Every answer failed me because I was attracted to her and didn’t even know her.
It was like she’d heard my thoughts and looked up. Our gazes met and held. We were maybe two or three feet from each other, and it was like no one else existed around us. There was something raw and real about her presence. It was like we were meant to meet in this moment, and yet I had to maintain my professionalism. I couldn’t ask her what her name was, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I could ask Cutter.
This woman, someone who had my thoughts jumbled and my heart doing things I hadn’t felt in years, smiled. My knees knocked together, and I forced myself to rest against the wall for stability.
“You okay?” the athletic director asked.
“Yeah, a little lightheaded.” This wasn’t exactly a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth. It was more like I had lost the ability to think or function like a human.
“Do you need some water?”
I nodded and accepted the bottle from him. After twisting the cap, I took a big swig, drinking most of it down.
In a flash, the buzzer sounded, and the JV game was over. I shook my head to clear my stupor and made my way toward the locker room, already late for the pregame pep talk. How could I preach to my team about punctuality when I couldn’t even hold myself to the same standard?
When I reached the boys, they were all sitting in their chairs, waiting for me. “Sorry I’m late, gentlemen.” I proceeded to go over the game plan, which honestly hadn’t changed from the previous games. We discussed our defensive strategy and reminded ourselves to block out the fans and to have fun. At the end of the night, it was a game. Someone had to win, and someone had to lose.
As a team, we walked together and waited for the warm-up music to start. Once it did, Malik led the team out and into formation. Before I’d even entered the gym again, I told myself I wasn’t going to look across the court and into the stands. Yet, as soon as I made it through the doorway, I did, and she was still there. Only now, she had her phone out, and it looked like she was taking videos of Cutter.
It struck me then that I couldn’t recall a time when Cutter’s mom, Miriam, had ever missed a game. She was his number one fan, always in the stands, cheering for him. Cheering for all the boys. Most of the parents were like that, which I appreciated. As a coach, it was important for the boys to see sportsmanship among the parents. When they won, we all won.
“Wes, are you good, man?” my assistant coach and coworker, Jerome Levy, asked.
I nodded and ran my hand over my face, letting out a shallow groan. “Yeah, just ...” What was I doing? I glanced across the court again and saw Cutter’s sister cheering, even though the boys were still in warm-ups. “Yeah, just thinking,” I told him.
Jerome and I were good friends outside of work. We rarely ever disagreed on game strategy, whether on the court or the field, and we often balanced each other out. Where Jerome preferred structure, I was more laid back. Our styles complemented each other and never confused the kids.
The horn sounded at the one-minute mark, and the boys ran toward the sideline. Jerome and I high-fived each of the guys. Our starters sat on the bench while I crouched in front of them with my whiteboard, where I’d listed who each of them would guard, and went over my half-assed game plan.
When our announcer began introducing the visitors, I handed my board to Jerome, left the rest of the pregame chat to him, and went to greet each player at half-court.
And then it was our turn. While the fans were loud for our opponent, the noise reached a body-vibrating decibel level when our announcer said, “And now your starting lineup for the Grove Hill Timberwooooooooolves.”
The boys made two lines—a tunnel of sorts—for their five teammates. Jerome and I stood at the front of the line and held our hands out for each of the boys to slap as they ran by. One by one, each player was announced. They ran through our line, met one of their teammates at the end for a choreographed celebration dance, and then shook hands with the officials and the opposing coach.
After the starting lineup was announced, we all stood for the national anthem, and then it was time for the tip-off. Before I sent the guys out there, we huddled up. “This is a big game with big emotions. We’re going up against our friends, and regardless of the outcome, we’ll still be friends. Go out, play your game the way you know how.” We raised our fists.
“Timberwolves on three. One, two, three,” Malik said before the five of them walked onto the court.
I sat and set my clipboard on the bench next to me. After tip-off, I would stand and pace the length of the coach’s box, guiding the boys. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind they knew the plays and the defensive schemes, but they were kids, and they forgot sometimes. It was my job as their coach to give them reminders.
The whistle blew, and the official walked to center court and tossed the ball in the air. Cutter jumped, his fingertips knocking the ball back to Malik. The game was underway, and while my focus should have been on the boys, my eyes drifted across the court to where the woman with Cutter’s sister was. She had her camera up, her hand moving along with the action of the game.
Jerome elbowed me. I looked at him, and he motioned toward the other end of the court. The official jogged toward the center, where the reporting table was, and reported the foul. I groaned when he displayed Malik’s number on his fingers.
I stood and clapped. “Let’s go. Hands off and slide your feet.” I had no idea what Malik had done because my attention was elsewhere. “No more,” I muttered to myself. If anyone heard me, my statement could easily have been for the team as well. But mostly, it was for me. Whoever was here for Cutter shouldn’t have been any of my concern.
Despite the wild thumping my heart did each time I looked over at her, I could easily chalk the sensation up to the excitement of game night.
Yep, that’s exactly what it was.
Chapter 5
Antonia
I kept Miri updated throughout the game, each time Cutter scored or did something I thought was good. I didn’t know crap about basketball, but almost everyone cheered for Grove Hill. And each time I texted Brendan with a video or the score, he said the game was close. All I knew was Cutter scored a lot, and Nova and I clapped a lot.
After the game, we waited in the gym for Cutter to come out from the locker room. When he did, Nova ran toward him. He scooped her up and lifted her toward the basketball rim. She hung there for a second, sending my heart to the floor and back up again.
