Page 3 of Shot Taker

I checked the schedule before I came over to the stadium today. The team is on back-to-backs, which means no practice. They’ll be rehabbing and arrive just in time for shootaround and the game.

Today, this echoing place is mine.

2

CLAY

“Second day of a back-to-back. How do you feel about your chances?” the reporter asks eagerly at our pregame press conference.

“Same as I feel every night—like we’ll win.”

At this point in the season, there’s a routine to giving comments. They’re the right words on an endless loop.

“Do you think the Kodiaks will make it into the playoffs this year? And if not, what does that mean for you?”

“We’re here to go as deep as we can.”

“Trade talks have been swirling,” begins another reporter, “and your name has been mentioned.”

The room goes quiet.

I shift in my seat, and every eye in the room follows the movement. They’re reading into each blink and breath and cough.

Chloe’s at my side, her knuckles cracking against her iPad.

“I’m here to play ball,” I say evenly. “The rest is above my paygrade.”

Chloe nods, which means I’m off the hook. I shift out of the chair and shoulder my gym bag, putting on my Beats headphones as I leave to prep for the game.

The past few weeks have been a blur. Work out, play, get on a plane, repeat. The schedule never bothered me before, but now I’m finding fault with what used to be my comfort.

Probably because of the throbbing ache in my gut and chest that never goes away.

Sometimes when I’m giving it everything, I swear it’ll be enough to take the edge off. If I’m tired enough, I won’t have the energy to feel this.

It’s getting better.

That’s what I tell myself.

Like rehabbing an injury, you have to believe it’s one percent improved every time you go through the routine. In sports and in life, momentum is everything.

Over enough time, one percent adds up.

The halls are nearly empty. No one knows about my deal with Harlan or that I’m still waiting on a trade to LA. It’s getting more frustrating by the day to put in my max effort here when I know I won’t be in Denver through the end of the season.

Not that I’ve been an antisocial prick the past month.

I’ve helped Rookie with his jump shot.

Went sneaker shopping with Jay.

Hell, I even dog-sat Waffles one afternoon for Miles.

What I’m not doing is answering any of the women who’ve hit me up.

None of them have pink hair and slow curves and a smile that makes the world brighten like a rainbow after a storm.

Thinking of the woman who came into my life out of nowhere and blew out of it just as fast makes my chest ache.

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