Page 83 of Shot Taker

“Since practice. Harlan tried to get me to leave.” When his hand falls away, I miss it.

“Harlan was right.” It’s after midnight.

“It was my fault,” he goes on as if he didn’t hear me.

My arms wrap around my body. I’m only now realizing I didn’t put on a coat before coming over.

“You weren’t driving.”

“No, but I gave him hell the other day.”

“Your words didn’t give him a heart attack, or steer him off the road. No one’s that powerful. Not even Clayton Wade.”

He tilts his head up to look at me.

I’m still upset with him, but the downward spiral is familiar. Clay seems intent to stay here all night, which won’t help anyone.

I make an executive decision. “We’re leaving. Give me your keys.”

I hold out a hand, and after a long moment, Clay reaches into his pocket and passes over the fob.

I lead the way out of the hospital. Normally heading through a busy building would mean people snapping pics of Clay, but today, everyone we pass is either sick or working.

Fame can’t trump illness.

We reach the parking lot, and Clay nods toward the section holding his SUV.

“I can drive,” he says.

“I don’t care what you think you can do,” I bite out.

His eyes widen in surprise, but when I round to the driver's seat and get in, he shifts into the other side.

After sliding into his SUV, I move the seat forward a foot and adjust the mirrors.

“I’m sorry.” His voice fills the dark.

“Apologize to Coach when he wakes up.”

“I mean about the deal with Harlan. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you to choose for yourself.”

The words settle on me, seeping into my skin. I don’t have time to guard against them, and there’s no protection from the raw emotion in his voice.

“Tonight’s not about us.”

I drive him home.

The roads are dark and quiet. I don’t put on the radio.

When we pull up to the building, the garage door lifts automatically. From memory, I navigate to the spot right next to the elevator.

We ride up together, and I sneak a look at him in the fluorescent lights.

I’ve never seen him like this.

He’s always strong.

Now, he’s suffering.

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