Page 24 of Half-Court Heat
It had started when we were still in Wisconsin.
That first chime in the garage. We’d been sorting through my childhood trophies and holiday decorations. She kissed my cheek. She joked about my junior high trophies. And thenher phone buzzed, and something in her face changed. Not dramatically, not all at once—just a shift. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A flicker of thought she didn’t share.
I’d watched it happen again and again. Quiet moments punctured by pings and previews and urgent little vibrations that pulled her attention elsewhere. She always apologized, always came back to me with soft eyes and warm hands. But she never stayed for long.
By the time we left my parents’ house, it felt like we were living in different time zones. She was already half back in her world, and I was clinging to the last few hours of mine.
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d just talked. Without a screen between us. Without her PR agent’s voice crackling from speakerphone or some contract needing a signature by EOD.
“You should take a break,” I said, voice quiet. “You’ve been going nonstop.”
“Mm.” Eva hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t look up. “Veronica wants me to sign off on this campaign before the end of the night. It’s some cross-branding thing.”
I nodded even though she didn’t see it. Or maybe she did. Maybe she was just getting used to nodding back on autopilot.
I tried again. “I was thinking maybe we could go out tomorrow. Maybe walk down to the lake? Something easy.”
That got a flicker of attention. Her eyes lifted, warm but distracted. “Yeah? That sounds nice.”
Then her phone buzzed, and her attention slipped away again like sand through fingers.
She reached for my hand, and I let her take it. Her fingers were warm, and I tried not to lean into the comfort too much. Not when I knew she’d pick up the tablet again the moment things quieted down.
“I’m right here,” she said.
And she technically was—inches away from me on the couch, our hands linked. But it still felt like she was somewhere else. Like I’d been chasing her since she’d gotten back from Florida.
I didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “It’s just been a lot since theSIshoot. Veronica keeps saying this is the window, that we’ve got to capitalize on the momentum before it slows.”
I nodded because I’d heard it all before. And I understood it—Eva had spent her entire life earning this. Not just the spotlight, but a seat at the table. She was young, Black, openly queer, and making brands nervous and inspired in equal measure. She deserved every single opportunity.
But I still wanted her to choose me sometimes. Not just squeeze me in when her schedule allowed.
“Next week should be lighter,” she said. “I’ll talk to Veronica.”
“Okay,” I murmured.
She squeezed my hand and let go, reaching for her tablet again. “Just ten more minutes,” she promised.
Outside, the lights had come on in the neighboring buildings. I pulled the blanket higher around my waist and stared out at them, trying to remember the last time we’d watched the city together instead of beside each other.
We were in the same room, on the same couch, and I’d never felt lonelier.
I tooka shot from the wing but scowled as the ball hit off the side of the rim.
“You seem off,” Jazz remarked.
We’d borrowed a couple hours of court time at Jazz’s old high school gym. The overhead lights hummed, and the echo of each bounce stretched across the walls like we were in a cavern instead of a gymnasium.
I caught her pass and tried again from the same spot. The ball clanged off the front of the rim for a second time.
“And not just your shooting,” she observed, jogging to collect the rebound. “You feeling alright?”
I let out a sigh, planting my hands on my hips. “I’m just in my head.”
Jazz gave me a look, the kind that saidyou’re going to have to do better than that.
