Actually, Dallas had thought the same thing when he saw it this morning before practice. The article his teammates were referring to had information that was so personal, so invasive, it could only have come from someone close to them. Alicia would never have done it. His family didn’t know his business like that, so it couldn’t have been them either. But Tori and Bernice were another matter altogether.
* * *
Dallas had arrived at the condo on New Year’s Day after he moved Alicia in to her new home the night before. He paused at the end of the hallway when he noticed several black garbage bags lining the wall. Though a sinking feeling hit him, he bypassed them on the way to the door.
He shifted his gear into his left arm, inserted his key, but the lock wouldn’t turn. He took the key out, tried it again, same results. It didn’t take him longer than a moment to figure it out—she had changed the locks.
Dallas banged on the door. “Tori!”
He pounded until she answered, though she didn’t bother to open the door. “Dallas, her things are outside. Take them with you.”
“Tori, this is childish.”
“Childish?” she yelled. “I’m being childish.”
“Okay, I get it,” he conceded and put his back against the wall. “You’re pissed, but I need to get my things.”
“You should’ve thought about that when you strolled your ass out of here last night,” she said. “You were only thinking of her and thinking of yourself. You expect me to be fair about things, when you haven’t been fair to me.”
Dallas lay his forehead against the door, taking a few moments to think his way around this. “Tori, all this time, I thought you’d actually see the truth since you weren’t hearing it.” He moved a few inches from the door. “So last night, I made the final choice and it’s as fair as I can make it—I want to be with Alicia. And since you wouldn’t walk away, I had to be the one to do it. This is what I should’ve done in the beginning.”
“Fine. Then go,” she snapped.
“My clothes are in there. My gear is in there. My championship rings are in there. I’m not leaving without my shit.”
She was silent. Then a few minutes later her footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor as she moved away from the door.
And because he didn’t want law enforcement involved, he had to let it ride until she cooled down.
This morning on his way to training he tuned in to the Tom Joyner Morning Show and Tori was on the air, saying that their relationship wasn’t over, just on a “rough patch.”
Dallas totally agreed with Alicia … what brand of Crazy Kool-Aid were they serving up at the hospital? Because this woman had went in for seconds and thirds!
Dallas turned his back to his nosy teammates and dismissed them in a gesture that said he was done with the conversation. “Gotta get my head in the game.”
“Yeah, ‘specially since the other one’s been playing a whole different game lately,” Roberts taunted, elbowing Smith, who raised his hand for a high five.
“I know, right?” Smith laughed.
Dallas tuned out the heckling galloping his way—most of them from teammates who had committed their own publicly-aired mistakes. He showered, toweled off and slipped on his uniform.
Back on his personal bench space, he closed his eyes and focused on stilling his anger. Maybe he should have hired a lawyer and paid Bernice off because this new wave of negative publicity that hit the stands over the last two weeks concerned him. Women were taking shots at him on talk shows like The View and The Talk, and they were ripping into him on his social network page. Several had even asked if he wanted a third or fourth wife to go along with the two women he already had!
For the last three days since Alicia had moved in, she hadn’t left the house. She’d had groceries delivered and she’d even stopped watching TV since even the reputable news stations had started covering the story. Even as secluded as she tried to remain, she was bound to find out about these new articles. Now, Dallas wondered if their relationship could handle this kind of pressure.
“Hey, kid. Surf’s up,” Coach Kimbrough said in his signature raspy voice, snapping Dallas out of his reverie.
Dallas lifted his head and looked into a pair of eyes that were the deep grey-blue of a cloudy sky. “Yeah. I know.”
“You’re catching it right now,” Coach Kimbrough said, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “But you can’t let this throw you off your game.”
“Right.” Dallas walked out to the corridor, making his way to the floor for warm-up. They were playing against the team who’d hit dead last in the standings. The game should net them an easy win.
* * *
Two-and-a half-hours later, only three points had separated the teams at the win. The cameras hit Dallas the moment he sank the game-winning shot and his team converged for a victory huddle. Congratulating his tormentors wasn’t something Dallas was feeling right now. The fact that a team so out of contention could nearly best them was a sign that Dallas wasn’t on point. And that was dangerous if they were going to make it anywhere near the playoffs. The team only had one NBA championship win in the years since it originated. Dallas wanted to change all that.
To please the public, Dallas obliged Smith with a pound, tapping his fist to the man’s tattooed one. Then, he followed Collins and Eaves off the floor.
He was approached by Kim Askew, a brunette with a red suit that hugged what she probably thought were curves, but her body had more straight lines than a train track. “Tough game,” she said, giving him a pearly white smile. “But it seems like you have the winning formula on and,” she winked at the camera, “off the court.”
Dallas saw where this leading and quickly came back with, “My comments will be all about the game.”
“Come on, now,” she teased, looking into the camera at the viewers. “We—”
Dallas felt her staring after him as he headed toward the tunnel.
“He can talk until the cows come home when it’s all about the game,” she taunted. “But when the pressure’s on somewhere else, he retreats to his—”
Dallas turned back and bore down on her. “As many times as I’ve given you first crack on an exclusive, and this is how you play me?”
She gestured in a slicing motion for the camera to stop rolling as Dallas stormed toward the locker rooms and walked straight into a scowling Coach Kimbrough. “This is not a good time,” Dallas grumbled.
“Okay,” Coach said with a pointed look at the reporter, then back to Dallas as he fell in step trying to match Dallas’ long strides. “Keep it together. Do not show your anger. Do you hear me?”
Dallas nodded.
“Let your teammates handle the after-game interviews for a while. ‘No comment’ should be your mantra from here on out.”
Dallas glowered angrily.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Dallas growled.
Everyone filed into the locker room shooting icy looks at Dallas. The ivory skinned man gestured for Dallas to follow him to his office.
They entered a spacious spot, which utilized the team’s colors in its decor. Bookcases filled with binders and playbooks were angled in two corners. An executive desk with a brown leather chair awaited the coach’s burly frame. Images that summed up his years of coaching were lined along one wall. All but one showed the team in varying poses of defeat after a particularly hard loss kept them out of the playoffs. Only one frame showed the team cheering in a victory after clinching the only championship they had under their belts.
“What you do behind closed doors is your business,” Coach Kimbrough said, “but what you do on the court is mine.”
Dallas took a seat across from the older man, settling in for the dressing down he expected, and probably deserved.
“Have your agent and publicist get on top of things.”
“I don’t even know how Katie or Liz can spin this.”
Coach nodded, but the frown
didn’t leave his round face. “You know the franchise is run by those Evangelical types who don’t take to that type of thing—at least not openly.”
“Nothing I’ve done goes against the moral turpitude clause in my contract.”
“True, but you know the good ol’ boys.”
Dallas lifted the snow globe from the coach’s desk and twirled it in his hands, contemplating the reference to the white men who ran the franchise. They were the ones to make the rules governing a majority black roster.
“The minute you cross the line,” Coach added, “and someone takes you to task about sleeping with two women who are related, you’re going to encounter some problems in other areas.”
Coach removed his property from Dallas’ hand and put it back in place, peering at him a moment. “So it’s true. Two women? An aunt and her niece?”
Dallas slowly nodded. “Yeah. But it’s not what they’re making it out to be. I had individual relationships with each woman before I even knew they were related. Nothing kinky. And I’m not even with Tori anymore. But people are having a hard time understanding that I’m actually in love with Alicia, the older one.” He rubbed his head. “At one time she even felt that I should marry Tori and have a family just to avoid the drama.”
Coach leaned in a little. “What do you feel?”
“I feel that I don’t want to look back on my life and realize that I let the best thing that ever happened to me slip through my fingers. I want to marry her, but she feels like she’s too old to do the marriage thing all over.”
“Personally, I understand it.” Coach glanced at his wedding band. “My wife is five years older than me.”
Dallas smirked.
“It’s still older,” Coach protested with a grin. “I understand that it’s about the experience.”
“No, it’s not just that,” Dallas countered.
“Well, whatever it is, you have to be willing to go the distance with this. It’ll shut everyone up.”
Dallas remained silent. Going the distance had always been his thing.
“Give it some time, Dallas. Maybe she’ll change her mind. You just have to become as important to her as she is to you.”
“That’s the plan.” Dallas stood and extended a hand to his mentor. It felt good to talk to someone and not be judged. “Thanks, Coach.”
* * *
Dallas entered the locker room, which was void of its normal bantering and laughter. In the background, the sounds of the sports commentator picking apart the elements of the game they had just played punctuated their sad performance. He took a seat on his bench and leaned his head against the wall.
“Wonderboy’s lost a bit of his shine,” Morrison taunted.
“Hey, lay off him,” Smith said. “Unlike some people, he’s not a glory hog. All of us play a part in this.”
Morrison slammed a towel into the hamper. “You act like we lost!”
“It wasn’t a solid win,” Dallas said, scanning his teammates, who all became silent.
“I’ll take any kind of win we can get,” Morrison countered.
“And that’s the problem,” Dallas shot back, getting to his feet. “I’ve always, always played a team game. Always gave everyone a chance to step up. That’s how the Bulls won their championships, even with a different set of players on the roster each time. They weren’t just better individual players, they were better team players.”
“So don’t lay this at his feet,” Steve added, maneuvering until he stood next to Dallas. “We all played a part. And if we don’t get it in gear, we’ll be getting our asses served like some schoolyard bitches.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Coach Kimbrough said, coming to stand in the center of the room. “You know how ruthless the media can be. You know that.” He looked to Eaves. “And Dallas supported you publicly during those alimony and paternity suits. Dallas gave you the best possible advice: man up and take responsibility when the DNA test proved those kids were yours.”
His gaze flickered to Collins. “And when you got pulled over for DUI, who was the first to get the media to stop pestering the team for a statement against you? And you,” he gestured to Michaels. “When your dumb ass got busted for having a roach in the car, who was the first one to speak to the press on your behalf?”
Michaels grimaced and turned back to his area.
“Now Dallas needs our support,” Coach said, sweeping a blue-eyed gaze across the players in the room. “What happens between consenting adults is legal. So show a little respect. He might have been off his game tonight, but then again, so were you. Practice tomorrow is at twelve. Denver is playing one hell of an offensive game these days.”
“Sorry, man,” Morrison mumbled to Dallas, extending his hand.
“No worries, man.” Dallas gave him a shoulder-to-shoulder touch then looked to Coach Kimbrough. “Thanks again, Coach.”
“No thanks needed. I came to tell you that your agent’s waiting in my office.”
Dallas heard the chorus of groans from his teammates as they went back to their respective places. A surprise visit from an agent was never a good thing.
Chapter 34
8:28 p.m.
Dallas showered and dressed in a suit—a requirement for all players if they didn’t want to be fined or suspended for violating the NBA’s dress code. He entered the office where Katie Walsh, and Coach Kimbrough were having a friendly chat. Today, Katie wore a black power suit draped over her slender frame, and had on a pair of owl-rimmed glasses that were a compliment to her angular face and bright blue eyes.
Katie had presented him with a handmade business card way back when they were in grammar school. An avid basketball and baseball fan, she had said, “I’m going to get a degree in business and learn all about sports management. I’ll be your agent when you become an NBA star.”
She was the only one besides his mother who even remotely believed he would ever amount to anything in the sport. Even his high school coach had told him that he should focus on his grades if he wanted to get into college. Pops had said the same thing. But it only made Dallas want it all the more. He had practiced day in and day out. Even when he wasn’t playing, he spent his time imagining himself shooting, dribbling, and playing in a championship game. He kept his focus on the finish line, and he was offered both academic and basketball scholarships. He took the academic one so he wouldn’t be under the restrictions that other sports players found themselves. When his mother became ill, he went on to the NBA.
Katie had showed up at his parent’s house during the celebration, laid down an autograph she’d gotten from him in grammar school and said, “I’m ready to take that job I asked for.” Though more experienced agents came his way, he chose Katie. “Do your thing, woman,” he told her. And she was still doing her thing.
“What’s up, Katie?” Dallas asked from the door.
She swiveled her chair in his direction and smiled. “Well, there’s good news and then there’s something else.”
He leaned against the door. “Is it something I need to take in on a full stomach?”
“Dallas, you’ll take everything on a full stomach,” she teased with an even wider smile. “How about Eddie V’s?”
“You want to meet there?”
She shook her head, her auburn curls following with every movement. “My husband dropped me off. I wanted to ride in your new Buick.”
“Didn’t you get one?” he protested, nodding a goodbye to the coach as he held the door for Katie to pass him.
“Yes, but yours has all the bells and whistles.”
Dallas raised an eyebrow. “You’re full of shit, you know that, right?”
Katie roared with laughter.
Twenty minutes later, they walked into the restaurant. A few fans approached him for autographs before the host situated them at a private table toward the rear. As he was settling into his seat, Dallas asked, “Were you checking out my ass again?”
“I’m a woman before
I’m your agent,” she countered. “I can appreciate a pair of cheeks that looks as good as yours.”
Dallas gave her a playful tap on her shoulder. “Ooooooh, I’m telling your mother.”
Katie smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass. “Hell, even she says you have the best cheeks on the team.”
As they feasted on appetizers, he said, “Give it to me straight, Kate.”
“I swear you think you’re a poet, don’t you?”
He playfully popped his collar. “I have been known to spit a verse or two.”
“Yes, indeed.” She released a drained sigh, a sure sign that she had more on her mind than just his writing skills. “Dallas, your endorsement deals are coming under fire. McDonald’s is a little shaky right now.”
“What the hell?” he asked around a mouthful of bruschetta. “I haven’t committed any felonies.”
“Shelley called me to see what is going on with you. He said the higher ups are having an issue.”
“And?”
“Women—and that’s the audience McDonald’s is going for in their new healthy focus commercials—are really up in arms about all of this.”
“But I’ve ended the relationship with Tori,” Dallas protested. “And I wasn’t sleeping with her anyway!”
“It would have been better for your public image if you had ended it with Alicia.”
“That’s bullshit!” he snapped. “They’re going to terminate because of that?”
“They might try. They’re a family-friendly company.”
Dallas leaned back in his chair. “What about the others?”
“Since you just signed with Nike a few days ago, and they shelled out forty million dollars, they might not cause as much of a stir. The publicity alone is keeping them in the public eye. Men are their target. Some of them, except those hard asses in the Bible belt, are feeling that whole threesome thing.”
“It wasn’t a threesome!” he protested with a groan.
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