The scrimmage starts slow but I immediately recognize that Will’s not playing for fun. He’s playing to win. This meaningless friendly game isn’t meaningless or friendly to either of us.
Grant whips the ball toward me as I go in to do a layup. The score board, though changing frequently, is neck and neck.
“Yo Will— I’m free,” Andy yells, but Will moves forward, ever the MVP, and goes for a three-pointer that bounces off the frame into my waiting palm.
“Fuck,” he growls, running full speed to successfully block the hook shot I’m about to throw. I square my jaw as the team around us starts to fade and all I see is Will. He moves to half court where I quickly disrupt. He’s quick, sweeping the ball in a turnover. This goes on, both of us running back and forth across the court, not allowing the others to make a single shot until I’m brought back to reality with the coach’s whistle.
I freeze the ball above my head getting ready to throw a 3-pointer and Will slams to a stop in front of me, his hands stretched high to block. We both turn, seeming to realize at the same time the rest of the team is now sitting on the bleachers in awe of what has unfolded in front of them. How many shots did we block from each other? How long did this play go on? Why didn’t anyone stop us? Did they try?
“CABOT, CHAPMAN. YOU'RE DONE FOR THE DAY. LOCKER ROOMS NOW. THE REST OF YOU RUN DRILLS.COACH WALTERS WILL LEAD,” our coach’s voice booms and he’s clearly pissed at us hijacking practice, but he can’t hide how impressed he is by the game of 1:1 he just saw play out.
We get to the locker room and Will immediately slams his duffel bag on to a nearby bench.
“Fuck,” he shouts out, banging a passing locker with his hand. He chugs his water, pouring it over his head, trying to get a hold of the adrenaline I feel pulsing through me too. He sits on the bench roughly, putting his head in his hands.
“You good man?” I ask taking a drink from my own water bottle.
“Who did you train with?” he asks, his tone accusatory.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Who did you train with when you were in Boston? Clearly, you weren’t just sitting around doing nothing.”
I feel flattered but I can tell it’s not meant to be taken that way. Will's pissed; I’m sure he was hoping for my immediate demise. That I would show up out of shape and out of practice and be made second string.
“Some of us are just naturally gifted, I guess,” I try to crack a joke, the way I used to years ago after winning a scrimmage. But things aren’t the same and that's obvious as Will slams the locker he's standing beside with his fist. “Will—” My concern is immediately cut off.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Ben. My life isn’t some sort of joke you can just come in and fuck up.” Rage seems to waft off him as he pushes his hand through his hair. “Why can’t I have anything? Why do you take everything that’s mine?”
I swallow, starting to hear Will for what feels like the first time.
“C’mon man, basketball has always been our sport.” I move toward him.
“Stop— Ben, just stop. ‘Our sport,’” he repeats the words to himself shaking his head. “Everyone has made it very fucking clear that basketball is your sport. YOUR. SPORT. One that I happen to also be good at. But never as good as the great BenfuckingCabot.”
I sigh leaning against my locker knowing there's more coming by the look on Will’s face.
“And basketball isn’t enough for you is it, Ben?” His eyes narrow as his tone turns steely.
“What are you talking about?” I ask even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Does Olivia ring a bell to you?” He inches toward me getting right up in my face. “You know, 5’8”, brown eyes, drop dead gorgeous? Oh, and I almost forgot, myfucking girlfriend, who somehow keeps talking to you.” I clench my jaw knowing that if he throws a punch I won’t be able to stop myself from hitting him back. He steps back shaking his head in disbelief when he spots my clenched fist. “You're unbelievable man, you know that?” My teeth grind together trying not to lash back out. “Do you have nothing to fucking say?”
I close my eyes and take a steadying breath.
“Why are you lying to her?” My voice is cool but calm as I narrow my eyes at my brother. His eyes shift from anger to confusion to pure rage.
“Fuck you, Ben. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I move closer now, getting in his face but I keep my voice calm.
“Lily, Will. I’m talking about Lily.”
He pushes me back not hard enough for me to fall but enough to send a message.
“Don’t fucking say her name again.” His tone is low and seething. His eyes have turned into an emotion I haven’t seen. The piping anger is so hot that if I say one more word we bothwill probably get kicked off the team from the altercation that would inevitably happen.
“She doesn’t know. How could you not tell her?” Faster than I can get the words out Will has me pushed hard up against a locker, his entire body trembling with anger.
