by Jamie Wesley
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “No, you’re not that lucky. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Friends.” He said the word slowly like he was testing it out, trying to decipher its meaning. “Yeah, that’s what we are.” He unlocked his car door. “See you in a week, friend.”
Caitlin perused the draft of her guest column blasting Mack on her computer screen.
She was proud of what she’d written. She hadn’t embellished the truth. There was no need. But she’d been as honest as she could be. She was doing the right thing. Wasn’t she? Yes.
Had she left anything out? Something was missing, she felt it. She rummaged through her notes. She’d paid for a background check and used all the resources at her disposal as a radio show producer to conduct research on the man. As far as she could tell, Mack hadn’t left a string of fatherless children across the country. After the dinner at his house, she’d ramped up her research. She now knew more about the man’s career than he probably did. She’d combed every human interest story she’d stumbled across to see if he’d ever inadvertently mentioned her mother or her and her brother. Nada.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the screen before answering and struggled to hold back a sigh. “Hello.”
“Hi, Caitlin, it’s Zach Brantley. I’m calling to see how the story is coming along.”
“It’s coming, but it’s not ready yet.”
“Won’t you give me a hint? Is it something about that boyfriend of yours? Do you have the real dirt on what went down in New York?”
At the mention of Brady, her heart stuttered. He wouldn’t be happy with her, but he’d have to understand. She’d make him understand. “There is no real dirt.”
“Too bad. He’s one of the most famous, maybe infamous, players in the NBA. My site traffic would go through the roof if you wrote an exposé on him.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint. But can you get what you’re working on to me soon? I need to make sure it’s worthy of my site. I’m getting a little impatient.”
“No, really? I hadn’t noticed.” Caitlin didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “You’ll get it when it’s ready. Not a moment sooner. Bye.”
She ended the call. The phone rang two seconds later.
Ugh. Was Zach calling again? She glared at the phone, but the scowl morphed into a broad smile when she recognized the now-familiar phone number and name on the screen.
“Hello,” she answered. She hoped she didn’t sound as eager as she felt.
“Good evening, Ms. Caitlin,” Brady murmured, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver through her. “How are you doing?”
Caitlin rose from her desk and headed to her sofa. “I’m good. I’d ask you the same question, but I have a feeling I know the answer.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you beat the 76ers and you scored twenty-two points with nine assists last night.”
“Ten assists,” he said grumpily.
She laughed and settled against the sofa cushion. “I know. I was just messing with you.”
“You’re funny.”
“I know. It’s a gift. But really, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Because if he said he’d been thinking about her or that he’d wanted to hear her voice, she didn’t know how she’d respond.
“Because I couldn’t go to bed without hearing some advice from my own personal coach.”
Her shoulders deflated. Not in disappointment, of course not. No, she was simply tired of holding them up. Or something. “Oh. Well, the game was a total team effort. Your defensive rotations were crisp. The pick and roll was timed perfectly almost every time, and they couldn’t do anything to stop it. So good job.”
“Thanks.”
Caitlin twisted her arm to read her watch. “Wait. Did you say you’re about to go to bed? It’s only ten p.m.”
“Yeah, after I watch some film for the next game.”
“You’re in New York! Brady, please tell me you took advantage of an off-day and had a celebratory dinner or something with your teammates to relax.”
“A few of them hit a club, but I didn’t feel like it. Got to watch film. I want to be ready for the next game.”
“You can’t be so driven that you don’t recognize that where you want to go is ultimately decided by your relationships with the players who share the court with you.”
“So you want me to go out to a club and pick up a woman?”
Her reaction was instant. Her stomach tightened, her free hand balled into a fist. Hell, no, she wanted to shout. But she couldn’t do that. Still, her answer took a few seconds to come. “No, of course not.”
“Why not?” His voice demanded an answer.
She gripped the phone hard and spoke as calmly as she could manage. “Because you’re supposed to be dating me.”
“I’m not going out.” His voice made it clear his decision was final.
Caitlin ignored the dart of happiness surging through her. “Okay. You’ll be great, no matter what happens, you know.”
He was silent for a few seconds. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. She wasn’t sure he believed himself, but what else could she say other than “okay”?
“So what are you doing tonight? Going to a club to pick up a guy?”
She glanced at her attire. “Oh yeah. In my best sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. What man can resist me?”
“Indeed,” he murmured, sounding way too sexy for her own good.
She cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m about to make the red velvet cake my mother requested for Thanksgiving.”
“Hmm, sounds good. Save me some?”
“Maybe. If you beat the Knicks.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“The only way.”
He chuckled. “I guess I’ll let you go.”
“All right.”
“Good night. Oh, and, Caitlin? I called because I wanted to hear your voice.” He hung up before she could answer. Good thing because she had no idea how to do so.
Chapter Nine
Brady looked around. The first time he’d ever been in the visiting locker room at Madison Square Garden. Surreal. Very surreal. He was back home. But New York wasn’t home anymore. No, that honor now went to Texas. He patted the “Dallas” on the front of his jersey. The Stampede was the best team he’d been on in a long time, and he didn’t want to mess this opportunity up. Despite the friction with some of his teammates, he’d never forget that the team had taken a chance on the league’s bad apple.
He’d faced the media earlier, who’d been clamoring to get to him after practice. He’d obliged because what else was he supposed to do? They had a job to do, just like he did.
“How does it feel to be back going against the team that drafted you?”
“Strange, but good,” he’d answered. “I had some good times here, and I’ll always cherish those memories.”
“How do you feel about Jesse Waters, the man who traded you?”
Brady shrugged. He longed to rip that asshole to shreds, but that would do nothing but stir a pot that didn’t need to be stirred. He had enough problems without trending on Twitter because of some off-color, though truthful, comments about the Knicks’ GM. “He did what he had to do. What he thought was best for this franchise.”
The reporter had nodded like she was on his side. Like they were buddies. “How do you think the fans are going to react? Do you expect booing or cheers?”
“I don’t know. The one thing I can say about Knicks fans is that they are extremely passionate. I hope they understand I gave them my all the entire time I was here.”
Brady rolled his shoulders in a sad attempt to loosen the tight muscles. When was the last time he’d been this nervous? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t do nerves. Nerves got you nowhere.
> “Ready to do this?”
Brady looked up into Tilly’s eyes, which were filled with way too much concern. He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn’t need it. He was fine. Or he would be. He was Brady Hudson, damn it.
“I was born ready,” he answered. Tilly hesitated like he expected him to say more, but he had nothing to add. His teammate finally got the message and headed to his locker to finish getting ready.
Brady took a few breaths, seeking the calm that usually settled over him before a game. Not succeeding.
“Five minutes until we head out to the court,” an assistant coach called out.
Beep, beep.
Brady reached for his phone on the top shelf of the locker. And grinned when he saw he had a text from Caitlin. He opened the message with a little more eagerness than was strictly necessary.
What kind of socks does a pirate wear?
He typed back. I have no idea.
Arrrrgyle.
Really?
You laughed. I know you did. Kick some Knick ass tonight. They’re stupid.
Brady smiled. That was his take-no-prisoners Caitlin. He texted back—Didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about them. They’re not the Stampede’s rivals.
Her response came a few seconds later. Well, how else am I supposed to feel about them when they traded one of the best players in the league? Who does that? So dumb.
Brady laughed and typed. So it has nothing to do with me specifically? You just think they make bad personnel decisions. Thanks?
Whatever, dude. You’re right. I don’t care about you at all. What’s your name again?
He laughed again. He could imagine her getting all huffy. You can call me Boyfriend.
Why he felt the need to point that out, he didn’t know. Would she get annoyed and remind him they were pretending?
Wait. What? When did that happen?
You really want me to tell you? Because I can.
Her response came quickly. *sticks tongue out* Leave me alone. Go win your girlfriend a game.
Now I know it’s real. You’re bossing me around.
Damn straight.
He laughed, the sound coming straight from his gut. He didn’t even care that the teammates closest to him were looking at him like he had a screw loose. TTYL.
The muscles that had been so tense a few minutes ago were now loose. It was time. He stood and led his team out onto the court.
He felt it as soon as he stepped onto the arena floor.
A buzz in the building. An energy he couldn’t place a finger on. New Yorkers loved their basketball, but tonight was different. It was like they were unsure what to feel. He sure as hell didn’t know what to expect.
He’d come out earlier for warmups. He’d heard some cheers, some boos. Some creative, anatomically impossible insults that only New Yorkers could come up with. But the arena had been half full. Now every seat was packed. They were going to introduce him in a minute. Every eye in the building would be on him.
Right on cue, the arena lights dimmed. He bounced on the balls of his feet, determined to turn the nerves that had begun to course through his veins into positive energy. He would be the first Stampede player introduced. “From USC, Brady Hudson,” the arena announcer called out. Loud, exuberant, prolonged cheers from the sold-out crowd rained down on him.
Stunned, Brady froze. His heart stopped beating, then resumed pumping at triple its normal rate. Elation welled inside him. Blinking to hold back tears, he gazed up into the crowd and waved. To acknowledge the fans’ appreciation for him. To soak it all in.
He was ready to play.
Too bad his teammates weren’t. They forced passes his way even when they had open shots. He did what he could, but he was only one person. At the first timeout, with the Stampede already down eight points, he spoke—more like yelled—in the huddle. “What the hell is going on?”
“Hey, we’ve all been traded. We know how it is to want to show your old team what they’re missing,” Tilly said.
His teammates cared enough to do that? He was stunned into silence. He wiped the sweat off his face with a towel, giving himself a second to think and regain his composure. “Thanks for looking out for me, but it’s not necessary.” He looked each teammate in the eye. “It’s about us getting the win, not me making a point. So let’s play our game and not worry about my stats.” He grinned. “Those will come on their own.”
He planned to make damned sure of it. His first opportunity came right away. The Knicks double-teamed him, determined to get the ball out of his hands. But they were so busy watching him, they lost sight of Whitmore cutting to the basket. Brady whipped the ball over the heads of his opponents, including that jackass Jenkins who’d slept with his ex-girlfriend. Whitmore caught the ball in midair and slammed it home. Twenty-thousand people groaned.
Brady didn’t bother hiding his grin.
The game just got better from there. With adrenaline pumping through his system, he made his next three shots and found himself slipping into the zone, where the basket looked as wide as a hula hoop and the game slowed down. He saw plays developing two steps ahead of everyone else. He had no trouble finding an open teammate to pass to at the right time or knowing the right moment to steal the ball from an unsuspecting player.
Coach took him out of the game for good early in the fourth quarter with the Stampede up by twenty.
As he exited the game, the Knicks dancers took the floor. He plopped down on the bench and grabbed a cup of Gatorade. There she was. Jessica, his ex, front and center, smiling and dancing to the song pumping through the sound system. Looked like that entertainment news show gig hadn’t turned into a full-time job yet. She looked beautiful. Nothing new there. Except he didn’t care. He felt nothing. Not even anger for what she’d done to him. That part of his life was over. He’d moved on. He was in a much better place.
After the game, Waters, the Knicks’ GM, didn’t make an appearance, but Brady didn’t expect him to. Once a coward, always a coward. He met up with his old coach at midcourt, and they shook hands. He man-hugged several of his old teammates—not Jenkins, of course, because he was a cowardly jackass who’d rushed to the locker room as soon as the final buzzer sounded. But Brady didn’t care. He’d said everything he’d needed to when he’d punched him. The former teammates who’d come up to him with well wishes and jokes were the ones who mattered. His stint in New York hadn’t ended on a high note, but they’d had some good times, and he was pleased that they wanted to acknowledge them.
Inside the locker room, the music blared. Brady collapsed on the chair in front of his locker, exhausted. He had just enough energy to grab his phone. Absentmindedly bobbing his head to the rap song playing, he scrolled through the texts coming in faster than he could keep up, looking for one particular name. There it was. He eagerly pressed his thumb to the phone to open the message.
Told you so! Caitlin had written.
Brady laughed.
Tilly plopped down in the chair at the locker next to his. “Dude, you were laughing before the game, and you’re laughing now. What’s so funny?”
“My lady,” Brady said proudly.
Tilly rolled his eyes. “She’s got you whipped.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous.”
“I’ve seen her. Hell yeah, I’m jealous.”
Brady shook his head and headed to the shower, his energy restored. By the time he came back out, reporters surrounded his locker room. They eagerly parted to allow him space and then crowded in close, not caring that he was half naked.
“Did you enjoy getting revenge on the team that traded you?” a reporter from the New York Daily News asked.
He knew how to play the game and say a bunch of words that meant very little. “It wasn’t about revenge.” Much. “We needed the win. We’ve built up some momentum the past few games and wanted it to continue tonight.”
“What about the fans?”
This he could answer 100 percent truthfully
. “The fans were great. I couldn’t have asked for a better reception. Knicks fans are always great. I’m happy they recognized that I played as hard as I could for them every time I stepped out on the court.”
“How are you getting along with your new teammates?” another reported called out.
The question he’d been waiting for.
“Great. We’ve developed a great chemistry as you saw on the court tonight. If I had to be traded, I couldn’t have asked to be put in a better situation than the one I’m in with the Stampede.”
The reporters asked a few more questions. He said a lot of nothing until they got tired of the game and left. He finished dressing and headed out of the arena.
“What are we going to do to celebrate?” Victor asked on the team bus.
They were staying in New York tonight because they were playing the Nets tomorrow. Brady kept quiet. He wasn’t sure if the invitation included him. A few teammates whispered to each other, then Whitmore turned to him. “Yo, Hudson, you lived here. Where should we go? We went out last night, but it was so boring. Last time I’m listening to Tilly. Show us the best place to party.”
Unexpected pleasure rushed through him. Caitlin’s assertion that he get to know his teammates outside the court played through his mind. She’d been right earlier that night, so why not? Besides, he’d had a good time at Mack’s dinner party. He was feeling good after a win. He wanted to hang out and chill. The bus had pulled up to the hotel. His teammates looked at him expectantly. “Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes, and we’ll go from there.”
He wasn’t sure they’d show up, but he’d put it out there. Twenty minutes later, six of his teammates were in the lobby. Including Maguire. They headed to a club in Chelsea. A favorite of athletes, singers, and Hollywood actors, it was the perfect place to see and be seen. Once there, they were escorted to the VIP area. A murmur went through the crowd when they noticed who’d entered the club. They weren’t alone long. A waitress wearing a skimpy skirt and a sparkly halter top sauntered up. “Can I start you guys off with a bottle of champagne? I’ll be nice to you even if you beat my Knicks. You must be happy, ready to celebrate.”
