As I enter the apartment, my stomach twists. John’s bags are near the door. He hasn’t left. This will be brutal. He’ll have heard the alarm deactivating, so I can’t hide.
I trudge toward the living room. He has his back to me, staring at the, in his words, “glorious view.”
“How dare you!” he growls. “How dare you allow him to ban me,ME,from the arena!”
Didnothave that accusation on my bingo card, but if he’s doubling down, so am I.
“John, I have great news. Which bedroom is Jamal’s?” I act calm and excited.
“What are you talking about?” he barks, unable to keep track of the mountain of lies over the years.
“Which room did he sleep in during your Christmas holidays together?” John pales and I keep going. “We’re friends now,” I lie. “He really wants to keep the old tradition of spending it here with you. He also apologized for excluding me. Jamal admitted he was jealous that I got more of your attention than he did.” That’s only a partial lie. Sue me.
“He said that?” John hesitates.
“Won’t it be great to be all together? I thought I’d put Christmas decorations in his room. Which one is his? I can’t believe I didn’t ask before.” My smile hurts to fix into place, but I manage it.
“You’ve wasted enough of my time. I need to get back.” John storms by me and calls the front desk for valet service.
“Which room?” I ask again.
“Third door on the right,” he huffs as if telling me is an inconvenience.
“Thanks.” I shrug and decide against compounding the lies by saying how excited Jamal is for this family reunion.
The staff here knows my dear old stepfather, and he only has to wait a minute for someone to bring a cart and take his bags.
The door snicks shut, and I’m alone. I laugh all the way down the hall to the third door on the right and swing open my bedroom door. He didn’t even bother to check where my room is.
My victory is hollow when I realize I don’t have anyone to celebrate with.
Chapter 15
Jamal King
Road wins can be tricky after a game. We’re in Detroit, which means Lucky’s family is a problem, and Mr. Dimon hired extra security. I should’ve stayed in my room and avoided the crowded bar. The Detroit fans are heckling us, and Theo is drunk.
He’s unappreciative, surly, and reciprocates nothing. There are times when I’m sure I’ve cracked his steel walls only to be insulted later.
I’m trying to stay out of his business, but he makes it hard when he’s reckless. I shouldn’t care, but it’s got me feeling some type of way.
Benz has gone out of his way to include him, even after Theo accused him of being a racist. Benz shook it off and kept moving.
We’re in a private backroom of a bar, but since we didn’t reserve it, they don’t have a bartender. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Not as if my guys are entitled. But the Detroit fans are ruthless. Their insults are inches short of homophobic and racist. My skin is so itchy; it’s a warning that things are going to go down.
“Aw, shit,” Brant swears, and I track his gaze.
Theo’s in the main bar ordering a drink, and he’s got that look about him—the I’m-better-than-you look—and people have noticed.
“Should we…” I leave the statement hanging because an ass-whooping might do him some good. Knock him down a peg. But if he gets hurt, the team will suffer. “Some of those guys are big.”
Brant sets down his soda, and the vein in his forehead throbs. Helping me with Theo is the last thing he wants to do, but Theo is his D partner. Brant scans the room and notices who’s not here, then gives me a sharp nod as we push through the crowd to Theo.
Brant has it bad for a man he’ll never have a chance with. I’ve got my suspicions about who he is, but I’m keeping my mouth shut and opinions to myself until he tells me.
“Hey, man.” Brant throws an arm around Theo.
Fuck. Theo is not a guy you sneak up on and touch.
