Page 98 of Scoring the Player
During our post-game conference in Philly, a reporter asked what I thought about a call in the third quarter. The foul was against me. I apparently shoved a player into the stands. I had no idea what she was talking about. It happened again in Indiana when a reporter asked about another scrap between me and their point guard. I leaned in and said, “Nah. That was last game.”
Sid laughed, instantly relaxing the sideways glances around the room, and said, “That’s Arnaz’s way of saying, no comment.”
Confused, I took the out.
We swept all three games, so I could give two fucks about reporters, but I should definitely buy Sid a car or something.
One of these days, he’s gonna get tired of myself.I’mtired of me. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.
But, fuck, itlookslike I’m doing it on purpose.
In Philly, I missed a critical wide-open pass. The moment it happened, I could see myself standing there, melting like a snowman. I raised my chin and took it when Coach laid into me.
I respect him, and I deserved it.
I’m so tired. My brain’s turning into a super host rivaling my mother’s galas. Sending invites to the uninvited, rolling out porcelain china, importing flower arrangements from Ikebana Grand Masters, and serving a twelve-course tasting menu. Mr. Anxious-For-No-Fucking-Reason having a rough time sleeping? No worries. We’ll wake Arnaz up at two o’clock in the morning to accompany you. Since he’s up, we’ll have him carry a spine-caving load of emptiness.
Still, the feeling that I’m being backed into the corner by some looming, invisible monster has haunted me since Brooklyn.
There’s a lot about that day I can’t look at directly.
Including how good it felt to wake up in Salem’s arms.
CHAPTER 23
ARNAZ
“Exhumation”
They found the note I carried to my grave:
These gangly bones bore unspeakable pain.
And the heart broke the day it was made.
Morale is low as we touch down in San Francisco for tomorrow’s game.
When we’re wrapping up dinner in the ballroom reserved for our team, I man up. I know I’m not the only reason for our two-game losing streak, but my spacing out hasn’t helped.
“Ay,” I say, getting everyone’s attention as I rise from my chair. “My fault, y’all. I know I’ve been off since Brooklyn. I’ve been tryin’ hard to get it back, but it’s been a struggle. I’ll be better going forward. I just need rest?—”
“Nah, what you need is a boys’ night out,” Nick interrupts.
“Aww, man, don’t ruin the surprise,” Wes whines.
“What surprise?” I look at Sid. He winks and nods for Nick to continue.
“We know something’s going on with you. And we have your back.”
“So, tuck it in. We roll out in an hour,” Sid finishes.
My lips arc in a grin.“This is where we’re going?”
“Let’s get you laid!” Wes crows, pushing me into the Castro Bar.
Hell yeah. After dinner, I went back to the room to shower and change. Feeling it could go either way tonight, I prepped just in case.
“Wait.” I stand in place. “This is a queer bar. A safe space for queer people. Men might hit on you. If it’ll make you uncomfortable, then you shouldn’t go in.”
