jersey.

Chapter 26

Brooks

Thegameistiedat the half and we’re warming up before the third quarter starts. I’ve spent the last few minutes trying to find where Lia is sitting. I scan the seats behind the bench until I find her, seeing fans from the other team talking to her. At first, a knot of uncertainty pulls in my chest, but then it’s clear they’re excited to see her—further confirmed when I see her take a selfie with the couple.

I get up a couple shots and watch as they all fall through the net. That’s kind of the vibe for tonight—I’m making everything. Nights like this are rare but fuck do they feel good. It’s like, no matter what, I’m not going to miss. Not sure if there’s a basketball god out there, but it’s hard to say thereisn’tone when I have games like this.

With a double-double under my belt in the first half—eighteen points and ten rebounds—I’m happily anxious to get the third quarter going.

Jalen dribbles next to me and quietly comments, “Seems like everyone wants a piece of Lia.” He nods in the direction of her seat, where she’s standing and taking more photos with more fans. At least this time, it’s a mixture of traveling Jags fans and the opposing team. “You would show off like this when she’s here.” He winks and dribbles towards the basket, hiding a fadeaway jumper.

“I’m not showing off. Just having a good night.” I hit another shot from behind the three-point line. I reach down and rub my fingers across the tape around my knee. The fabric wraps to the front of my leg. Maybe I’m checking that it’s still there? It’s not something I’m activelythinking about, but feeling the tape under the tips of my fingers is almost soothing.

“Bro, I’d prefer you show off. If this is you holding back, let these fucks have it in the second half.” Jalen laughs and gets right in my face.

The announcer’s voice fills the arena, directing everyone’s attention to the Jumbotron. “We were challenged by the Jersey Jaguars to DO IT FOR THE DOGS!” A few pictures from our event and social media show on the screen. Everyone ‘awes’ in unison then laughs when a video of Jalen being chased by a puppy starts to play.

“What the fuck?” he laughs at himself.

The announcer returns and says, “We’re donating $50,000 to these local three shelters. There’s a QR code on the screen—everyone who donates will be entered to win floor seat tickets at a game of your choosing.” The crowd erupts, clapping at the donation and incentive, and it feels like everyone gets their phones out.

This is the moment I choose to look at Lia.Shedid this. Her hands are on her cheeks, watching in awe while the Jags staff hypes her up. Megan gives her a squeeze around the shoulders, and someone gives her a high five. But then her eyes find me—even from here, I can see the crimson taking over her cheeks.

I put the basketball between the crook of my elbow, holding it to my side and freeing up both hands. I clap for her, and the look she wears makes me want to finish this fucking game. It also makes me want to run over and kiss her, but I know that’s not allowed.

Fuck. It makes me want to do it more.

“Thatalmostmakes me feel bad for wanting to beat them,” Jalen grumbles as we walk towards the bench. The buzzer finally sounds, letting us all know it’s game time.

I did not, in fact, feel bad for beating them,orfor having one of the best games of my entire existence. I ended up with a triple double—forty-three points, thirteen rebounds, and ten assists—which is solid, but I’m more excited about the six three-pointers I hit in the second half. I walk to the podium, ready for the press conference, and the Jags media clap while I sit down.

Usually, I’d laugh it off and fall into the golden boy graces, but not tonight.

“Is that all you got? I have a game likethat, and we get some lukewarm clapping from the corners?” Laughs fill the room and then mostly everyone joins in the applause. The Jags reporters stand, getting even louder.

I pull the microphone closer, sinking into the praise. Tonight, it feels like I deserve it. My skin buzzes, the way it does when I’m on a shooting streak. It feels fucking good. Some might try to shift the conversation or end the interview early, but not me—give me every fucking question you have.

A hand goes up, and the reporter’s voice fills the room. “Brooks, the future for you and the Jags is looking bright. How does it feel to be in this position, especially after a major injury?”

Pulling the microphone close again, my eyes catch my stat line. “Honestly? It’s a bit unreal. I didn’t expect to be playing like this. Coming back to the game is something I wanted so badly, but usually the universe doesn’t give a damn what you want. I hoped to come back and play like this, but I didn’t expect it.” I sit forward, tapping my fingers on the table.

“What do you think has made the difference?”

“Coaching staff. Trainers. My teammates.”

Lia. Lia fucking Stone. I think it over and over again, but don’t say it aloud.

“Your title odds keep climbing each week, it feels like. That’s gotta feel good, right?” the reporter asks, and laughs fill the edge of the room.

I emphatically nod my head. “Yes, it feels great. Feels like some other words I wish I could say but can’t without getting fined, so we’ll leave it there.”

Back to the locker room, what I think about is Lia. She’s the difference: the thing I didn’t see coming, someone I don’t want to be without. My whole life, I’ve dreamed of winning an NBA championship. I still want that so fucking badly, but now it might not be only me on a podium with a trophy—someone else could be there with me.

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