Jamal smirks, and if it weren’t for the bead of sweat on his temple and pulse hammering in his neck, I’d assume he’s unfazed. “I’m sure Coach will excuse O’Keefe from the meeting because hisfatherwants to talk to him.” He says father like a taunt.
“I’m not his father,” John barks, advancing on Jamal.
Jamal puts his hands up in defense. “You’re right. Wild how you want to control the finances of your not-son.” Jamal picks up my gear and heads for the exit.
“You can’t walk away from me, boy,” John whines as the shock hits him that he can’t control us.
“Why not? It’s what you did.” Jamal doesn’t slow or glance back.
I follow him in awe. I’m going to be free of John. It doesn’t seem possible. As we enter the elevator, we hear him screaming directives at someone. I will no longer be allowed in the building. I hope Jamal got most of my stuff.
“You okay?” he asks.
So many things swirl through my brain; I can’t form a coherent thought. I start to nod and then shake my head so it ends up going in a circle.
Jamal offers me a reassuring smile, but we’re met by security in the alcove leading to the garage.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Keefe, but Mr. King has accused you of stealing from his apartment.” The doorman shifts from foot to foot.
“Search everything you want.” Jamal unzips my gear again, and the stench is worse in the small space. “He’s got equipment and dirty clothes. Between you and me, the stuff in that apartment is gaudy as hell and ain’t no one going to steal it.”
The security guards peer into the bag but clearly don’t want to get any closer.
Jamal cracks jokes for a few more minutes. “Hey, we have a captain meeting we’re supposed to be at for the Enforcers. Y’all mind if we go?”
With their approval, we’re pulling out in my SUV with a wave.
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Jamal tries to dismiss my thanks, but his hands tremble. “Hey, you were amazing. Maj, you good?”
“I’m sorry he’s the father you were stuck with.” He leans his head against the window. “I used to dream of meeting him. Even after his wedding, when he ignored me, I had the fantasy of him wanting to know me. Me, Jamal, not Jamal King the hockey player. That probably sounds dumb.”
“No dumber than my fantasy of my father coming back because his death was all a big mix-up and we could be a happy family.” My eyes are glued to the road, so I don’t see his reaction. “Yours was at least based in reality. Mine needed wizards, or aliens, or cryogenics to make possible.”
“There’s a better chance of your stepfather being a good person. He’s not.” Jamal jerks his thumb back at the Park Ave apartment. “I’ll be fine. Unexpected situations that I can’t control fire up my nervous system, and it takes a minute to slow down.”
The drive is fairly quick by New York standards, but we don’t talk. It’s not uncomfortable, but I wish I knew what to say to make him feel better. I’m better off keeping my mouth shut than saying the wrong thing.
“We should talk about what Ace said. Planning ahead if it gets out about us before we tell people. Right there!” Jamal yells, and I slam on the brakes. “You can parallel park, or I can if you want.”
We switch places, and Jamal parks my SUV like it’s a compact car with no need to straighten out afterward. We lug my gear the block and a half to his place.
Tyrone opens his door as we pass and leans on the frame. “Great game tonight. You going out to celebrate?”
“Nah, boutta knock out. Catch you later.” Jamal gives him an up-nod and unlocks his apartment.
Once we’re inside, guilt takes over. There’s no place to put my stuff. “Don’t let me stop you from hanging out with your friends,” I say in an asshole-ish tone.
“I won’t.” Jamal takes off his shoes, then opens his closet and tries to shove my extra gear bag in.
“I shoulda left it in the car.” All the things I need for games and practice are taken care of by the team’s equipment managers. “I should go,” I say stupidly.
“Why?” he asks, and we stare at each other as if it’s a game of chicken, and I refuse to blink first. Jamal sighs. “Theo, I asked you to stay here, and yeah, it’ll be a tight fit, but if it’s not what you—”
“It is,” I cut him off. I’m ruining this five seconds after getting here.
He grips both my shoulders and steers me to the couch. “Then don’t go. I won’t lie to you. I’m not gonna tell you coming out is easy or people will understand or they’ll get over it. People can be shit. But I’m glad you’re here and away from John. I don’t play games. I’ll always tell you the truth. Even if you don’t like it.”
I kick my shoes off and curl into his side. “Especially if I don’t like it.”
