Page 88 of Shot Taker

The guys swarm me, throwing their arms around me and hitting me with their towels.

“I made it.” Pride rushes up through my chest.

When I look over, James is gone from the tunnel. I push him from my mind as Jay comes up beside me.

“Gentlemen, Mr. Clayton Wade has been selected for the all-star team! Let’s give him a round of applause!”

Amidst the whistles and cheers from the other players, I just stand there, relishing the moment. This is what I've worked so hard for—to be recognized as one of the best basketball players in the league.

For a moment, my worries about the future melt away.

* * *

“It’s a big deal!” Nova exclaims over the phone. Her enthusiasm lights me up.

“I’ve been a bunch of times,” I say into my car’s hands-free speaker.

“Doesn’t matter, Clay. You’re one in a million.”

“Twenty-four of three hundred,” I say because, what the hell? I’ve never been humble, might as well try it on for size.

“You’ll have to come home and celebrate.”

Home. The word hits me hard.

I never thought of my condo as home since I bought it a year ago, but hearing her say the word makes it sound appealing.

My home. Hers. Ours.

We’re in a strange in-between spot. With Coach in the hospital, we lean on one another, but we’re still rebuilding the trust between us.

Yesterday, when she came over, we watched a movie and she spent the night curled in my arms.

I want to tell her how I feel about her, but it’s a weird time to do it. Coach’s hospitalization hangs over all of us, and the mood is tense.

“Listen, I should stop in to see Coach on the way,” I say as I turn off the road and into a drive-through. “You don’t have to wait up.”

“I want to.”

Damn if I’m not grateful for that.

When I click off with Nova, I pull up to the ordering window.

“Lettuce, no tomato. Double pickles. Triple hot sauce.”

“Triple?” the woman asks, sounding startled.

“Yeah.”

I take the paper bags to the hospital, navigating through the halls with my hands full.

I enter Coach's room, settle into the chair that barely holds me, and pull out the dinners.

“Jay’s thumb is bugging him on his threes, but he won’t admit it. I’m trying to take away some of his reps without him noticing, which is hard as fuck. Atlas’s free throws are up ten percent. He draws more fouls, we might get somewhere this year.”

I bite into my burger, chewing and swallowing before I go through my mental notes on every other player on the Kodiaks.

Who knows if Coach can hear me, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

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