“I gave you plenty of opportunities to tell me what was going on at the time.”
“I know. I was an idiot. Young and stupid. I … wasn’t ready then.”
“Well,I’mnot ready now.” I probably never will be, but I don’t say that. This conversation has gone surprisingly well despite the rough start, and I’d like to leave it on a good note. “I can’t go back there,” I finish. “Please respect that.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes moving intently across my face, then nods, backing away to let me pass.
16
Riley
Thesoundoftheball swishing through the net never fails to satisfy. It feelsgoodto get back on the court, even if it’s only to shoot some hoops on my own.
I’d run into Principal Jones, who happens to live down the street from my mom, while out walking Connor this morning. He was on his way to work, and we got to chatting about my less-than-triumphant return to town. He’s been the principal of Llyn Lakes High since I attended, and was a big supporter of mine while I’d captained the basketball team. After chatting for a few minutes about how my mom was doing, he got around toexpressing his disappointment over my failed college ball career, so …thatwas fun, but also expected. All the while, Connor had glared up at him, a feat I hadn’t been aware dogs were capable of before meeting the little guy.
I wonder how long it’ll take before I stop having to eat crow over my shortcomings. Whenever it is, I look forward to that day. Principal Jones was nice about it, at least, and asked what I’d been up to in the intervening years since I’d been away and whether I still played at all.
I’d actually avoided it for a long time after I got out, until one day some kids playing a pick-up game on a court in a park outside of New Orleans nearly lost their ball in the bayou. I happened to be walking nearby and intercepted it right before it went in. The second I had that ball in my hands, I was transported back to a time before I’d let all the pressure to perform ruin me. Back to when it was just about the joy of playing, the pure love of the game. I’d spun the ball on a finger and showed off some dribbling tricks before returning it to the kids, who’dooh-edandaah-edand reignited my desire to play. Later that evening, I’d returned to the court and shot some hoops on my own, reveling in the feel of the ball in my hands and the familiar sounds of it bouncing on the court; the reverberation of it drumming against the backboard; and yes, the aforementioned swish that signifies nothin’ but net.
So I’d answered Principal Jones in the affirmative, telling him I still liked to shoot some hoops from time to time, but that the old net at my mom’s had long since deteriorated and she’d hadmy brother take down the rusted-out rim. Since it’s still too early in the season for practices, he’d offered me use of the school gym any afternoon after classes ended. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance, eager not only to get back to my roots but also for an outlet for all the pent-up energy that’s been building since my last two encounters with Steph.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
How good she looks. How strong she is after everything she’s apparently been through, though I’m sure I’ve only heard the Cliff Notes version of all of that.
I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to touch her again. Taste her.
I’m here to put her out of my mind for a bit, I remind myself with a sigh. Focus on basketball and this generous offer from Principal Jones. It does feel amazing to be back out on a real hardwood court and not the outdoor, crumbling asphalt ones I’ve become accustomed to in recent years.
I retrieve the ball and dribble it back out to the top of the key, then drive it in on my right for a layup. It misses, but I rebound with a slam dunk, then congratulate myself internally. Looks like I’ve still got some moves, even if my progress with Steph is frustratingly slow. I retrieve the ball again and this time dribble out to the wing for a three-pointer… and … swish.Ohhh yeah, baby.
Just then, I catch a glimpse of a familiar figure with a perky blonde bob passing by the open gym doors as though I’d manifested her.
“Steph?” I call out in surprise. A moment later, she appears in the doorway, having backtracked at the sound of my voice.
“Riley, what are you doing here?”
“Is that how you’re always going to greet me?” I joke as I tuck the ball under my arm and move closer to the doorway.
She looks down at her feet. “You’ve been gone a long time. I guess I’m just not used to running into you yet.”
“Will you get used to it, do you think?” I ask, and we both know there’s more to that question. I’m not just asking if she’ll get used to me again, but will sheacceptme. Will she give me a second chance?
She swallows, then meets my gaze searchingly. I hope she finds whatever it is she’s looking for because I’m not giving up.
“I don’t know,” she finally admits.
“Well,” I clear my throat. “To answer your question, I’m playing ball.”
“I see that.”
“Principal Jones offered me use of the gym whenever I feel the urge to get out on the court.”
“Oh. That was nice of him.”
I nod and bounce the ball a few times before tucking it under my arm again.
“So … what areyoudoing here?” I parrot her earlier question with a teasing smile.
