Page 59 of Your Secret to Keep

“What’s wrong?” I lean back, trying to put as much space between us as possible.

Megan groans and puts a hand to her mouth. She takes a second, lifting her eyes up to the lights like she’s trying not to throw up.

“Not contagious,” she barely gets out before taking a deep breath. Once she steadies herself, she continues. “The catered food. Bad. Half the staff has food poisoning.”

“What about the players?!” I look out to the court and see what looks like a full team going through warmups.

She slowly shakes her head. “No, they had a different caterer. Thank god.”

As Megan seems to get it together, standing tall and moving her hand from her mouth, the sound of someone else throwing up in a trash is much closer than I wish it was.

“Oh no,” she slumps, her face even whiter than before as she rushes into the connected media booth.

I follow to see one of the commentators—someone I’d do unspeakable things to meet and pick their brain about the craft—casually throwing up. This is a nightmare. I feel like my feet are superglued in place.

“So, as you can see, we’re down a body. I haven’t eaten anything since we’ve been here, but we can’t have only one person calling this game. I called the studio and confirmed there’s no one they know of who made the trip that can step in. Do you have any backups in the building?” Blake, the commentator and an ex-NBA player, asks while acting like his colleague isn’t currently throwing up four feet away from him.

Megan puts the back of her hand to her forehead, pacing a few steps back and forth. “No, I don’t think so,” she groans.

“No coaches who can spare the night off?” Blake persists. “Anyone on your staff who has a decently pleasant voice and can help fill the silence by going back and forth?”

There’s a flame of nervousness in my stomach. It grows with each second Megan doesn’t offer a suggestion. I look at the clock; there’s only twenty minutes until coverage starts—there’s not a lot of time.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to keep my voice level and mustering as much confidence as I can.

“I can do it.”

Blake’s eyes go wide for a second as he rocks back on his heels, arms crossing in front of his chest.

“Are you sure?” It’s not condescending or dismissive, but he’s giving me a second to reconsider.

The basketball part of my brain, one filled with a bunch of random filed away facts and tidbits, lights up and my mouth hurries to keep up. “I’m sure. We’re looking at an Eastern Conference matchup between two honest title contenders—neither has won one yet. The away team is on a five-game win streak, but the Jags have the best winning percentageon their home court. The real test will be the points in the paint and offensive rebounds.”

The words spill easily from my mouth, and Blake’s lips pull into a smile the longer I rant. “Plus, I thought you should’ve won defensive player of the year in 2014. Honestly, it’s a crime youdidn’twin… I mean, how often is there a 7’3” center who has an average of 6.1 blocks per game?”

His eyes sparkle as I rattle off the stat I don’t even remember holding on to. I let out a long breath; my head feels full of feathers as my skin buzzes with energy.

“She can totally do this. I know she’s familiar with the tech side of the booth. Plus, our fans love her,” Megan assures Blake, her hand still touching her stomach while her other sits not far from her mouth.

“What’s your name?” He smiles and steps closer to me, reaching his hand out for a handshake. It’s like everything is happening in slow motion.

I put my hand in his, happy my Doritos are tucked under the other arm. “Lia. Lia Stone.”

“Alright, Lia. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to get your notes in order. Let’s do this.”

He sits down at the booth, and when he gestures to the empty seat and headset next to him, I swear I almost pass out.

Chapter 36

Brooks

Tonight’sgameissoldout and I can feel it. My dad and Mack are in attendance, which flips my stomach. It’s a good thing; I’m thankful they care enough to spend time at a rowdy NBA stadium, especially knowing they get so worked up about watching Zack play in person that they rarely attend games.

Nervous energy flows through my blood, making my ears itch and heart race. I keep moving my arm, stretching my shoulder before feeling for the tape I know is on my knee. Tonight, the tape soothes me. It’s fucking bizarre to be thinking of something other than my knee, to worry about a different injury, but it’s kind of a nice break. Without another collision, I shouldn’t have to worry about the nerve issue reappearing, but I still wait for the burn.

I’m fucking ready for tonight. I’ve been cleared to play for days, but my trainer wanted me to sit out an extra game as a precaution. Again, I’m fucking lucky to have people here who care about me.

The stakes are raised with each fan on their feet, decked out in team colors. The NBA season feels long some weeks, like we’ll never get to the end of the eighty-two games. Tonight, it feels like we’re on the brink of the postseason; in reality, I hear the station lead in and I can’t help but bounce on my feet. Jags fans are going wild. There’s a collective gasp for air building into a roar. Taking in the crowd, I look up to find people are pointing to the Jumbotron.

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