Page 31 of Lovetown, USA
I still remember it as vividly as if it were yesterday. The fans pressed shoulder to shoulder in the arena, chanting in a rhythm I’d come to understand despite not speaking much of the language.
The ball came to me. Dribble once, cross left, pivot hard, explode to the basket. I’d done it a million times. My defender bit like I knew he would, then the lane opened wide. All thatremained was a step, a jump, and the sweet release as the ball left my hand.
But it didn’t happen that way.
My foot planted, but my knee didn’t hold. I heard the sound of a thick branch snapping, then white hot pain slicked through me and I knew that sound had come from me. My leg buckled, my body went sideways, and the ball skittered out of my hand and across the floor, just as useless as I was. The roar of the crowd shifted to a low gasp, then silence so loud I felt like my ears were ringing.
It almost felt like a betrayal. My body, the thing I’d spent years honing, perfecting, training, pushing, had failed me in one sickening twist. My teammates rushed in, hands on me, voices heavy with worry.Tranquilo,tranquilo. But I couldn’t stay calm. Tears filled my eyes as the trainers knelt beside me.
I heardligamentosand I knew.
That was the end.
The crowd clapped politely when I got carried off the court. Shit felt like a funeral march. That was the death of my basketball career. The death of my fucking dream.
I don’t think I slept at all that first night in the hospital. All I could think of, all I could hear was the honking of cars outside and the echo of that snap in my head.
The first few weeks after my surgery were physically and emotionally painful, but my recovery was about as smooth as you can ask for. I became fast friends with one of my physical therapists; I’d talk basketball, he’d talk medicine. With time to kill and a curious mind, I asked questions. I learned about the healthcare system over there and how well they cared for their citizens.
It pissed me off, especially given what my granddaddy went through.
I watched that man die slowly and painfully over a period of years because he couldn’t afford top of the line care. Even as a hardheaded teenager, I knew something was very wrong with that picture.
Spain was the death of my athletic dreams and the birth of my medical career.
I glance back over at my screen, scrolling to my patient list. That’s when I see her name.
Lane.
The sight of it punches through the fog. I’m working; I shouldn’t let my mind wander like this, and Idefinitelyshouldn’t be thinking about that night, but here I am sitting in my ergonomic chair with my eyes closed, daydreaming about how she looked, how she felt, how she tasted. I can see it so clearly the way she looked at me as I rocked in and out of her, almost like she was staring into my fucking soul.
My body stirs with the memory, giving me a delicious ache even I can’t cure. There’s no prescription for this. No remedy.
I open my eyes and breathe out, imagining those thoughts leaving my mind the way the oxygen left my lungs. I need to focus. I have business to handle.
Pam is right. A delay isn’t a denial. And I have one card I haven’t played yet. It’s a long shot, and not my best option, but I’m out of patience.
I pick up my phone and scroll until I find the number. I haven’t called her in over a year, not since the thing with the city’s health initiative fizzled out—along with our little situationship. I know I won’t be able to reach her directly, but she’ll call back eventually. I’m not being cocky when I say I had her sprung.
It rings twice.
“Mayor Davis’ office, how may I direct your call?”
10
Lane
Memories.
Nostalgia.
That’s how I’m feeling right now as I hobble across the neon streaked carpet at High Rollers. It’s one of two Lovetown skating rinks, the other being ice.
This place isn’t Cascade, but it’ll do.
I’m here at singles skate night for research purposes, but I can’t even lie. This reminds me of high school in the best way. The colors, the lights, the music, even the pungent smell of nacho cheese and greasy hot dogs.
And of course, there are cute boys here, only they’re men now, with beards and jobs and mortgages.
