Page 140 of Loving the Legend
I sigh. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Do you want to talk about our argument the other day?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“Maybe when you’re home. We should sleep.”
I try to shrug off the awkward pang of vulnerability that comes with being the only one to attempt reconciliation.
I clear my throat. “Are you still able to volunteer next month for my urban garden initiative?”
“On the 18th, right?”
I nod. At the tail end of last season, I was approached by a grassroots organization dedicated to expanding urban farming in Los Angeles to make organic produce more accessible in low-income communities. I agreed to partner with the organization to host a quarterly volunteer day, recruiting both Knights and Royals volunteers to help with various projects, such as gardening or clearing out a lot that could be repurposed.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. How many volunteers do you have?”
“Twenty-seven from both of our franchises, including players, coaches, and assistant coaches, as well as some peeps from Preeminent Management. Plus, about fifteen neighborhood volunteers. Surprisingly, many people are game for laying down compost, irrigation tubes, and seeds. It should be fun.”
“You sure it's about the gardening and not the fact people genuinely like you and want to show support?”
I shrug. "Pretty sure it's the gardening."
He grins. "Sure."
We gaze at each other until my eyes are too heavy to keep open, and I drift to sleep feeling content to have a moment where things are a bit like before. We used to fall asleep on FaceTime whenever we traveled and our schedules allowed. I know no relationship is perfect, but what we had was pretty close. I need to fix what I broke so that we can get back there again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Wassup, wassup! Thanks for coming through.” I dap Nicholas, the latest Royals volunteer, to arrive at my gardening event.
“Big homie! I’m down for the cause. I wish the hood that I grew up in had lots like this. It was nothing but fried chicken and car repair shops.”
“Where’d you grow up?” I ask.
“Michigan. You grew up in New York, right?”
I nod. “Brooklyn, then New Jersey. I know what you mean, though. There were some spots in Brooklyn where you’re lucky if you can cop anything but bags of wilted lettuce. The organization I support is nationwide. I can share my connect if you want to kick off something back home.”
“Cool. I still have family there. I’ll hit you up for the details.” His gaze pans the lot. “Where should I jump in?”
“Any good with a shovel? We could use a few more diggers over there.” I point to the plot we’ve allocated for citrus and avocado trees.
Sid’s currently leading the digging effort. He’s clad in gray joggers and a drop-arm tank. I drink in his bulging biceps as he breaks earth with a shovel, already on his third tree hole.Realizing I’m gawking, I begin to turn away, but a glimpse of Arnaz standing frozen a few feet away, staring at Sid kinda like I was just staring at him, gives me pause.
Huh.
Sid seems oblivious.
Arnaz is one of the best shooting guards in the league, and he and Sid dominate highlight reels for their team. I’d be lying if I said Arnaz isn’t a good-looking dude. He’s maybe three inches shorter than Sid and lean with compact muscles. His brown hair is tapered low in soft curls, with a perfect five o’clock shadow and plum-colored, bottom-heavy lips. It all comes together to make an attractive man. He's bi-racial, with a white dad, a renowned retired tight end for Pittsburgh, and a black mom.
“Yeah, I’ve buried a few bodies back in the day,” Nicholas says, chuckling.
“Ha! Appreciate you coming, man.” I pat his shoulder as he turns to pad over to Sid.
The turnout is better than I expected since most volunteers brought friends, spouses, and kids. We have nearly fifty volunteers. Thankfully, we have more than enough water and snacks for everyone. The heat is blistering today.
