"Whatever," I mutter under my breath, mad at myself for believing so wholly that I actually had nobody who knew me, nobody who loved me, nobody who would care if I just vanished into thin air. Yet, Ryder York sits beside me, able to guess by a mereexpressionthat I’m ready to call it quits.
"Exactly. It’s one game. Forty-eight minutes. Do not letyouget inside your head, not today. Noelle is watching from the couch at home, and cannot be harmed." He swallows the words I know he was going to say next—not again— and I bury my head in my clammy palms. "Your parents are here to cheer you on, though. But they always are, aren’t they?"
I stare daggers at him, glad at the fact that my little sister knows better than to support me in person anymore. My mind just likes to blame anybody and anything, rather than admit to the truth.
That I put my sister in danger.
Me.
It’s now become an unspoken rule between us that our social circles are not to mix, unless she’s with me the entire time.
And I’m so mad at the fact that Ryder seems to just…care.
About me. About my parents, my sister.
When I wish he just wouldn’t.
It would make all of this so much easier.
"Two minutes, boys," Coach White says, clapping his hands together loud enough for the sound to echo off the concrete walls in the locker room.
I watch as Ryder takes his jersey off the hook in the space behind him, throws it over his head, and pulls it down his chest.
"Come on, brother. It’s game time." His palm slaps against my shoulder, right as my phone vibrates, and it’s only then I realized that I’d been holding it this whole time, a white knuckle, dying grip on it.
"I’ll put ten bucks on that being Orlando’s final reminder to keep your head in the fucking game, and think about nothing else," Ryder says with a childish smirk that leaves me rolling my eyes.
He’s right.
Of course he is. Why else would our manager be texting me right before a game, when he’s probably sitting in the front row?
Orlando
Don’t fuck this up, Avery. You’re a free agent next season, which means we need the Avery we saw years ago on that court. Make this season count. Your contract depends on it.
Locking my phone, I throw it into my bag and follow behind the rest of my team, already eager for the final siren to sound.
Five.
You’re only allowed five fouls in a game of basketball before you’re fouled off, and cannot play the remaining minutes.
I’m currently sitting at three, and we’ve only just finished the first half. I bet when I go home and re-watch the game tapes, they’ll show that not only were they all legitimate, but that more should’ve been called on me, too.
I’ve gotten lucky so far.
I drown out Coach White’s pep talk, sick of hearing him tell me to keep my hands to myself every chance he gets, and throw my headphones over my ears to help me stay calm. I automatically gravitate to my guilty pleasure playlist, whereStay (Don’t Go)by Akira Rain plays through my ears, not giving a crap that the guys around me can probably hear it, and are no doubt mocking me.
I close my eyes, and lean back against the wall.
Once that song is over, the soothing sound of plucking guitar strings calms me in a way no song ever has, and when her voicekicks in…it’s like I’m transported to another realm. Like she’s singing to me and only me, words of utter heartbreak piercing my soul, with a hook that will no doubt be on repeat in my mind for the rest of the night.
"Time’s up, let’s go." Ryder rips my headphones off, locks my phone, and ushers me out the door. All before I could even find out the name of the person that voice belonged to.
"Have you seen who is in the crowd tonight?" My manager, Orlando, asks as he matches my strides beside me, the three of us now making our way back to the court.
"I thought I was to focus on the game and nothing else?" I retort, my voice void of amusement. I feel Orlando and Ryder sharing a look that only each other would be able to understand.
The three of us met in college, all with big dreams of being in the NBA, but Orlando’s dreams were cut short, and he became our manager instead. They always say not to mix business with pleasure, but I would never have made it this far without him and Ryder by my side.
