Long Shot

by Kennedy Ryan

  At halftime, the game is tied. If the Waves don’t win any other game this season, I pray they win this one. The speculation has been rampant leading up to this rematch between the two teams, specifically between August and Caleb. It resurrected talk of Caleb’s dirty play.

  Everyone knows Caleb and I have a child together—that I lived with him during his rookie season. And anyone who didn’t know I was with August will figure it out now. I’m sitting with his mother. I know some of his teammates have wondered about it, and I’m sure some of them have talked. There’s already some nasty speculation. People will say I’m out to trap August the way I “trapped” Caleb.

  God, if only they knew what a trap Caleb set for me.

  “Would you have preferred we sit in a box?” Mrs. Foster asks, her eyes astute.

  “It’s just . . .” I laugh, a false sound if I ever heard one. “This may fuel more talk about me being with August after Caleb. Some have said it’s August’s revenge for Caleb’s dirty play. They say I’m a . . .”

  I don’t even want to voice the things people say about me.

  Whore. Opportunist. Gold-digger. Trick. Groupie. Thirsty. Trap chick.

  Don’t google yourself if you don’t want to know what people actually think. They freely express it from the anonymity of their laptops and behind the mask of their avatars.

  “You know the truth,” Mrs. Foster says, patting my hand. “And so does August. He doesn’t care what they say, and neither should you.”

  I force myself to relax, running my hands up and down Sarai’s arms. She’s playing the piano on her iPad and wearing her headphones. She’s gotten so big and probably wouldn’t even recognize her father if she saw him.

  “Gus!” Sarai screams, jarring me back to the action.

  August is on the free-throw line, and I’m so afraid Sarai’s scream might break his concentration, I cover her mouth.

  “Shhhh,” I say in her ear. “August needs to focus, baby.”

  She puts her index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide, and looks up at me.

  “Fo-cus,” she whispers.

  I laugh and tap her nose. When I look up, August is peering over the time-out huddle observing us. He smiles, and of course, Sarai chooses that moment to scream “Gus” again. She blows him a kiss, and he flashes a quick grin at her, pressing his palm to his lips to blow a kiss back. His eyes, though, fix on me, and contentment, pleasure, and the closest thing to joy I can imagine all flow through me like the Mississippi, wide and powerful. My eyes water and my nose burns. The emotion grows so dense between us, even separated by half an arena.

  “I love you,” he mouths, the look in his eyes warm and so certain.

  I nod, press a hand to my lips, and discreetly return his blown kiss. He crooks a smile and returns his attention to the huddle.

  I experience a sharp sensation, like a needle pricking my flesh. When I glance over at the Stingers’ bench, I meet Caleb’s barbed stare. Malevolence festers in his eyes, and his hands tighten into fists at his side. Menace surrounds him, as much a constant companion as Ramone had ever been.

  It’s a dark déjà vu of the last time we found ourselves in this place, but the tables have been turned. There’s always been an inescapable awareness between August and me. Caleb saw it then, and he sees it now. The day I met August, I stepped into a force field, setting something into motion that was in some ways my fault, and in other ways, out of my control. That defiance rises up in me, and I don’t care if Caleb sees it. He can’t do anything to me now without taking himself down, too. In a mockery of the special moment I just shared with August, he blows me a kiss.

  “Is he going to be a problem, Iris?” Mrs. Foster asks from beside me.

  Startled, I give her my full attention. She’s still looking in Caleb’s direction but waits for my response.

  “No. I . . .” I’ve only ever talked openly with Lo about the details of what happened to me, but I wish I could share everything with August’s mother and her kind eyes. “He was a problem, but it’s been handled.”

  “August loves you very much,” she says, looking at me and smiling at Sarai. “And your daughter, too. He talks about you both all the time now.”

  “He does?”

  “I’m sure you know you’re the most important thing in his life.”

  I’d play you at the five.

  I don’t answer, but wait for her to go on, because I know there is more.

  “That man broke my son’s leg over you,” she says, holding up her hand when I start to apologize. “It’s not your fault. It’s only his fault, but even knowing how complicated your situation was, August still wanted you. He’d hate me butting in, but he is my important thing, and I want to know your intentions.”

  “My intentions?” A laugh, rich and full, escapes my lips. “You want to know my intentions toward August?”

  She yields a small smile and caresses Sarai’s hair.

  “I have no illusions about my son. I know he’s been a bit of a player, on court and off.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “But I know he’s deeply in love with you and has been for some time.” Our humor fades, but the kindness in her eyes remains. “So yes, I’m asking you, not if you love him, because it’s obvious you do. I’m wondering if you’ll be able to marry him when he asks you.”

  Marry.

  For most girls, it means June weddings and flowers—hopes and dreams fulfilled.

  It doesn’t mean that to me anymore. It means a trap. It means a man has access to my life, to my daughter, that he could, at his discretion, abuse.

  “I haven’t asked August about it,” she says softly. “And I know he is probably just so glad to finally have you that he isn’t pressing it, but I have to wonder—a man cruel enough to break someone’s leg over the woman he wants, well . . . he could be that cruel to the woman he wants, too. Am I right?”

  Irrationally, I glance up at the jumbotron. I’ve been taken by surprise more than once, finding myself, unsuspecting, onscreen. If my face were onscreen now, I fear everyone would know what had happened with Caleb and me—a vignette playing out in vivid black-and-blue-bruised technicolor for everyone to see. They’d know what I’d survived. And as much as I know it wasn’t my fault, shame spreads, leaving no part of me clean. I’m sullied by Caleb’s touch, my heart and soul covered in invisible smudges.

  “Legally, I can’t talk about most of the things I experienced with Sarai’s father,” I tell her, my voice hushed and conscious of any perked-up ears around me. “But I’ll say that getting away from him is the best thing that could have happened for us.”

  “And August knows this?”

  “August knows that I love him and only him.” This should be awkward, but after so many things I haven’t been able to say, to tell anyone anything feels good.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  When I nod, she goes on with a smile.

  “My son is the most competitive person I’ve ever met, second only to his father. He doesn’t know how to give up. Eventually, the Waves, if he stays with them, will win a championship because August will have to. He doesn’t know how to settle, and he won’t settle with you.”

  Her words should make my heart float, but instead it sinks like a stone because as much as I love August, and God, I do, I don’t know what I’ll say if he ever asks me to marry him. Sharing my life, my money, my home, and my security with any man scares me to death. I’ve seen a man whom I thought loved me and would never do anything to hurt me pull back the mask and show me his true nature after I was in his trap. I don’t know that I can risk that for me or Sarai ever again.

  I go through the rest of the game in a daze, barely registering the action on court, except to note that, as usual, Caleb and August provoke one another to perform even better than they usually would. They both have exceptional games, but August always seems to manage a win against Caleb. Thank you, God, because that is a loss I wouldn’t want him having to process over Thanksgiving dinner.r />
  Susan and I are entering the private underground parking lot to wait for August, when I sense danger.

  I look up, and Caleb is right there, a few feet away. His dark sweater and slacks throw that golden hair into relief. He looks like something sent down from the sun.

  Only I know he’s something dispatched by Hell.

  With a cocky grin, he moves in for the kill. He can probably smell my fear, so I smooth my face to neutral. I lift my chin and meet his eyes squarely. He can’t attack me in the open, and I refuse to show the terror that’s being pumped into my heart, carried by my blood.

  He looks from Sarai on my hip to August’s mother. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Foster. It’s been years, but you look beautiful as always.”

  I forget the history Caleb and August have pre-dating me. They’ve known each other longer than they’ve known me.

  Mrs. Foster isn’t one for phonies. She doesn’t answer him but stares with hard eyes at Caleb until he shrugs.

  Sarai looks at Caleb, fascinated. She reaches out to touch his nose and his lips. I want to run with her in the other direction—to get her as far away from him as possible. I know what it’s like to be deceived by the angelic shell. You never suspect that beneath it beats the heart of a demon until it’s too late.

  Caleb tries to capture her little fingers, but I angle my hip away so her hand falls out of his reach.

  “You’re so pretty, Sarai,” he says to her but looks at me. “You have your daddy’s eyes. Do you remember me?”

  Thumb in her mouth and tugging on her ear, Sarai shakes her head.

  Caleb glares at me and grabs a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “I’m your daddy.”

  I take several steps back, putting more distance between them.

  “Daddy,” Sarai whispers, violet–blue eyes locked with violet–blue.

  “Mrs. Foster, would you take Sarai to the car?” I ask abruptly, watching the interplay between father and daughter with dread. Sarai is bright and curious and has the memory of an elephant.

  “Are you sure, Iris?” Mrs. Foster asks.

  I pass Sarai to her and fabricate a smile. “I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Caleb and I need to talk.”

  “But Iris, maybe you should wait for—”

  “No, now’s fine.” I nod toward the black SUV a few feet away. “I’ll come in a little bit.”

  She splits a concerned look between Caleb and me but turns with Sarai and goes to the car.

  “Alone at last.” Caleb touches my hair, sifting it through his fingers. “I prefer your hair straight, but you do look beautiful.”

  I pull away, scooping my hair with one hand and tucking it behind my back and out of his reach. “What do you want, Caleb?”

  His smile, his eyes—everything about him is lascivious as he studies me, my face, my breasts, lingering at the juncture of my thighs and down my legs.

  “I want what’s mine.” He leans forward to whisper in my ear, “Do you honestly think you can leave me, Iris, and never come back? Do you think you can take my daughter from me and not pay for it?”

  The fine hairs on my body lift. My heart pounds and my muscles brace. My body is an uprising, prepared for anything.

  In a flash, his hand shackles my wrist, gripping to the point of pain. “How dare you fuck him?” he hisses. “And flaunt him in front of me on my home court? Let him watch my daughter grow up when I can’t?”

  His tongue darts out and licks behind my ear, and the saliva freezes and dries on my skin, repulsing me.

  “I wish I could fuck you right now in front of everyone.” He laughs. “Wouldn’t August love to see how we do it?” He steps so close his dick pokes my belly. “Only you do this to me, Iris.” He swallows, the hardness in his eyes fading to that sick desperation he covers with hubris. “Come back home. I miss you. I’ll be better this time. I promise. I—”

  His breath stalls in his chest. He glances down between us, where MiMi’s jeweled knife glints in the dim parking lot. The wicked tip is pressed to Caleb’s dick.

  A woman in this world has to keep her wits about her and her weapons at hand.

  “You never gave me much satisfaction.” I smile serenely. “So I have no use for this dick. If you do, I suggest you let me go right now, or I will cut it off and leave you bleeding out like the sick animal you are.”

  “Iris, let’s be—” He stops when I press it deeper into him. “Fuck, baby.”

  “I’m not your baby. I’m not your girl. I’m not even your baby’s mama because as far as I’m concerned, Sarai’s not yours.” I glance down to my wrist still cuffed by his huge hand. “Let me go, Caleb, or I take one of those hairy balls.”

  His hand falls away, but his eyes assault me.

  “I used to resent you for making me do all those things at gunpoint,” I say. “But now I realize that’s how the game is played when you know someone doesn’t love you, and you always knew that, didn’t you, Caleb? You knew I didn’t love you before I knew it myself. That’s why you held on so tight.”

  “One of these days, Iris . . .” His smile is possessed, mad, and it makes me shiver.

  I put more distance between us and discreetly slip the knife back into my purse.

  “It better be soon because, according to Lo,” I say, blowing over my palm the way she did that day, “your days are numbered.”

  The closest thing I’ve ever seen to fear enters his eyes. If I didn’t know before, I know now. Lo is definitely more badass than I am. I hold a knife to Caleb’s dick and he barely looks nervous. I remind him of Lotus’s words, and he’s scared.

  “Iris, you ready?”

  It comes from behind us. August walks up, dressed similarly to Caleb in a dark sweater and slacks. That’s where the similarities end. Caleb is bright as eighteen-carat gold, but tarnished and counterfeit. August is dark, towering over me like a wall providing shelter. He steps into the spot beside me and takes my hand. With his eyes never leaving Caleb’s face, he leans down to drop a kiss in my hair.

  “You need something, Caleb?” he asks tonelessly.

  “You have no idea,” Caleb replies, his eyes cold and glinting, focused on me.

  “I’m going to say this once.” August doesn’t release my hand, but steps into Caleb’s space until their shoes practically touch. “Iris and Sarai are under my protection, and if you bother them, you’re bothering me.”

  The words settle among the three of us.

  “And I’ll do more than just break your leg, Caleb,” he says softly. “You don’t get to see them unless Iris says so.”

  “You’re so wrapped around her little finger.” Caleb laughs cruelly. “She has you pussy whipped.”

  “She does,” August replies pleasantly, allowing a smile. “Jealous?”

  Caleb’s smile drops. “Just remember I had that pussy first.”

  “Then you know what a lucky man I am to have Iris for the rest of my life.” August laughs. “This is one instance where I’d rather be last than first. You had your shot. You screwed it up. I’m what they call in basketball . . . a closer. A finisher.”

  The faux ease evaporates, and August’s face freezes over. “This is the only warning you get, Caleb. The next time I find you trying to intimidate my girl, you won’t be playing ball for a long time.” He tilts his head, his narrowed eyes cutting through the tension-thickened air. “And I won’t bother disguising it as a dirty play.”

  They stare at one another for long seconds stretched and thinned by their mutual malice. I know how clever and insidious Caleb is. Even seeing August close to him for a few minutes makes me nervous. Caleb carries a miasma of evil, and I’m choking on it. I want everyone I care about as far away from him as quickly as possible.

  “August.” I tug on his hand. “Baby, let’s go.”

  Caleb’s eyes flash to me. I didn’t mean to provoke him by using the endearment, but I don’t care if he knows that what I withheld from him, I give freely to August. He finally slides his ha
nds into his pockets and walks away, whistling.

  I expel a breath held so long I’m dizzy. While facing Caleb, my bravado was high and my knife was drawn, but with him gone, my knees shake and I lean limply into August. He rubs my arms, linking our fingers with one hand and cupping my face with the other.

  “What was that?” he asks, a frown creasing his brow. “You’re trembling. Iris, what the hell is going on?”

  One day I’ll have to tell him. I’d hoped I would never have to and that I could use the NDA as my excuse. It’s really the shame, the embarrassment, and the horror that I don’t want to share with him. I don’t want him to know that those things happened to me and that the woman he loves is such damaged goods. I’ll have to swear him to secrecy, and he’ll have to promise not to go after Caleb, which I don’t know if he’ll be able to do. My thoughts swirl and tangle.

  “I’ll tell you everything soon, okay?” I rest my forehead against his chest. “Just not today. Can we just go to your mom’s and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner?” I lift my head and piece together a grin. “And celebrate your win? Can we do that?”

  His expression doesn’t change or soften when I tease him, but he finally blows out a tired breath, running his hands through his hair. “You will tell me everything soon?” he asks. “Because I’m gonna lose my shit if I walk up on him like that with you again. What the fuck? He’s creeping hard, and—”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you soon, but not yet.” I close my eyes and press my lips tight against the tears, the emotion that if I uncork, I won’t be able to stop. “Promise.”

  He bends until our lips are level and takes mine between his, and the day, the scrutiny, the fear, the anxiety—it’s all eclipsed by this. By his lips, sweet and urgent and hungry over mine. By his devotion.

  “I just need . . .” I let the words rest on his lips. Time? Space? Grace? Understanding? Patience? “You,” I breathe into our kiss, angling my mouth to take more of him, to take as much of him as my lips can hold. “I just need you.”

  “You have me.” He straightens and looks over to the car where his mother watches us through the window. “Wow. My mom is watching us make out.”