Page 2 of Hood Legacy

“Nah,” I said with a laugh. “He didn’t sit right with my spirit.”

“You want to be in the meeting with the Point Guard?” Pyrite asked. “And before you answer that, understand that bitch ass nigga will have to be there.”

“Why?” My face twisted in confusion. “He’s media. Have the W send someone else. Call Sunday or somebody.”

“That’s his job; unfortunately, he has to be there,” Pyrite laughed. “And this ain’t her lane.”

“Nah,” I answered with a laugh. “Get somebody else to do it, or I’ma kill that nigga.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. “I’ll holla you later.”

“Bet,” I said, then dapped him up. After he and Uron left, I sat at my desk and watched the tape again. Legacy Glover was the only player I was interested in coming to the Queens. I stopped the tape and tapped the screen, zooming in on her face. She was fine as fuck and everything that my ass couldn’t have but wanted anyway.

I pickedup the flowers that I found in my car and put them on the owner of my current team’s desk. The Mares's owner and general manager, Kenneth Walt, looked at the flowers and then back at me with a confused expression. I’d been signed to The Mares for the last four seasons, and while I loved playing ball, I hated being here. They weren’t my first choice, but after leaving my previous team, I desperately needed a change, so I packed up my life and moved across the country. It was a mistake that I’d been suffering silently. When the flowers started showing up a few years ago, I thought it was no big deal, just a fan showing their appreciation. Kenneth and the rest of The Mares’s back office felt the same. The problem was that the flowers hadn’t slowed down over the last few years and were becoming more frequent. Sometime over the last year, I started getting texts from an unknown number saying we would be together, but when I brought it to Kenneth’s attention, he ignored it.

I was over being dismissed.

“They were in my car,” I said, and he nodded. “This is the third time this week, and it's only Tuesday.”

“Take it as a compliment,” he replied, and I shook my head. “Look, Legacy, it's not a big deal. It can’t be; it’s just some flowers.”

“That are showing up in my car, in my locker, at random places while I’m out,” I explained, and he shrugged. “Kenneth, someone is stalking me.”

“No, they aren’t,” he denied. “They are showing you love and support.” He picked up the flowers, sniffed them, and returned them to the desk. “It’s a gesture of love and support.”

“It’s freaking me out,” I sighed. “There is never a note, just flowers. Sometimes lilies, other times daisies or roses.”

“It’s probably some kid,” he said, shrugging. I hated his dismissive ass tone and attitude. Whenever I brought this up, he would play me off like this. Like my fear or growing fear was a damn joke. “They are probably too nervous to approach you.”

“There is no way in hell you believe that,” I laughed humorlessly. “Kenneth, my car has been broken in.”

“Was it stolen?” he questioned, and I reared back in confusion. “I’m only asking because you are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“My safety is a big deal.”

“You’re fine,” he said, waving me off. “Nothing has come up missing; you haven’t been hurt or approached. It’s just some damn flowers.” He patted them and shook his head. “And here I thought women liked flowers.”

“I like flowers from people I know or ones that hand them to me,” I declared. “Them just showing up in my space without explanation is not a compliment or gift. It’s freaking me out.”

“It’s because you're sensitive,” he replied as he sat back in his seat. “You always have been and always will be. Don’t get me wrong; there is nothing wrong with it because it's who you are, but this isn’t a big deal, and you know it.”

“Wait, hold on.” I put my hands up in front of me and shook my head to get my mind together. “You’re sitting here telling me I’m sensitive? And you think that shit is okay?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And I only say it because it’s the truth.”

“Even if I were sensitive, what the fuck does that have to do with the fact that I keep getting random flowers and texts?”

“Again, are you hurt or being threatened?” he slowly asked as if I were hard of hearing or slow. “Because if you aren’t, I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is I’m being stalked, and you, as the team owner and manager, don’t see a problem with it!” I yelled, not caring how unprofessional it was. “The problem is some crazy ass person knows where I am when they shouldn’t! The problem is nobody seems to see the problem in this but me!”

“Because it’s not a problem!” he yelled back as he stood. Kenneth wasn’t a tall man, but he was well-built and muscular. His presence was felt when he stood, and I stepped back from his desk. “You are making a big deal out of something that others wouldn’t stress about. Hell, most would probably be flattered! Accept the flowers for what they are and move the fuck on!”

His office door slammed open, and Michael Beach stormed into his office with a mug on his face. When he noticed me, he briefly paused, his attention going from me to Kenneth, the flowers, then back to me. He looked pissed, which was abnormal because he was usually well put together.

“You okay, Legacy?” he asked as he continued walking.

“I’m fine, Mike,” I answered. My friendship with Mike expanded over the years; we’d met as children, and he was the one who introduced me to basketball. Even though we didn’t keep in contact through our teenage years, we’d reconnected when I was first signed to the W years ago. He was in team and player development, so he worked with all the teams in some fashion. He was also good friends with Kenneth.

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