Page 8 of Your Secret to Keep

Imightthrowupon the court. We’re shooting around before tip-off and my stomach feels like it’s made of steel knots—there’s no give. I miss the easiness that surrounded my team before I went down with the injury.

I haven’t played in a professional game in two hundred twenty-five days and it’s like I’m sweating doubt at this point of our pre-game routine. We’re in a shooting line, passing to a three-point shooter then handling the ball to go to the basket for a layup. This is usually my favorite part, considering it’s the most familiar. Every basketball player runs this warmup—it’s one of the first you learn—and for a moment it takes me back to the sixth grade court, my high school team, and then to The University of Alabama’s Coleman Coliseum.

I should be able to do this with my eyes closed. Instead, I find myself holding my breath and awkwardly picking up my knees as if I’m trying to stretch. The tape under my warmup joggers feels odd, like everyone can see remnants of the injury I didn’t know if I’d come back from.

When some players tear their ACL, they come back with a brace. I tried that but couldn’t get the hang of it. Plus, it seemed to draw attention to the thing I want everyone to put in the back of their minds, in hopes it’d give me the chance to do the same.

My leg is taped, something much easier to get used to—also easier to remove in case it’s too much. This is the same tape pattern and brand,done by the same trainer, that I’ve been using for weeks. But tonight, it itches and keeps picking at my brain.

“I know what you’re doing,” Jalen says while standing behind me in the layup line. Luckily, a ball hits my fingers and like muscle memory, my body moves towards the basket.

His eyes catch mine after and he offers a knowing smile. I should be thankful I have such a good friend on the team, but right now I wish it were different. Jalen and I got drafted the same year, me in the first round and him in the second, but it felt like we’d been playing together since the days of community center gyms and jerseys hanging past our kid knees. He’s the type of point guard who can feel out everyone on the court. I love playing with him.

He stands next to me. “Take a breath. You’re going to be fine. If it doesn’t feel right, tell Coach and he’ll take you out.”

I listen to him, sucking in air but the metal feeling from my stomach is taking up too much room. Jalen is one of the people who knows me like this—he can catch on to what’s happening without me saying a word.

“No one expects you to play your typical minutes. Ease into it.” He hands me a ball from the rack, as all the players have their own and take turns making whatever shots they want.

“I hear you.”

“I know youhearme, but do youbelieveme?”

This smart mouth asshole. He knows me too well.

“I’m trying to,” I answer honestly.

He shoots a three from the corner, his favorite spot, and it goes in without touching anything besides the ropes of the net. I look at him and he’s holding his shooting motion, eyes locked on mine, showing off.

I laugh and Jalen grins, getting the reaction he was hoping for.

He dribbles the ball and stands next to me as I shoot a mid-range jumper. “Do we need a safe word for when you’ve had enough, or are you good?”

Closing my eyes, I shake my head, trying not to laugh again. “No safe word necessary. I’ve got this.”

I run back and forth near half court, dribbling the ball, and the arena is buzzing. With only a few minutes until game time, seats are filling as the energy builds, spreading from one fan to the next.

Someone is shown on the Jumbotron, and the crowd goes wild.

Zack Andersen and his fiancé, Emilie. Or my half-brother and future sister-in-law. Or maybe it’s my half-sister-in-law? Is that a thing?

He catches me watching the Jumbotron and I look to the suite. Zack jumps up and down and everyone around him follows suit, including my mom and half-sister Riley. I’ve met people with endless energy, but Zack is on another level. He’s like a golden retriever that never loses their puppy energy.

My heart warms at the sentiment. I only learned about Zack and Riley a little more than a year ago. I had no idea what life would be like after uncovering this type of emotional bomb, but it’s been fairly positive. The universe seemed to know I’d need more support for the injury because they came at the perfect time.

When it works, I go to family dinner. Sometimes my mom even joins. I’ll never forget the way my life seemed to snap together the first time I watched Mack, my dad’s wife, and my mom cook together. There are a lot of ways this could’ve gone and I’m fucking thankful for all the amazing things this has brought me and how everyone has handled it.

I wave at the suite, and it makes Zack jump more, if that’s even possible. The crowd gets louder when they see our interaction, and even more so when Zack indicates he wants the crowd to makemore noise.

All I know is I feel a lightness, my lips pulling up, like I might be able to do this. Like I’m finally starting to believe my teammates and doctors.

The main lights dim with only a few minutes until tip-off. I pass the ball to a ball boy and jog to the bench, sitting down next to Jalen. The nausea has lessened but is still residing in my body.

He reaches his arm around my shoulder, squeezes for a quick second, and says, “I still can’t believe you’re related to Zack Andersen. You lucky bastard.” He laughs, jostling my shoulders. “Wait, did you give that girl tickets for tonight? Mystery date girl? The one woman you’ve told me about since you finally shook Rebecca loose.”

I look at my shoes, pretending to tighten the already-perfect laces. “Lia? No. I haven’t texted her yet. Need to get through this game without puking on the court in front of nineteen thousand people before I invite her to one of these.”

I choose to sidestep the Rebecca comment. If you wanted to look at a dysfunctional relationship, that would be a solid example. I can’t tell you why I kept going back after she cheated. Or why I agreed to an open relationship when it was the last thing I wanted.Orhow I acted like I’d participate by dating or sleeping with other women. It’s been about a year since we broke up for good and almost as long since I’ve heard from her. The two of them—Jalen and Rebecca—hated each other and sometimes it felt like I was a referee.

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