Bishop pulls back and gives me his usual half-grin like he can feel the moment getting too heavy. “Alright. I’m gonna go, butkeep me updated, and if anything comes in, we’ll ride at dawn. Love you, brother,” he says, voice low.
“Love you too,” I answer, and my throat tightens on the last word.
Bishop pulls back, gives me a quick nod, and leaves.
The door closes.
The apartment goes quiet again.
I rinse the glasses, set them in the rack, and check my phone out of habit—no new messages. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. I grab my keys. Not to go anywhere special. Just to do what I always do.
Glynys’s dog needs walking, and this will help kill time.
He’s waiting by the door when I knock, tail already going. Glynys thanks me.
Outside, the night is cool and still. The dog does his business. We walk the same short loop we always do.
I bring the dog back upstairs, hand him off, and tell Glynys good night.
I don’t think about it at first. I just realize I’m slowing down. Her door is a few steps away. I don’t know why the thought even crosses my mind.
I stop outside her place. My hand rises to knock. Then my eyes drop to my watch.
Reality slides back in like a cold hand. What the hell am I doing?
I drop my hand, exhale hard through my nose, and shake my head. I turn back toward the elevator, even as I rub the back of my neck.
Halfway there, my foot catches the edge of the hallway rug. I stumble, try to correct, and slam my bad knee into the elevator frame. The pain’s instant, a white-hot flash that rips through me.
“Ah, son of a?—”
I jab the door-close button, praying no one heard that. The doors finally slide shut, sealing my humiliation inside.
Chapter 30
Nathan
When I finally make it to my floor, the limp’s noticeable. I fumble the key, drop it twice before getting the door open.
I toss my jacket somewhere near the couch, and then I feel the knee again—the sharp reminder.
“Still got it,” I mutter, half-laughing as I limp to the bedroom.
I sit on the edge of the bed, reach for the orange bottle on the nightstand, shake a pill into my palm, and swallow it dry. The room fades slightly when I lie back, ceiling fan blurring into lazy circles.
For the first time in a long time, the spin doesn’t feel bad.
My eyes close.
The sound of the fan fades into the wind. The soft buzz of the city becomes a crowd.
And then, grass. Lights. The sound of cleats on turf.
I plant my foot. The ground shifts. And everything tears.
NCAA Playoffs
Fourth-and-Inches
