LONG SHOT: (A HOOPS Novel)

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “You knew her when you needed to,” Lo says, her voice showing no emotion but her face a ravaged canvas, painted with tears. “So did I.”

  I slip my hand into hers, and silently, we squeeze. United again. I can’t imagine I let Caleb come between us. That’s a lie. I let my shame, my embarrassment, and maybe even my jealousy come between us.

  “I’m sorry, Lo,” I confess. “I think I was jealous of you.”

  “What?” Lo turns startled eyes to me. “When? How could you ever be jealous of me?”

  I shrug, my shoulders weighted with self-consciousness and late summer heat. “When you confronted me about letting Caleb control me, I was frustrated. Maybe I regretted my choices.” I pause, assembling my words into the right order. “I resented my life, how small it had become. You were running off to New York to work for a famous fashion designer in an atelier, whatever the hell that is. Meanwhile, I was mashing baby food and wearing yoga pants every day.”

  Lo’s husky laugh charms the sun out from behind a cloud, and the last flare of sunlight illuminates the regal bones of her face.

  “You? Jealous of me?” She shakes her head, the long braids caressing the curve of her neck. “That’s ironic since I’ve been jealous of you most of my life.”

  “What?” I snap my head around to study her fully but don’t release her hand. “No way.”

  “Oh, yes way.” She throws me a teasing look, even through damp eyelashes. “Don’t worry. I have since realized the fullness of my own fabulousness.”

  I laugh, mouth closed, the humor coming as short nasal puffs of funny air.

  “Growing up, I loved you, but I wanted so much that you had,” she says. “I hate what happened to me, but it was good I moved away from you and our mothers.”

  I’m curious but also hurt to hear this.

  “I can think of a dozen reasons why living here was better than living with them, but why did you need to get away from me?”

  “You’ll think it’s silly in that way that girls who never have to think about these things think it’s silly,” she says, her smile self-deprecating, her eyes knowing.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I was dark.” She lifts her braids. “My hair was coarse. I was the odd egg in our little nest, and everyone knew it.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” I demand.

  “You don’t think about it, but our mothers look exactly alike. Your father was white.” With her free hand, she tosses a few blades of grass into the river. “They were light and you were even lighter, but my dad was black, and I look different.”

  It reminds me of August telling me how displaced he felt sometimes. The irony of me feeling like I didn’t belong because I was “too white” and Lo being jealous because she was “too dark” strikes me as funny, and I release a giggle.

  “That’s funny to you?” Lo asks, one side of her full mouth tilted.

  “It’s just … I never felt like I fit in our neighborhood because I looked so different, and the girls always said I was stuck up and thought I was better than them. I really just wanted to fit. I just wanted to look like everyone else.”

  “And I just wanted to look like you.” Lo twists her mouth to the side. “When I came here, MiMi sniffed that shit out right away.”

  A movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye. “No, Sarai.”

  I pull my hand free of Lo’s and walk to the water’s edge, retrieving my little adventurer. I plop down on the grass, careless of the black dress I wore to the funeral, and sit my daughter between my legs. Lo settles in a puddle of black linen beside me, stretching her legs out on the grass.

  “MiMi knew that even beyond the hurt of what Mama had done, choosing that motherfucker over me,” Lo says with dispassion, “that there was another hurt under it all. Mama choosing him only reinforced that I wasn’t good enough. Maybe she didn’t love me as much as she would have if I’d been … different.”

  Memories of Aunt May complaining about Lo’s hair come to mind. She’d say she didn’t know what to do “with hair like this.” When Lo learned to press her own hair, Aunt May and my mother would complain about the “smell of burning hair” in the house. A hundred little thoughts come to me like pinpricks, piercing my ignorant bliss.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I hope I never made you feel that way, Lo.”

  “No, not you.” She reaches for my hand again and smiles. “You were my hopscotch, Bo. I knew you didn’t feel that way.”

  “Did MiMi do one of her cleansing ceremonies to fix you, too?” I only half-laugh because I’m still not sure what that was or what it did, but I know I’m changed somehow.

  “It wasn’t that simple,” Lo says. “It never is. No, she told me about a boy she loved when she was young. When he came to the house, her mother said he failed the paper-bag test.”

  “What is a paper-bag test?”

  “You have to remember it was New Orleans, years ago,” Lo offers. “Our family was filled with quadroons and octoroons and a whole bunch of words for almost white. So when she came home with a brown brother, her mother broke out the paper bag. They would hold a paper bag against your skin, and if you were darker than the paper bag, you didn’t pass the test.”

  “That’s awful. Oh my God.”

  “Yeah, and MiMi regretted letting him go. He ended up marrying a friend of hers. He treated her like a queen, and they lived a happy life not a block from where he asked MiMi to marry him.” Lo blinks at tears, her lips tightening. “She told me that she missed out on him because of a stupid paper bag,” Lo says. “And anyone who misses out on me would be as foolish as she had been and that they would live to regret it.”

  I glance down at my daughter, with her skin lighter than mine and her eyes of blue–violet, and I swear to myself that no one will ever make her feel out of place or question her identity. It may not be a promise I can completely keep, but I’ll try.

  “Anyway, enough reminiscing.” Lo looks at me, clear-eyed and probing. “It’s the future we need to discuss.”

  I watch the sun dipping into the long, watery line of horizon, like a cookie diving into milk. “It’s getting dark.” I stand, brushing my dress off and bending to pick up Sarai.

  “Listen to me.” Lo grabs my wrist, looking up from her plot on the riverbank. “You can’t stay here, Bo.”

  I swallow a quick retort, a defense. Even though these were my very own thoughts before I came to the river, I resist the idea of leaving. “What if it’s not …” I gulp sudden trepidation, “… safe to leave? What if Caleb comes after us?”

  “You’ve done all you can to keep him from doing that.” Lo squeezes my wrist gently until I meet her eyes. “The leash is tight around his neck, but it’s also tight around yours. Think about all you gave up. Get it back.”

  Take them back. Your soul is yours. Your heart is yours. Your body is yours. Yours to keep and yours to share.

  MiMi’s incantation circles my thoughts.

  “The dreams you had. Your ambitions,” Lo continues, in unknowing chorus with MiMi’s voice in my head. “Reclaim them.”

  “But Sarai needs—”

  “Sarai needs to see what we never saw,” Lo says dryly. “Let her see her mother pursuing her dreams. Let her see you standing on your own two feet.”

  “I will need the money,” I murmur. The little bit of cash Andrew smuggled to me when I left will run low eventually, even though our expenses have been next to nothing out here.

  “You need more than money. Girl, you need a life.” Lo stands, too, taking Sarai from me.

  “Do you remember any of your Louisiana geography?” Lo asks.

  “Um, that would be a no.” I laugh. “I mean, the basics, yeah.”

  “Did you ever learn about deltaic switching?”

  “No idea,” I tell her, frowning and searching my memory.

  “I don’t remember all the details, but the long and short of it is that the Mississippi River searches for a shorter route to the sea.
It makes these deposits of silt and sand over time to get there faster.” Lo shrugs. “Think of it like geographical evolution. Well, the bayou was one of the points of deltaic switching, and over time, about every thousand years or so, it literally changes its course.”

  “Wow.” I’m not sure what else to say. “What does that mean, though?”

  “It means that this very spot where we’re standing right now was powerful enough to be a part of that—to help set the new course for the freaking Mississippi River.” She starts walking back up the shaded path to the house, but looks over her shoulder, locking our eyes.

  “Take a few minutes and think about that,” she says. “Don’t let Caleb define the rest of your life. Change your course.”

  I take more than a few minutes after she walks away. I stand there until the sun disappears, and the night spreads the sky with black velvet and studs it with stars. I know I should go in. I’m never this close to the river when it’s dark, but tonight, there’s no fear of gators or snakes or whatever the swamp could use against me. Tonight, the crickets whisper Lo’s words back to me.

  Change your course.

  And in the lapping water, I hear MiMi’s voice, too.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  I draw a deep, bracing breath, strength in my lungs and pulsing through my blood. I breathe out my fears, releasing my reservations and all that could hold me back. And then I feel it. The power that changed a river’s course floods my veins, and I rise inside, so high I assume a new form, a new shape. A new course.

  I rush down the path back to the house, stumbling occasionally in the dark. And it’ll be that way sometimes, running this course, stumbling. All that I’ve been through, all that is to come, none of it is easy. There is no quick fix, but tonight, I feel powerful enough to forge ahead.

  Before I lose the nerve, I dig around in my purse until I find it. A small white card, bent, stained, and nearly forgotten, that may lead to big plans. May lead to my future. To my new course.

  With shaking fingers, I dial.

  37

  August

  “We need to talk.”

  Good things rarely come when Jared says that to me.

  I lie back on the couch in his office, my legs crossed at the ankles, my feet propped up on the armrest.

  “What’s there to talk about?” I toss a mini basketball up in the air, catching it with one hand. “Pippa’s signing, right?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Jared walks around his desk, sitting on the edge so he’s facing me. “She hasn’t signed the contracts yet, but we’re close.”

  “And I didn’t even have to fuck her.” I toss him a grin. “Aren’t you glad to hear my virtue is still intact? It’s called integrity.”

  “It’s called a wasted opportunity, if you ask me,” he drawls.

  “That’s why I don’t ask you about anything other than contracts and money.” I toss the ball up in the air again, watching its spinning descent before catching it. “Speaking of money and contracts, we all set for the Houston trade?”

  I still can’t believe it. I’m getting out of basketball no man’s land, and being shipped to the holy land. Houston went far in the playoffs this season, falling just a few games short of the championship. They’ll get even further next year with the addition of a few key pieces—me being key.

  “Yeah. I have the contracts.” Jared hesitates, sliding his hands into the pockets of his expensively tailored slacks. “You’re sure you want to do this, right?”

  “For real?” I eject a disbelieving laugh. “I mean, I’ll miss Decker and Jag and Kenan and all the guys, but it’s business, and we’re all getting something out of it.”

  The Waves will get three great players they can continue to build their team with, in exchange for me. And I will get the chance to play for a truly contending team, in line for a championship.

  Along with forty-five million dollars.

  Did I forget to mention that?

  I didn’t want to ask for that much, but Jared is a hard-ass and believed we could get it. Never will I complain about more zeroes.

  Jared clears his throat, sighing and then looking at me.

  “What? They’re bucking on the money now?” I toss the basketball once more, catch it and drop it to the floor, sitting up, slumping into the leather cushions.

  “Nah, nothing like that.” Reluctance is smeared all over Jared’s face. “We agree that this is the best decision, right?”

  “Of course.” I frown, crossing one ankle over my knee. “Why you keep asking me that?”

  “I got a call last week.” He looks up from the floor, and I brace myself for whatever bomb he’s about to drop. “From Iris.”

  Hiro-fucking-shima.

  That’s the level bomb he just dropped on me.

  “My Iris?” My question shoots out like bullet.

  “Well …” Jared dips his head from one side to the other. “That’s up for debate.”

  “This is not the time to play games with me.” I stand, anticipation humming through my blood, breathing life into parts I didn’t know were dormant. “Did she say where she is? Where she’s been?”

  Jared heaves a huge sigh, like he might regret this. “No, and I got the distinct impression she didn’t want to,” he says. “She was more concerned about the future.” He fixes his eyes on me and then rolls them. “She called about a job.”

  “A job?” I fire back. “With you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you gave her one, right? You said, ‘Yeah, I’ll find a job for you if I have to because my brother will peel my skin back if I don’t.’ Did the conversation go something like that?”

  “I still don’t think she realizes we’re related, so you didn’t come up, but yes, I offered her a job. An entry-level job.”

  “Entry level?” I flop my arms up and let them fall to my sides. “Is that supposed to entice her?”

  “I wasn’t trying to entice her,” he replies. “She’s a sharp girl, smart and ambitious, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s never worked in the industry beyond college. I told her I was no longer with Richter, but that I had my own agency now in San Diego.”

  “We have our own agency,” I correct. “And? This entry-level position, is she accepting it?”

  He tosses his eyes up to the ceiling, dropping his head and running his hand through his thick hair. “Yeah, she accepted.”

  “Holy shit.” I start pacing, my arms and legs conduits for all the nervous energy zipping through me. “After more than a year, she’s coming back into my life. She’ll be right here in …”

  My words die a quick and painful death. Iris will be in San Diego, and I’ll be in Houston with my championship ring and my forty-five million dollars.

  “We did just agree that Houston is the right basketball decision, Gus,” Jared reminds me. “Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Yeah, it’s the right basketball decision, but I’ll retire from basketball at what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six years old? And the rest of my life will be ahead of me. I’ll spend more of my future off court than on. Basketball isn’t my whole life.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jared gestures around the luxurious office. “Aren’t we building Elevation around your credibility as a professional athlete?”

  “If the last year has shown me anything,” I say softly, “it’s that I need more than ball to make me happy.” I take a deep breath, struggling to slow my heartbeat. She’s not even in the room, not even in the state yet, and she’s got me twisted.

  “When does she start?” I ask.

  “Three weeks.”

  “And would the Waves be open to me staying?” I hold my breath while I wait. If the Waves would rather leverage me to get other players than keep me, I don’t have much choice in the matter.

  “The front office would probably be thrilled to keep building around you. I know Deck would.” Jared shakes his head and rubs the back of
his neck. “But I’m begging you not to make a hasty decision you’ll regret.”

  I know about regret. I regret not getting her phone number the first night we met. I regret not trying harder to make her see what a jackass Caleb was. I regret not kissing her sooner—not figuring out a way to make her mine. I regret not being the father of her first child.

  But with the same instinct I had that night at the bar, the one that told me she would be important to me, that we would be right together, I know I won’t regret this.

  “Kill the deal.”

  “Gus.” Jared lowers his face to his hands and speaks through his fingers. “Don’t do this. You don’t even know if she’ll want a relationship with you.”

  Is he right? No. He can’t be, not when I remember the ease Iris and I shared every time we were together. Confessions, hopes, dreams, fears, insecurities pouring out of us. I’ve never felt that connected to anyone else. And the way that kiss in the closet still scorches my memory and gives me a hard-on. God, I’ll never forget how she tastes—sweet and tangy.

  A rich fantasy pours over my senses, the smell of her when my face was buried between her legs. The silky skin inside her thighs kissing my cheeks. My mouth, hungry and sloppy, feasting at her core. My face wet with her arousal. Her fingers digging in my hair. That strip of golden skin above her panties. Fuck, her beaded nipples through that T-shirt.

  “Kill the deal,” I say hoarsely, heading toward Jared’s office door. I’m gonna need to rub this one out in the restroom. I won’t even make it home.

  “August, you know this is a long shot, right?” he reasons one last time, though the resignation in his eyes tells me he understands it’s futile to try to dissuade me from this course.

  “A long shot?” I ask, pausing at the door to give him a cocky grin. “Last I heard, I’m pretty good at those.”

  38

  Iris

  I have first-day jitters. Or maybe these are new-life jitters. New-course jitters.

  When I dug out Jared Foster’s business card, who would have thought I’d be here a month later, in the offices of his new agency, Elevation? Yes, I’m entry level, but it’s a small company looking for motivated people who want to make things happen.