by Kennedy Ryan
“It’s not bad.” I shrug. “All part of the game.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her lips tight. So tight I almost miss what she says next.
“He saw us, August.”
I don’t have to ask what she means. I know. I saw him seeing us at the game. And I saw the rage it caused before he made sure I felt it. “I know.”
She raises startled eyes that fill with tears. “This happened because of me.” She gestures toward my injured leg. “I’m so sorry. God, I feel so guilty.”
“There’s nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t you. It was him.”
“Right, and I don’t want him hurting you again because of me.” She steadies trembling lips into a firm line. “I don’t want him hurting anyone because of me.”
“Why are you with him, Iris?” I ask, confusion propelling the question out of me.
That something—that unfamiliar thing lurking behind her eyes slips a shadowy veil over her expression, and the truth goes into hiding.
“Things aren’t always the way they seem. They aren’t simple.” She steps back until my hands fall away from her completely. “Nothing’s simple.”
“Then explain them to me. I can’t believe, knowing he’d do something like this,” I say, pointing to my leg, “that you would stay with him.”
“Iris!” Sylvia calls from the end of the hall, her eyes darting between Iris and me. “Um, is everything okay?”
She’s probably created all kinds of scenarios in her head by now about the relationship between Iris and me, especially since I asked her not to tell Iris I would be here. Seeing us together this way, she probably has more questions. I don’t care, but I know Iris will.
“Everything’s fine,” Iris answers quickly, taking another step back. “I thought the daycare was paging me about my daughter, so I came to check. She’s okay, though.”
She touches the pager I hadn’t noticed on her hip. That’s when I spot something else I hadn’t noticed. A huge engagement ring.
Shit. I’m deluding myself. This thing I’ve been chasing in my dreams, this connection I even told my mom about, it’s all in my head and all on my side. Her eyes follow mine to the ring on her finger.
“August,” she whispers. “I can ex—”
“Guess I better get back in there, huh?” I cut over her harshly, addressing Sylvia.
“We are ready to start,” Sylvia says uncertainly. “The kids are coming into the rec room now.”
“Good.” Without looking at Iris again, I head up the hall and into the rec room.
I’m an idiot. It’s complicated? No, it’s simple. She had his baby. She’s wearing his ring. She’s going to marry him. The sooner I get that through my thick skull, the better. I’ve lost enough pining over a girl who belongs to someone else. I’ve lost sleep and precious time.
I grimace at the pain arrowing up my leg from overuse today. I may have lost my career, my future, for something that doesn’t exist. I’m going to shut down my disappointment and anger, board up my heart long enough to get through this talk, and then I’ll put this fantasy away for good. I glance at the walls, plastered with motivational sayings and photos of famous role models. The community center has barely changed from when I balled here as a kid. The paint peels from the wall in places, and the hoops in the gym have seen better days. The best thing to dispose of a fantasy is a dose of reality, and this community will always remind you of what’s real.
My family was middle class. My mom was a teacher and once my stepfather retired from the military, he was in sales. My home life was stable, but I was always trying to find my place. I felt like a cog that didn’t fit in any wheel. A stray puzzle piece.
The best ballers in the city played pick-up games here. I wanted to be challenged and stretched, so I played here, too. I didn’t expect to find lost pieces of myself on these courts; of the culture my father would have shared with me had he lived.
Basketball helped me find my place. Not number thirty-three, point guard, basketball champion, or All-American player. Those things aren’t who I am. I’m more than that. This place helped make me more than that.
I compartmentalize, swallow the emotion seeing Iris’s ring spurred in me, and look around the room, wall to wall with young faces—mostly black and brown. I remember what it was like to grow up here; the quest I was on, searching for my identity; feeling caught between worlds and comfortable nowhere. Many of these kids are struggling, too. Maybe not because they’re biracial and wondering how to categorize themselves, but struggling to reconcile the harsh realities of their lives with the vastness of their dreams—with their impossible ambitions. I understand dreaming dreams that are too big and chasing a life that most never catch. Against all odds, I have that life and am living that dream.
“I’m not here to tell you how to become a professional basketball player,” I start without preamble. “There are no guarantees, and most likely, none of you ever will make it to the NBA.”
A few faces fall at this bit of reality, but I have their attention. With middle-schoolers, that’s most of the battle. Iris walks in and takes a place at the back with the other two women here volunteering. Her sad eyes meet mine, but this time I look away. I’m not getting caught in that trap again.
“Even guys, and girls,” I say with a smile at a few of the young ladies on the front row, “who have the talent don’t always make the cut. Basketball is not the point. Dreaming is the point.”
I risk the briefest glance in Iris’s direction, and even with her shadowed eyes, she’s the brightest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I know what it’s like to want something you’ll probably never have.” Our eyes hold for the briefest moment before I tear mine away. “I understand the disappointment of someone saying you’ll never be able to. Dream of something else. There are too many things that say you can’t, so I’m here to say you can. Can what?”
I shrug, turning the corners of my mouth down. “Can whatever.” I point to my leg. “How many of you saw the game when I went down?”
Hands go up. Sympathetic grimaces cross several faces.
“Yeah, it was tough. Something I worked for my whole life felt like it might be over in an instant. I’ve spent the time since my surgery reconciling myself to that possibility. What if basketball was over for me?”
I scan the rapt faces, finding an answering hunger and curiosity in so many.
“If that happens, I’m not gonna front like I wouldn’t be messed up, because I would be.” I pause for them to laugh, giving them a smile, too. “But I found my place here in this community center, at Saturday pick-up games, in summer league, and camps. This place, more than any other, taught me to reach for something more. I know things aren’t always great at home. I know things don’t always make sense at school. I even know that sometimes, you want to quit, because I wanted to a million times.”
I slant them a wry grin. “Sometimes I still do, but I won’t ever. This place taught me that. The counselors here and the students—the other dreamers.” I point through the door and squint one eye. “My mom’s house is about ten miles that way. This city is my home. I sat exactly where you’re sitting years ago listening to someone tell me I could do whatever I wanted to do, even though my dream was unlikely.”
I lift my leg a little, lift my jeans, making sure they can all see the Aircast. “I’ve decided I’m coming back stronger and faster than ever. I’ve decided I’ll return sooner than everyone thinks I can and better than they expect me to be,” I say. “While I was lying on my back with these pins in my leg and everyone speculating about my future, I decided that I wouldn’t give up hope. Hope is the gap between what if and what is, but you have to fill that gap with a lot of hard work. And that’s what we’re going to talk about this week. Hope. Dreams. Work.”
I glance at my watch and then to the pizzas Iris and the other two women are setting up at the back of the room. “I think your lunch is here. My time’s up for today,
but if you wanna talk, I’ll be here for a few minutes while the food is being served.”
I’m signing autographs and talking to the kids who gather around after my talk. I give them my full attention but sense Iris’s eyes on me every once in a while. It’s a heady feeling to be in the same room with her for this long, something I’ve wanted so I could test these sensations and see if they hold up under normal wear and tear. Now, it doesn’t matter. Once she’s another man’s wife, these feelings aren’t to hold up, but to be put down. And I’ll start doing that today as ruthlessly as I’d approach an opponent on court. Only the opponent is me, because the stubborn part of me that never let me give up on my dream of playing in the NBA doesn’t want me to give up on her either.
Sylvia and I are walking toward the exit, reviewing plans for the week. I’ll talk, share some drills with those who play basketball, though I’m limited in what I can physically do, and participate in a beautification project in one of the rec rooms.
We’re wrapping up when Iris calls my name.
She’s walking toward us, her daughter on her hip. This isn’t fair. Both of them? If you ever want a man to keep dreaming, give him a glimpse of what could be.
They could be mine.
A wave of misplaced possessiveness rolls through me. The thought of them returning to Caleb’s house grinds my teeth together. The thought of Iris in his bed is physically painful, clenching my gut. They’re both Caleb’s, and I covet them.
But one flash of that however-many-carat diamond on her finger reminds me how futile hope is.
When they reach us, Iris glances uncertainly from me to Sylvia and clears her throat.
“August, could I, um, speak to you before you go?” she asks, fixing her eyes on me and not straying to Sylvia.
“Sure,” I say easily, like she and I talk every day. “See you tomorrow, Sylvia.”
Sylvia interprets the comment as the dismissal it is and considers us speculatively before smiling, saying her goodbyes, and walking away.
“You need something?” I ask abruptly. “My ride’s probably waiting.”
She flinches at the impatience in my voice, and I feel like an asshole. Sarai wiggles on her hip and blinks at me with long, curly lashes. I bend until I’m level with Sarai and smile into her violet–blue eyes. I’ll regret this, but the kid’s as irresistible as her mother.
“She’s gotten so big,” I tell Iris but don’t look away from the little girl staring back at me.
“Yeah.” Iris laughs. Sarai’s dark curls have grown longer since I last saw her, and Iris brushes them back from her face. “It’s going too fast already.”
Sarai reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my face closer. It also brings me closer to Iris. I ignore the electric field our nearness creates and focus on Sarai. She drags her little hand over my eyes and nose, leaving a wet trail of exploration.
“Oh, God.” Iris points to the wet patch I feel on my cheek. “She got you. I’m sorry.”
When I allow myself to look at Iris again, the shadow is gone. Humor and affection light her eyes, for her daughter, maybe for me. If anything, she’s more beautiful than the girl I met in the bar a few years ago. There’s a strength, a maturity, a resolve—I don’t know what has added dimension to what she was before, but it stirs a hunger in me. Not just to taste her body, but to know her heart. To read her mind and share her thoughts.
Fuck. I cannot make myself stop wanting this woman. And as Sarai flashes her little dimpled smile up at me, I want her in my life, too. I want too much. I want things I can’t have, things that aren’t mine, but that kid who showed up every Saturday before the community center doors opened, who was always the last to leave the court, he never learned to stop wanting impossible things.
The humor fades from Iris’s eyes, the smile melts from her wide, sweet mouth, and she releases a ragged breath. She feels it, too. I don’t have to ask if she does. Her widened eyes and stuttering breath, the answering jerk of awareness from her body to mine tell me. But too much stands between us: another man and the gaudy ring on her finger, circumstances I don’t understand. We’re separated by an incalculable distance, but she feels so close.
“I’m not engaged,” she says softly, catching me off guard.
“What’d you say?” I glare at the ring on her left hand. “Then what does that ring mean?”
“Caleb asked me to marry him, but I haven’t said yes.” Her jaw flexes and her eyes ice over. “I don’t plan to say yes, but he wants me to wear it for now—wants me to think about it.”
“I don’t get it.” The more she reveals, the less I understand.
“I know, and I can’t fully explain, but one day I will. I have to work this out on my own.” She drops a kiss on Sarai’s head resting on her shoulder. “Just know that she’s the most important thing—securing Sarai’s future is the most important thing.”
“Securing her future? You mean money? Do you need money, because I can—”
“Please don’t insult me. I’m not with Caleb for the money.” A quick frown pleats her dark brows. “I mean, money is a factor, but not the way you might think.”
If hope is the gap between what if and what is, her words, these few moments shorten that distance. I tentatively run a hand over Sarai’s soft curls. She giggles and buries her head in Iris’s shoulder, shyly peeking back out at me. God, these two could tie me in a knot with their hands behind their backs. Effortlessly.
“I better go.” Iris looks at her watch, her eyes wide and panicked. “My ride’s probably waiting, too.”
“You didn’t drive?” I walk beside her, holding the door open so she can pass ahead of me.
She glances across the street and up the sidewalk in the direction of a large black SUV. Her eyes go wide and she swallows, looking back to me.
“Don’t walk with . . .You don’t need to walk with us. We’ll be fine. My ride’s here.”
She swings her head back to look at the SUV once more before flashing me a quick smile and wave.
“I gotta go,” she repeats. “See you tomorrow.”
Before I can reply, she dashes across the street. A huge body-builder looking guy steps out and helps her and Sarai into the back seat. He stares at me once they’re inside, his presence like a threat—like a warning. He makes me want to snatch Iris and Sarai away from him. I stand there frozen, feeling helplessly protective until the red taillights disappear around the corner.
“Gus!”
I turn toward the only person who calls me that. Jared is parked a few feet away. I’m still not driving much, so he dropped me off.
I tap the hood of his low-slung sports car. “Dude, you’re such a poser.” I laugh and slide into the front seat, careful of my throbbing leg.
“You’re just jealous of my whip,” Jared replies.
“The fact that you used the word ‘whip’ in an actual conversation makes my point.”
We share a grin, but Jared’s ebbs as quickly as it appeared. “Was that who I think it was?” he asks, never one to pull punches. “Walking out with you? The chick with the kid?”
“Who?” I conveniently find something outside my window fascinating. “Was that who?”
“Cut the shit. That was Caleb’s girlfriend, Iris DuPree, wasn’t it?”
I swivel a curious look around to him. “How do you know Iris?”
“I interviewed her maybe two years ago for an internship,” he says. “She’s sharp.”
“Yeah, she is. Why didn’t you give her a job then?”
“Because at the end of the interview, she threw up all over me.” Jared’s grin is rueful. “She found out she was pregnant. I offered her a job, but by then she was on bed rest and couldn’t work. I believe she was on bed rest almost the entire pregnancy.”
Pregnant. Unable to work or earn money. Confined to the bed for months. No wonder she said she’d had hard choices to make. It sounds like she did the only thing she could do—stay with Caleb.
It infuri
ates me. She barely knew me. Of course, she wouldn’t have turned to me, but I wish she had. I would have done anything to keep her free of him.
“Please tell me this hasn’t all been about her. Tell me you didn’t provoke Caleb and jeopardize your career, a thirty-million-dollar contract for some chick?”
“Some chick?” I lift one eyebrow. “You must not remember her if you think she’s just some chick.”
“I do remember her. I know how she looks.” Jared shows his disgust in the scrunch of his brows. “You sound whipped. I assumed it was just pussy.”
“Watch your mouth, Jared,” I snap and point a warning finger at him.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect, but damn. She lives with Caleb. They have a kid together. It’s really inconvenient if you have a thing for her, Gus.”
“We’re friends.” I rebuke him with a glare. “And don’t call me Gus.”
Jared knows I hate the childhood nickname and uses it to get on my nerves. I have enough on my nerves without adding him.
“So this dirty play was about Iris?” Jared asks. “I saw her at the game with her daughter.”
“Yeah, I saw her, too.”
“Doing rehab here in Maryland—that isn’t about her, is it?” Jared shakes his head, not waiting for my answer. “And now you’re conveniently volunteering with her.”
I tip my head back into the soft leather of the headrest, answering with only a sigh.
Jared bangs a fist into the steering wheel. “Dammit, August. What part of ‘keep the hell away from my girl’ do you not understand? What’s Caleb gonna have to break next for you to get the message?”
I snap narrowed eyes over to him. “I’d like to see that motherfucker try to break something else.” I adjust my seat, leaning back, worn out from the few hours at the community center. “There’s more going on than meets the eye. She’s wearing his ring, but she tells me they’re not engaged.”
“Maybe she’s playing you both. The only thing better than having one rich man strung out on you is having two.”
“Shut the hell up. If you’ve met Iris, you know she’s not like that.”
“She seemed like a nice girl. Driven. Bright. Sharp. I wanted her on my team,” Jared admits. “That doesn’t mean she’s not trouble.”