Page 87 of Shot Taker

For hours, I forget all the bad shit.

21

CLAY

For the past week, Coach has been in a coma and I’ve been doing what Harlan asked.

I talk to the team.

I put on a good act.

I’m at the gym even earlier than usual, keeping an eagle eye on practice for when the assistant coaches screw up.

Today, while I’m trying to keep spirits up at practice, I see someone I don’t expect hovering at the edge of the tunnel.

James Parker stands straight as rod, hands in his pockets as we run drills.

The second I get rotated out, I grab a Gatorade and head for him.

“Clay. What a pleasure.”

From his voice, it’s clear my presence is anything but.

“You could’ve waited more than a day before giving away Coach’s job,” I say as I stop in front of him.

“A team needs a head coach. A conscious one too. The league is demanding like that,” he drawls. “My hands are tied.”

“Your hands are meddling.”

“You’re six-five, but you think you have better perspective than I do up there?” He nods to his office in the rafters of the building.

I pop the top on my drink. “I think you’re so far away you can’t tell a basketball from a breadbasket.” I chug half the bottle, enjoying the way his face contorts. “If you want to win a championship in this town, stay out of shit you don’t understand. That includes Nova.”

“Nova?” He cocks his head, genuinely surprised.

She told me about his threats.

“She didn’t leak any pictures of the wall, so stop trying to take advantage of her.”

He smiles, genuine delight edging into his expression. “When we brought you here, you were a killer. You’re losing your edge.”

“Fuck with me and we’ll find out.”

An outburst from the court makes me look up.

“Shit!”

“Fucking yes!”

The guys are gathered around a phone.

I jog over to them.

“Practice over?” I drawl.

“Clay! You made the all-star team,” Jay says.

I straighten, palming the ball in one hand. This past week, I’d all but forgotten about the timeline to name participants in the game.

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