Page 16 of Off the Rim
Sean is convinced the whole thing was a setup. He didn’t feel that kiss though. He didn’t feel the need and hunger rolling off Ashton in waves, or the way he gripped me so tight I thought I’d have bruises. Can that kind of passion be faked? Or am I really so pathetic that I’d fall for a play like that?
It’s over now, so it doesn't matter. I've moved on with my life, and I need to stop letting everything remind me of him.
It's been two years since I saw Ashton James in person, and that was as he was leaving the courthouse. He'd tried to get my attention, but before he could say anything to me, his father and an entire team of lawyers walked out. Once they ushered Ashton away, his father turned back to confront me and told me that under no uncertain terms would I ever be coming near his son again.
“I know your type. I knew your father. And I’ll not let my son be swayed by the likes of you.”
Every time I've seen Ashton since then has been on a television screen. At first, I avoided it. But he was absent for a while, not getting much attention from the media since he wasn't actively playing. I’ll never forget the day his press statement was released. It was so obviously written by his father’s PR people, nothing but canned professionalism and fake humility that sounded nothing like the Ashton James I knew.
This past year, Ashton was back on the court, and back on TV playing at one of the NCAA’s top schools. He had a decent season, although I'm sure it wasn't the breakout success he was hoping for. His stats weren't as good as they were in high school, but at the Division One collegiate level, he had to anticipate more of a challenge. It was easy when we were the tallest, fastest, best players on our high school teams. You score more baskets when everyone's throwing you the ball, counting on you to win. But it's a different game in college. That's one thing taking two years at Wake Prep has taught me.
Thankfully, Sean gets my attention again, ripping me out of my intrusive thoughts. "So when do summer classes and training start?"
"Next week."
"Oh damn. You ready?"
"As ready as I can be."
And it's the truth. I'm ready. Ready for every challenge that gets thrown at me, on and off the court. Ready for early mornings and late nights. Ready to work my ass off to prove I deserve to be there.
Because my future starts now.
CHAPTER 12
MARCUS, AGE 20
"How are you settling in?"
I spin around in my surprisingly spacious, private dorm room. My stepfather leans in the open doorway with a box in his hands. The door is propped open since I've been carrying boxes up from my car. There aren't many students here yet. Besides, I can't imagine any of these people would want to steal anything of mine. The dorm is full of trust fund kids, most of whom I've noticed turning their noses up at the size and quality of the rooms, like they expected to be staying in a five-star hotel.
"So far, so good. These dorms are great," I say, and I mean it. The dorms at Wake Prep were so cramped, I feel like I have a penthouse suite in comparison. There's a full-sized bed, desk, dresser, and a closet all to myself. The only thing that could make this room better is a private bathroom, but the showers and bathroom facilities are really nice. I know there are dorms in this building that are larger and have their own bathrooms, but they're a lot more expensive. Plus, a lot of the students who move into this level of the athletic dorms are planning to move into frat houses by the end of the first semester anyway, which means fewer people to share with.
"Good, good. How was the drive up the mountain?" Mom and Greg live only thirty minutes away, so it was a short but scenic drive. Cumberland Valley University sits on a high ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains, surrounded by the lush forest and some of the most beautiful views I've ever taken in. If I had any talent for art whatsoever, I'd be inspired to paint landscapes for the rest of my life with views like these. "Car handle okay?"
"The car is great, Greg. I'm still very thankful?—"
He cuts me off before I can thank him again. "I just want to make sure she's handling well. You're going to need a good vehicle to get around, especially when winter hits. These mountain roads are no joke in the snow. Your mother would never forgive me if I talked you into going to school so close but had to miss coming home for winter break because you're stuck up here." He gives me the most dad-like wink I've seen since my dad used to say, "Hi hungry, I'm dad."
"I know it's not much compared to the other students around here. There's a lot of excessive wealth that gets thrown around this campus. It's why neither of my kids wanted to come here. Vanessa didn't like being the odd woman out in the sorority, and Vance… Well, Vance dances to his own beat."
I can't help but crack a grin at that. Vance is studying music on the west coast and is definitely a character.
"It's perfect. And very appreciated. Not just the car, but the opportunity to be here. It means a lot, Greg. Really." There's no way that I'd have been able to come to CVU without his help. Not just because of the major discount in tuition, but because he talked me up to the coaching staff and convinced them to consider me.
"Are you kidding me? I'm freaking pumped that you're here. I finally get to utilize the perks of my tenure here and give the basketball team a leg up. NCAA Championship here we come!"
Shaking my head, I chuckle. "When was the last time CVU made it past the first round?"
"Doesn't matter. Between you and some of the other recruiting moves Coach Burke made, CVU's roster is looking damn good. We're projected to get a higher seed than we have in decades. It's very exciting, and all the surrounding towns are very involved, so there's a ton of hype."
"That's cool," I concede. "I have high hopes, but I don't know how much court time I'll get this first semester."
Greg bounces his shoulders excitedly. "You never know," he says in his most optimistic, proud dad voice. He's honestly excited to have me here.
Feeling a little choked up, I turn back to the box I was unpacking when he showed up. As soon as I look into the box, I know it was the wrong move. The very first item in the box, wrapped in one of my dad's favorite old band t-shirts, is a picture of me, my mom, and my dad from about six months before he died. It was taken just after a basketball game. My dad is wearing a Timberwolves Middle School hoodie with black streaks painted under his eyes like a baseball player. I told him it was the wrong sport, but he thought he looked cool. He's holding a sign that says, "#29 - That's My Boy!"
The lump in my throat expands. Greg takes a cautious step towards me and sits on the edge of the unmade bed. Too afraid I'll burst into tears if I speak, I sit down in the desk chair, rest my elbows on my knees, and take a deep breath.
