The bus to the airport is quiet. We pulled out the win, but it was a wakeup call to how quickly the season could end. Even if by some miracle we make it back here next year, I know it won’t be the same without Z. He’s made me work smarter and push harder. Playing with a guy of his talent makes us all look better because we strive to be better.
Wes nudges me as I’m about to close my eyes. "Nice job out there."
"Yeah, you too. I know I give you shit about coaching, but you've yet to lead us wrong. And you didn't even have to give the heart pep talk."
"Didn't have to, someone else beat me to it."
Katrina.
Wes and I almost always sit next to each other on bus rides. Wes would never admit it, but I think he likes how I don’t sit and brood like him or Z. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind, getting things off my chest. But tonight, I’m lost in my head and he seems to sense that.
"So, she's your lucky charm, huh?"
Fucker read the text.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, "Had to make sure it wasn't going to mess with your head. I like the chick, but not enough to gamble a national championship on her words of wisdom."
"Yeah, I guess she is.”
“You know what your problem is?” Wes angles his body toward me, and I groan. Just what I was hoping for, a critical review of my shitty performance.
“What’s that?” I ask dryly, only humoring him because I know the fastest way forward is not resisting.
“You think the fadeaway is your only move. It's not."
“Fine, I’ll bite. What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re one of the best all-around ball players I know. You don’t have to stick with your signature moves. Try new things, take risks. You were amazing tonight.”
“Thanks, man.”
“While I’m doling out the advice, I feel compelled to say that I think you could do the same off the court.”
Ah, there it is. I knew this pep talk was going to lend itself to a personal intervention.
“You’ve seemed happy this past month. I didn’t really realize it until you weren’t. I mean you’ve always been carefree and the life of the party, but since Katrina, you’ve just seemed… happy. Fuck, I don’t know how to explain it. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supportive in the beginning. I was wrong.”
I have been happy. A deeper kind of happiness that I’d forgotten existed, if I’m honest. But that doesn’t mean I want to sign up for the inevitable wrecking ball in a month or six when things crash and burn.
“Whatever shit you’re working out, I don’t think banging the entire Valley female population is gonna help. Especially not now.”
I resist rolling my eyes. Just barely. “It’s not sex therapy. I just like women.”
“Let me ask you, how many women have you hooked up with in the last month?”
I grind my molars.
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Fine. But you’re free now, right? Obviously, you and Katrina are on the outs judging by your shitty mood. So, can I assume you’ve texted a hand full of girls to see who’s available when we get back for a little victory high five with your penis? Since you two aren’t a thing, shouldn’t be an issue.”
It’s true that’s what I would have done in the past and the asshole knows I haven’t texted anyone. I’ve barely touched my phone the past few days because every time I do, I want to text Katrina and I know I can’t. And the texts from jersey chasers come in steady succession, but I haven’t read a single one. God, I hate when he’s right.
“Are you done?” I ask and pull out my headphones so I can block any further attempts to chat.
He smiles way too sweetly like he knows he’s made his point.