The Assist (Smart Jocks #1)

by Rebecca Jenshak

  “Shouldn’t you be in Succulent Hill by now?”

  “I wanted to see you before I left.”

  I raise my arms to the side. “You saw me.”

  Her hands go to her hips. “You didn’t really expect me to go without checking on you first, did you?”

  I hadn’t. Hoped, maybe, but I knew she’d be here.

  “Go, be with your family. My parents are on their way, and I’m heading to Kansas with them.”

  “You are?”

  I can tell she didn’t anticipate this. I wasn’t supposed to leave Arizona until the week of Christmas. What the hell did she think I was going to do? Ride along with the team? Roll myself in a wheelchair to the games? Sit on the fucking sidelines and have everyone look at me with pity? Yeah, no thanks.

  “But what about . . .” She fidgets with the bracelet on her arm. The one that matches mine.

  “I’m out for the rest of the season, Blair. I’m done.” The words physically hurt. I don’t feel done. I haven’t finished what I set out to do. I’ve failed them. Failed Z. It’s his last season too, and what if he doesn’t get drafted because I couldn’t get him the ball? I owe him my whole college career and I’ve failed him.

  She nods. Everyone seems to be doing that a lot lately. Silent bobbleheads, unsure of what to say. “I could stay until you leave. I’m just going to be sitting around by myself. Both my parents are working next week.”

  She sure as shit is not making this easy.

  “Nah, go. I just want to be alone. Finally catch up on sleep and all that.”

  She bites her lip, clearly torn between making a stand to stay and honoring my wishes. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a box wrapped in red-and-white stripes with a huge green bow on top. “Merry Christmas, Wes.”

  She pushes the present into my hands and I open my mouth to speak. “I—”

  She cuts me off. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  What I’d been about to say was that I’d left her present at the house where we’d planned to say goodbye before the break. I lift the box, shaking it gently like I’m trying to guess what it is. She doesn’t smile. She’s no longer fooled by my playful charades. She sees through me. Sees me. Always has. I wonder what she sees now, a broken man?

  “Merry Christmas, Blair.”

  27

  Blair

  I unlock my phone, checking for the hundredth—no, thousandth—time for a text or phone call that I’ve somehow missed.

  Nothing.

  Wes’s texts have been few and far between and only in response to my messages, so I shouldn’t be surprised. He didn’t even reply back when I told him I’d gotten an A in statistics.

  A man who falls short of his dream is sad. Wes is something else entirely. To call him sad is a compliment to the word and an insult to the void in his eyes. I’d been jealous of his passion, and now I realize how much that made up his identity.

  It isn’t as if I care about him being a ball player because of the hype around him or the jealous looks shot my way when we were together. I can admit it felt good to be on the arm of a man who sits on top of the social ladder, though. He could call me right now and tell me he was going to dedicate his life to origami, and if it filled him with as much hunger as basketball did, I’d be just as happy. It isn’t the what—it is the fire that burns inside him because he is doing something he loves. He is oxygen to my own small blaze, and without him I’m afraid my flame will die out too.

  It’s a helpless and hopeless feeling that I remember well from Gabby’s accident. The sitting around, feeling sad. The silent fury at the world. The helplessness.

  Another person I love has watched their dreams slip away.

  Maybe when a person’s dreams are big like Gabby’s and Wes’s, their failures are that much more traumatic. Love lost is still love. Are dreams lost still dreams? Is there still an overarching lesson in having a dream and failing?

  Dragging myself from the couch to the dining room table, I stare at the stack of books I brought home. Each title and tagline promises inspiration and steps to setting and achieving goals. How can I possibly throw myself into career planning when I’ve failed, twice now, to help two of the most important people in my life?

  It feels like a test. I finally decide exactly what I want to do with my life, and then fate throws another bump in the road. Although, this bump is really more of a boulder in the form of a sulking man who has just had his dreams crushed. Everything he ever worked for is gone. How do I spin that into something positive and push him to make new dreams?

  They say those who can’t do, teach. I never liked that. The most inspirational and knowledgeable people are those who have lived it. But maybe those who can’t help the people they really want, set out to help everyone else.

  I grab my purse and phone and head for the front door. After slamming it shut behind me, take that world, I walk with purpose down the street. The purpose being I need my best friend to save me from my thoughts.

  I find Gabby sitting at the small desk in her room, an array of color thread laid out in front of her. I pull a chair to the side and grab the three spools closest to me, unwinding it until I have a good length for a bracelet.

  I haven’t done this in years, but my fingers remember, and I work at a good pace until I reach the end and tie it with a knot. It isn’t perfect. In fact, the imperfections are glaring as I smooth a hand over it and place it next to the two Gabby has made in the same time.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She sits back and smiles. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you ever resent the fact I’m living your dreams while you’re still here in Suck Hill?”

  She starts to respond, eager to tell me no way, I’m sure. I don’t want whatever practiced, positive spin she’s about to say.

  “Honestly. I mean I know you love me and want nothing but good for me, but do you ever resent me for it? I’m doing all the things you planned for us. These were your dreams not mine. I just wanted to do whatever you did. You’re the one who made me promise we’d rule the world.”

  “I think you’re remembering that differently from how it went down.”

  I shake my head as I think back to all our conversations about what we wanted to do when we graduated and left Succulent Hill. “No, your dreams were always so much bigger than mine.”

  Gabby takes my hands. A white scar runs across the top of her hand, and I focus on the reminder of pain that has healed and hope that even in the worst of times people survive.

  “You gave me permission to have those crazy dreams. My family, my teachers, even our classmates thought I was nuts. You never did.”

  It’s true. She was, no is, special. I’d always known she was capable of anything.

  “Your love and friendship are the reasons I dreamed big. You let me believe I could have everything I ever wished for. Even now, I don’t know if I’d be able to get out of bed every day if it weren’t for your voice in the back of my head telling me I can.”

  “Gabs.” My voice breaks, and I squeeze her hand tightly. “I don’t know how to be that for him. He’s lost everything he ever wanted.”

  “Give him time. When he’s ready, you’ll know, and then, just be you.”

  “He’s pushing me away.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you expect him to do? His identity has changed. You still see him as the same guy, but everything he ever thought he was has been flipped upside down. He has to deal with that before he can let other people back in. I can see how much you want to run to him and fix it.”

  I open my mouth the deny it, but she gives me a knowing smirk. “It’s written all over your face. Remember how you used to storm in here and get me out of bed? Lord, I wanted to toss you out of here some days when you’d pop in all chipper and bring me magazines or books. You’re lucky we’re neighbors or I’d have ghosted you too. The first time you brought the yoga mats, I thought our friendship was ov
er for good. I could barely look at myself in the mirror and you were spouting inner peace bullshit.”

  I hold a hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. “I never knew that.”

  “You’re the strongest person I know, Blair. You don’t have to hold on to my dreams, or his, but you do because you desperately want to see everyone have everything they could ever want. You’re a little dream maker. You always have been. You sell yourself short for not wanting big things, but you want big things for everyone. Your dreams are not only bigger than mine ever were, they’re more important. You’re going to do amazing things. You’re going to inspire and help so many people.”

  “Speaking of helping people.” I pull out the spring semester Valley course catalog from my purse and hand it to her.

  Surprise makes her eyes widen. “Blair, I can’t.”

  “You can.” I leave no room for argument. “Just think about it. It will probably be hard at first, I don’t dispute that, but you can’t sit up here for the rest of your life. And I promise to be right by your side.”

  She drops the catalog and hugs me fiercely. Her voice is quiet and shaky when she whispers, “Still letting me dream big.”

  28

  Wes

  “You’re back!” Joel stops short after he spots me lying on the couch in our living room.

  “Was there some doubt about my return to school?” I ask dryly. I’m being an ass, but I want no part of all the questions and small talk now that I’m back. I’ve only managed to avoid it to this point because I’ve ignored texts and calls like it was my job.

  “Classes don’t start back for another week,” he says by explanation.

  I let out a sigh. “I couldn’t handle my parents hovering over me, checking the clock like I was keeping them from their usual holiday festivities. Happy?”

  Joel laughs. “No, not really, but I’m glad as shit you’re back. Z has been quieter than normal. In fact, if it weren’t for the shit he says on the court I’d think he’d gone mute.”

  As if on cue, the big man walks through the door. A smile spreads across his face and then falls. “You’re back.”

  Before I can brace myself, I’m lifted and squeezed like a teddy bear in the desperate clutches of a child.

  “Fuck, Z,” I wheeze out and chuckle. “I missed you too, big guy.” I pat his back a few times, and he eases me back down to the couch.

  Joel plops down in the armchair with a big goofy grin on his face as if nothing has changed. Fuck, I missed being here. Even more than I hated the idea of coming back and being the only one not running off to practice. Coach told me I was always welcome in his gym and encouraged me to come be his eyes and ears, continue working with Shaw and all that. I told him hard pass.

  “We going out to celebrate tonight then?”

  “No,” Z and I say in unison.

  “Aww, come on. You don’t have anything going on tomorrow.” Joel points to me before swinging his attention to my right. “And, Z, we have late practice tomorrow and our next game isn’t until late next week. Come on, you pansy asses. I’m texting Nathan, he’ll be in.”

  Something about his plea or the idea that we could have a night out just like the old days touches something in both of us, I guess, because we’re both nodding and making plans before I realize what’s happening.

  We head to The Hideout and grab a table where I can sit and prop up my leg. The pain is better every day, but too much time upright, and I’m gritting my teeth and sucking down painkillers.

  The bar and grill is quiet, but then Joel has to open his mouth.

  “Blair coming?” he asks as he puts a beer in front of me and takes a seat across the table.

  “Think she’s still in Succulent Hill.”

  “You think?” He pauses, beer resting on his lips.

  “We haven’t talked much over break. Been kinda busy,” I grumble, pointing to my leg.

  “Bullshit. Busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Joel takes out his phone, and I drain half the glass in front of me, thankful for once Z is quiet.

  Nathan and a few more of the guys from the team trickle in, and Joel waves them over as he puts the phone to his ear.

  Tables are pushed together, and pitchers are placed in the middle so we can fit everyone.

  “Blair, hey, it’s Joel.”

  My ears perk up at her name, and all the blood rushes from my head to a pit in my stomach.

  “What. The. Fuck?” I grit out.

  “You back in town? We’re at The Hideout. Wes was just crying about how much he misses you, why don’t you come down so he’ll stop pouting.”

  I grab for the phone, but he pushes back and stands, walking out of ear shot. I pull out my own phone and open my and Blair’s text history. The last thing I said to her was “Okay” in response to her asking me how I was feeling. That was two days ago. She finally got the message that I wasn’t up for idle chitchat about my wellbeing and here Joel is, meddling in my shit.

  He walks back to the table, a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s on her way. You’re welcome.”

  My phone vibrates with a new text, but it’s from Mario, not Blair.

  Mario: Angry chick alert. Heading your way with Vanessa and Blair. Guard your good leg, V is pissed you ghosted Blair all break.

  I don’t respond before I tuck my phone away. Maybe I can act surprised when they arrive. Z is beside me, and I hide behind him a little. Call me a coward all you want, fucking Vanessa is scary.

  Seeing Blair again after my less than warm behavior over the past three weeks makes something ache in my chest. She stays firmly planted to Vanessa’s side as the trio walks up to the table and says hello. Empty space at the table and chairs scattered around the place go untouched as the girls make their excuses and head to sit at the bar. It’s like she came just to make a point she didn’t want to see me. Makes zero sense, but here she is, looking hot and angry and hotter because angry looks good on her. Fuck.

  “Ouch,” Z says, eyes watching Blair. “What the hell did you do to have Blair giving you the shrug off? Must’ve been something bad, it isn’t like her. Girl doesn’t know how to be cold.”

  “I was an ass all break,” I admit quietly. “I haven’t been returning her texts or calls.”

  “Why the fuck not?” It’s a response I’m not prepared for. Z doesn’t insert himself into relationships, and he certainly doesn’t take sides when neither side is his.

  “I was dealing with shit.”

  His expression tells me he thinks I’m in the wrong, but he doesn’t say any more.

  More and more guys from the baseball and basketball teams join us as the night goes on. Blair doesn’t so much as glance back at the table from her spot at the bar. Vanessa, on the other hand, glares at me every chance she gets.

  Mario and Clark, a freshman baseball player, stand behind the girls at the bar. Blair laughs at something Clark says. Her shoulders shake with the movement and the strap of her dress slips off one side. My eyes dart to the bare skin at the same time Clark reaches out and pushes the strap back into place.

  I see red and move faster than I thought possible. I’m pushing my way between them before rational thought has a chance to intervene.

  “The fuck, man,” Clark says as he catches himself on the stool next to Blair.

  “Hands off if you want to keep them.”

  Clark steps forward, not the least bit tempted to give my punk ass a pass even if I have a gimp leg, but Mario steps between us. “Take a walk, Sinclair.”

  Clark doesn’t budge. His nostrils flare, and his hands curl into fists.

  “I said take a walk.” Mario’s voice is even and calm.

  Clark shrugs off, his displeasure at being called down clear on his face.

  “I think you should probably take a walk too.”

  “Don’t get in my way, Mario,” I warn. “I just want to talk to Blair.”

  He doesn’t move, but I see his resolve crumble. “Just trying to look ou
t for her. I’ll move when she says it’s okay, but not before.”

  He glances over at Vanessa, who looks at him like he’s her hero.

  “It’s fine, you two,” Blair says, hopping down from her chair and placing a hand on Mario’s arm. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

  Vanessa side-eyes me as Mario leads her away.

  “You want to sit?” Blair reclaims her spot at the bar.

  I don’t know what I expected after I crossed the bar, got in some guys face for touching her, and then treated another guy that I’ve been cool with for years like shit, but it isn’t civility from her.

  “Sorry about that,” I say as I sit. I’m not sorry in the least, but there’s a laundry list of shit I’ve done in the past few weeks that needs apologizing for, so it feels like a good move to start groveling right off the bat.

  “When did you get back?” A seemingly simple question made treacherous by her tone.

  “Today. I was going—”

  She holds up a hand. “Save it.”

  “You look good.” At least that’s the truth. She’s wearing a silver dress that shows off her toned shoulders, and her hair is pulled up and away from her face in the way I like. I don’t know if the effort was for me, but it doesn’t go unappreciated. She looks all shiny and new, and I feel all tarnished.

  “Thank you.” She lets out a breath as if she’s preparing for battle. “How is it being back?”

  For some reason, I don’t give her my rehearsed line. Maybe it’s the way she asks like she cares or understands. Maybe I just want to be real with someone. Maybe it’s just her.

  “Tough, but it’s better than watching my mom walk around with a Kleenex in her hand, wiping her eyes like I died or something.”

  “Blair, we’re gonna head out.” V hovers off to the side.

  She stands and pulls her purse strap to her shoulder. “Well, I should get going. I have work tomorrow.”

  “The café is open over break?”