Page 33 of Shot Taker

What the…?

It’s not someone from outside the building, or the concierge would have buzzed up. Maybe Brooke forgot her key?

When I pull the door open, there’s a security guard standing in the hallway holding a large rectangle wrapped in brown paper.

“I brought a message from Mr. Wade.”

“I’m afraid I’ve hit my limit of messages from Mr. Wade for tonight.”

I start to shut the door, but he holds out the package. The size and shape of it are immediately familiar.

I take it from him and shut the door before reading the Post-It note on top.

To help you live your life.

10

CLAY

“Again?!?” Rookie exclaims as Miles’s three swishes into the hoop.

It’s Miles's fifth of the night, and my teammate’s grin lasts the whole way back up the court. The crowd is going nuts. We’re up big, and the third-string guys pop off the bench to close.

Miles pants next to me on the bench as we catch our breath in the final minute.

It wasn’t a record game, but I still got mine, and after the other night, I know how much this was eating Miles.

But my lungs burn, and it’s not from running up and down the court.

When Nova said there was no number of walls that would make her forgive me, it didn’t discourage me.

It lit a fire under me.

So first, I sent her a manicurist to fix the nails she was upset about.

Next were flowers. The universal symbol for “I fucked up, hope these make you smile when I couldn’t.”

I could’ve handled her cursing me out.

What I got in return was a thousand times worse.

"I’m on a date."

It felt like taking a charge from a power forward barreling downhill toward the basket.

All the air went out of me at once, leaving every part of me bruised.

Being around her the past two weeks has brought me back to life. Seeing her pursue her dreams in the hallway outside, hearing her laughter, brushing against her at the club, all of it reminds me how she lights me up like no one I can remember.

I won’t pretend not to have feelings for her anymore.

But what if it’s too late?

Maybe Nova’s over us, and I’m the one left holding onto something we won’t have again.

After hitting the showers and media, I get dressed in jeans and a sweater. My hair is still wet, and it feels cool in the November air as I step outside.

“Leave the car,” Miles says as the limo comes to pick us up.

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