Page 69 of Top Scorer
“In my house.”
I bought it after the championship season because I had no idea an injury was going to derail my life. No one ever sees that shit coming.
Another silence. I stir the pasta to keep my hands busy. I can feel the shift in the air between us. She’s analyzing the situation, and I know whatever I say next matters.
“Were you planning to sell it?” she asks.
I let the spoon rest on the edge of the pot and turn to face her fully.
“I’m leasing it out this year,” I admit. “There was no indication the Mavericks wanted me for more than one season, so it didn’t make sense to put it on sale.”
“You’re leaving after this season?” The way she mutters the words, as if it’s a shocking realization instead of a genuine question, is hard to watch. I’ve surprised her. Upset her. And it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Honestly, Ligaya, all I can control is how I play. But fighting for a spot here wasn’t something I thought about until you gave me a reason to stay.” That’s the truth as simply as I can express it.
Her expression doesn’t change, but her fingers tighten around the hem of the sweatshirt.
“I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. Had no idea you were still living out of a suitcase,” she utters with a tentative gesture at my bland surroundings.
I recoil at her choice of words. “It’s not like that.”
Her eyes meet mine unflinchingly. “It’s hard not to feel you’re halfway out of town, Tristan.”
“I’m not,” I assure her. “But it’s true I haven’t planned anything solid. That’s the problem. I’ve been reacting. Trying to keep up. You tell me we’re having twins, and suddenly every plan feels too inadequate.”
I watch her take that in. Her features are both sympathetic and guarded. The timer dings for the pasta and I plate it, laying meatballs over the top. We sit side by side at the counter. Her shoulders are close but turned slightly away.
She glances at me, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“Is it likely they’ll renew your contract here?”
“The Mavericks front office isn’t allowed to negotiate with me directly. My agent will have to be involved.”
She lowers her fork and leans on the table.
“I’m not asking you to decide anything tonight. This isn’t the kind of decision you should rush. Though, eventually, I’ll need to know if I’m building something with you here. Together. Or if this is a long-distance scenario.” Her voice doesn’t shake, but it still sounds fragile. Hurt, almost.
“I don’t plan to be a long-distance father, Ligaya.”
That’s a fact. I refuse to be an absentee father, either physically or emotionally. She holds my gaze, eyes searching. Whatever she finds in my expression relaxes her.
“Thanks for the pasta. It’s delicious.”
“You’re welcome. Any time. When does your holiday break end?”
“I’m back in the classroom on January fifth. How about you? What’s your schedule like?”
“We have our longest road trip of the season coming up. It’s a West Coast run. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and won’t be back till mid-January.”
She rubs her tummy with one hand. “Who will join me in my craving of salt and vinegar chips dipped in Nutella if you’re in California?”
“We can video call every day if you have time,” I offer, my chest tightening at the realization of how much of the pregnancy I’m missing out on.
“You’re busier than I am, Tristan.”
“I’ll make time. I want to watch you eat whatever monstrosity you come up with next.”
A hint of a smile crosses her lips. “And when you get back?”
