"You all good, brother?" he asks, pausing before opening the passenger door of my car. "I’ve only ever seen you get that riled up over a girl one time, and that was your—"
"I knowwhoit fucking was. I knowwhenit was, and Idon’twant to talk about it."
He shrugs, slouching his shoulders as he takes his seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
Orlando’s been observing me in silence. But when he opens his mouth, I cut him off.
"I don’t need to hear it." I sigh, running my hands over my fresh buzz cut. "I know I fucked up. I don’t need you to tell me."
"I wasn’t going to say that, Avery. I was going to ask if you were alright. I’m your friend first, manager second. I hate to see you get pissed off over people that don’t deserve an ounce of your time," he says, his voice a little louder to reach over the volume of the music coming from the speakers in my car.
Music wejustsat through only moments ago, in a crowd full of screaming girls. Like the night hadn’t already screwed with me enough. But now it feels personal. Now it feels like she carved out space in my head that I never gave her permission to take. Just what I need. Another reason to lose sleep—like I don’t have a game to win in a few days.
"As a manager, though, ithasgiven me an idea…" He trails off, hesitating, and I see something flash across his face. Fear, maybe? Or is it…excitement?
Please be fear.
"Can it wait? I just want to go home and unwind. I have an early training session in the morning, which will no doubt include an earful from Coach, and I’m just really fuckingover it."
I don’t elaborate. I’m not ready to tell him that I’m over the game.
Over the early wake-ups. Over how destroyed my body is after every practice and every game.
Ice baths don’t work anymore. Neither do massages. Physio barely keeps me going.
My body’s had enough, and now it’s starting to say so.
But honestly?
It’d be easier to tell him the game just doesn’t bring me joy anymore than to admit I’m at breaking point.
Because if I said that out loud, he’d just tell me to push through it.
And if I admit Ican’t,then I’ve let him down.
"We’re going to be seeing your name on the cover of every article tomorrow, Avery, whether you like it or not, in ways you’d probably expect, but also in a way you probably won’t. Just know that I have it handled, okay? You can deal with Coach. I think I have a way to control the narrative on this. You've just gotta trust me." He gets into his car, closes the door, and rolls down his window. "Remember, the auction is coming up. Don’t worry about donating an item. I’ve got that sorted, too."
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.
Chapter nine
Avery
Avery Jones: Overly protective or pretentious bully?
It seems the New York Raptors player cannot walk away from a fight, no matter how hard he tries.
But is he really trying, or is he going out of his way to cause more harm than necessary?
A witness claims Jones (pictured above) approached a man waiting in line for a picture with Olive Herring (pictured left), and Avery went into a jealous fit of rage.
"One minute we were all waiting for a photo, and the next, Avery had his hands around his throat," the witness toldChoice Magazine.We have reached out to both Herring and Jones’ teams, but neither seems to have a comment at this time.
This comes justdaysafter Olive Herring was spotted courtside at Jones’ recent home game.
Could something be brewing between the two?
