“Thank you for staying,” she says, her breath whispering against my chest.
“You’re worth it, Gen.”
She hums, the feeling warm as it buzzes against me. And holding her, telling her how I feel—it all feels right.
She takes a short breath before smoothing her hands down my sweater and wrapping her arms low around my back. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“Me neither.”
“But I’m hungry. Sloane didnotfeed me.”
“Sloane forgets to feed herself,” I chuckle, realizing that Sloane’s scheming might have, for once, been a good thing. “We can grab food.”
“Or…you could make me something?” Her smile is tentative.
“Whatever you want.” And I know I mean it.
19
Grant
Sneakers screech across the waxy court in a repetitive pattern as we run superman drills at opposite ends of the court. Jumping up, I easily sink the ball in the basket and shuffle to grab it back, shooting it to Ben. Coach’s whistle cuts us off, the rhythm of screeches suddenly replaced by our uneven huffs as we all steady our breaths from where we stand, scattered across the court. Everyone except Will, whose absence is glaringly obvious. Especially with Ben here.
“Showers,” Coach barks, still stewing over the scene at“his”gala. That’s what he called it when he berated us this morning in the locker room, seeming to become even more enraged when one half of the scene didn’t even dare to show up.
I expect Ben to have disappeared by the time I emerge from my shower stall, the steam reminiscent of wood smoke from all the heavily scented body wash that just sluiced down the drains, but he’s only just trying to make his escape. He spots me and, to my utter surprise, retreats.
“You got a minute?” he asks. He seems unsure, like he thinks I could say no, like he’s aware that he’s been a shit friend. But I, thegood friend—I always have a minute.
I contemplate saying no. “Sure.”
When we emerge from the gym, the late afternoon glare of the sun hazardous to our eyes, it almost feels like the old days. The heat that beats against my face is tempered by the cool air we wade through, weaving through the disparate clusters of students.
“You talk to Liv?” I just come out with it because he’s mentioned just about everything else the entirety of the journey thus far.
His scoff shocks me. “No,” is all he says. There’s a pregnant pause, likesurelyhe’s going to elaborate. But nope—nothing.
“I can’t tell if you want to talk about it or not,” I say, my laugh sardonic and impatient.
He throws his head back with a groan, his hands raking down his face.
“I don’t,” he decides, then flashes me a disingenuous smile. “It’s done. Let’s talk about you.”
“Wow. You pay your therapist to learn that one?” I’m too amused to push any further as he laughs. A small piece of our friendship unfurls at his offer, reminding me how nice it is to have a best friend. Someone you can talk to about everything.
Almost everything. At least my secrets aren’t hurting anyone. Ben doesn’t know about the foster thing, but it never made sense to bring up. No one knows… except Gen. And he doesn’t know about her, even though it contradicts every feeling I’ve had since the other night to act like I’m the same guy I was a few weeks ago.
“Seriously, what’s new? I see you at practice and that’sit. It was different when we were rooming together. Remember that apartment?” His faraway gaze and nostalgic smile have me seeing it, too.
“An apartment is generous. Maybe a dumping ground?”
“It was the other guys who kept getting it so messy! We were good.”
“Ourhousekeeperwas good,” I remind him, entertained by the way he paints himself in memory.
“Yeah, whatever,” he chucks, sighing. “You ready to be done with all of this?”
“College? Yeah,” I admit. “But I uh…” I pause, scrubbing my jaw with my hand as I hesitate. Ben’s been on the draft radar since before he left. Coming back was a formality. I feel small telling him my intentions, despite our similar statures. “I’m not ready to be done with basketball.”
