Page 114 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

“Ar–are you gonna forgive me?” I hiccup.

She cocks her head. “Do you think you can forgive yourself?”

Her question slams into my stomach.

Forgiveness.

I’ve heard Papa preach it a thousand times, and I’ve felt the weight of its absence as it crushes down on my soul, but I’m not sure I truly know what it means. “I don’t think I know how to forgive.”

Lee squeezes my hand. “I think before you worry about others, you should figure out yourself.”

“Is that what you’ve done with your old man?”

Her eyes widen, her hand snapping back. “I shoulda known Jax would run and tell you.” She breathes deep. “Daddy is a work in progress for me. There’s a lot to forgive.” She glances at her lap. “But I’ve learned—very recently—that it’s not about him… not really. It’s about lettin’ go of the hurt and the anger for me. So that I can find peace.” She pauses, the palm of her hand rubbing against her chest.

“‘Forgiveness is divine, Alina May.’ That’s what Mama always told me.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Maybe you should try to find your faith.”

49

Eli

I’ve lived most of my life living with certain proclivities. Beliefs that were projected like a bullhorn, blaring into my eardrums until I was deaf to anything else.

One: Pops’s word is law.

Two: Success is the only thing that matters.

It’s no coincidence the two molded together like playdough. Different colors of the same thing mixing until I couldn’t tell them apart. Pops’s aspirations became my own. Still, through all the times Pops pushed me, all the critiques he gave instead of his pride, he was still my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong, and I was forever trying to appease him.

But yesterday, something shifted.

Something cataclysmic came loose, rattling around until it jumbled up my head and my heart, forming a new mold for my soul to fit into.

Now, I see things clear.

Pops isn’t infallible. He’s human. He makes mistakes. He’ll have to pay his own penance for the things that he’s done. For the people he’s sucked into his vortex, whipping them through the tornado of his grief, and spitting them out damaged and torn.

My hope is he’ll put in the work at Stepping Stones, which is where I dropped him off yesterday after Lee came over. He went without fanfare, solemn on the drive and quiet as he was checked in.

Now it’s Monday morning, and even though I’ve been trying like hell to relax, my muscles are tense and my mind is a minefield.

Basketball lost its meaning once Becca left.

It hurt to look at the glossy maple floors and remember teaching her to own the paint. Too painful to reflect on the feel of her fingers under mine while I positioned her hands. But for the first time in five years, my fingers itch to hold a ball in my hands. To stand on the court and breathe it all in. Not because it’s my job, but because my soul is yearning for solace.

It’s that twinge of a spark which makes me head to Sugarlake High this morning. I’m not even sure the doors will be unlocked, but there’s a pull between my stomach and my chest, tugging me in the direction of my memories.

For some reason, I know it’s the only way to quiet my mind today.

A few cars are scattered through the lot and the doors are open, so I walk inside and head straight to the gymnasium. The squeak of my shoes rebound off the metal of the lockers, and the bittersweet taste of nostalgia fills me up as I remember what it was like to make this same trek eleven years ago.

Back when I was the next big thing. Before I became the town’s biggest disappointment.

The thought doesn’t sting like it once did. To assume we know our fate is futile, and when one path is stunted, another one is paved.

I stay quiet when I push open the double doors to the gym, not wanting to attract any attention. I’m not sure I’m technically allowed to be here.

A smile pulls at my lips as I make my way to the center of the court. If I strain my ears, I can almost hear the cheers ringing through the bleachers, chants of my name and thirty-three bouncing off the walls. My chest warms at the memory, but I don’t ache to grasp the feeling like I once did.

---