“Well that’s good,” I responded excitedly before amending, “I mean, I know the whole All-Star thing is disappointing, but…”
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Kage interrupted, grabbing my hand when he looked me dead in my eyes and said, “Thank you. For coming.”
The sincerity in his gaze made a lump grow in my throat as I wet my lips and gave his hand a squeeze as a “You’re welcome”. And when we stayed that way for another beat, I thought it might be time to address what Dre was talking about out in the hall, getting ready to speak on what me being here actually meant until someone barged in the room saying, “Babe, I got your stupid noteb… oh.”
Immediately, I yanked my hand away as the woman who was carrying the manifestation journal I’d gotten Kage for his birthday sat it on the end of the bed and apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anybody else was in here.” But once she was standing still, there was this immediate sense of recognition as I realized she was the same girl I’d seen in the friends and family bathroom a few weeks back.
The one who was wearing Kage’s jersey.
The one who was carrying the purse like the one Kage had bought for me.
The one who said my damn outfit was cute.
Now she was the one calling Kage “babe”, the whole thing catching me way off-guard as Kage tried to break up the awkward moment by introducing the two of us.
“Bleu, this is Keilani. Keilani, Bleu Taylor.”
“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” she asked, squinting in my direction as I started to fill in the blank for her about the time we’d bumped into each other at the arena or that she might’ve seen me on T.V. But before I could respond with anything, she snapped her fingers and said, “Spilling That Hot Tea. You were the one in that accident, right? Oh wait, nevermind. It ended up being some other girl.”
That was all I needed to hear to decide it was probably best for me to go, trying not to make my annoyance obvious when I told Kage, “I should umm… probably get out of your hair so you can get some rest or whatever it is you need. But I’m glad to see you’re in good spirits.” Then I turned to his girlfriend to say, “Keilani, it was nice to meet you.”
“You too, girl,” she responded with a little wave of her hand, the fact that she even existed and Kage hadn’t bothered to say anything about her legitimately blowing my mind. But really, her appearance had saved me from making a complete fool of myself since I could only imagine how awkward it would’ve been if she’d stepped into the room a mere five minutes later, just the thought making me grow hot with embarrassment as Kage called after me, “Thanks again for stopping by, Bleu.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” I rattled without turning back, leaving his suite on a quest to find Junebug so that he could take me to my hotel. But instead of finding him, I found Ms. Jeanine sitting in the waiting area with a cup of coffee in her hand, an excited grin on her face when she noticed me and said, “Well look who snuck her pretty self into town.”
“Ms. Jeanine. Hey,” I responded, trying to be polite about it even though I really wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
That feeling only grew when she asked, “The network sent you here to get an exclusive on my boy or somethin’?”
“No, I was actually just coming to see how he was doing for myself.”
For whatever reason, my explanation only made Ms. Jeanine’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she sang, “Ohhhh. Well that sure is nice of you. Suspiciously nice, in fact.”
“Kage and I are good friends,” I told her, though that felt like a lie now that I knew he hadn’t even thought to disclose the fact that he had a whole ass girlfriend.
And for how long?
My emotions about it were honestly all over the place until Ms. Jeanine randomly asked, “Are your people from Atlanta?”
“Yeah, why?”
“So you’re that friend,” she concluded with another grin, looking like she’d cracked some secret code once she sighed, “No wonder Kage was being so hush-hush about it.”
While she seemed satisfied with her discovery, I legitimately had no idea what she was talking about, frowning confusedly when I told her, “I’m sorry, Ms. Jeanine. But I’m not sure where you’re going with any of this.”
Stepping a little closer, she got near my ear to quietly share, “All I know is, when I told that boy to keep his options open, it wasn’t for that hussy in there to make the cut. So if you still wanna turn that rebound into a fast break, you better do somethin’ now or forever hold your peace.”
With that, she gave a little pat to my arm to dismiss me, the entire situation playing back in my head on the drive to my hotel and even as I laid in bed later that night. But no matter which way I tried to dissect it, the timing of it all always seemed to land me at the same conclusion.
Kage and I were simply not meant to be.
Twelve
This injury shit was trash.
It had only been a little over a week, and I was already tired of sitting around doing nothing.
Already tired of watching my team struggle on the court without me.
Already tired of wearing a cast brace and using crutches.
And I was especially tired of all the sympathy, the endless well wishes only serving as a reminder of the fucked-up situation I was in and doing absolutely nothing to make my ankle heal any faster.
According to the results of the MRI, I had a severe Grade 3 Ankle Sprain which meant a recovery period of at least six to eight weeks before the team’s doctor would even consider reevaluating me. And since the first ten days of that had to be spent with my ankle completely immobilized other than my time spent with the training staff, I was essentially forced to sit still, giving me too much time to think about the stuff I otherwise got to avoid when I was on the go.
Like my childhood, for instance.
Losing both of my parents within a year of each other before I’d even made it to my seventh birthday wasn’t the kind of shit you just up and forgot about overnight. And as I struggled through the emotions of that while also dealing with the fucked up social services system who acted like they didn’t know what to do with an orphan who had no family with a porch they could drop me off on, it was no surprise that I’d already been labeled a “bad kid” by the time I turned ten, forced into group homes with a bunch of boys who were just as fucked up as me, if not worse.
Most of them were a lot bigger than me too, meaning I either had to learn to scrap early or get used to getting my ass kicked on the regular. But gaining the confidence to never back down from a fight only fed into the “bad kid” narrative since I was handing out a lot more ass whoopins’ than I was taking, that reputation only making my situation even more volatile since it meant no group home wanted to deal with me long term.
As an adult, I suppose I understood why a little better. But as a kid, it was fuck everybody; especially since I knew none of them would be around for more than a few months anyway. And I suppose that was part of why I cared about basketball as much as I did since it was my only constant through it all, the only thing I could depend on to always be there for me until I met Coach Joe who showed me there was such a thing as good people in the world.
Having him as a shining example in my life to this day was a blessing. But not having basketball for the first time was still a tough pill to swallow. And even though I was grateful to have all the support of the Trojans organization, grateful to have access to the best medical care and to have enough money in my bank account that said I wouldn’t have to want for anything, mentally, I just wasn’t taking this shit too well.
Thankfully, I had people like Ms. Jeanine around who cared enough to make sure I was at least eating good, the baked chicken wings, mac & cheese, cornbread and greens she’d brought over a major bright spot in my otherwise gloomy ass week that had been mostly filled with bowls of cereal.
And that was when I actually remembered to feed myself.
Once Ms. Jeanine g
ot word of that, she took it upon herself to make a grocery run for me even when I insisted I could just have some delivered. But according to her, “those folks never pick the right fruits and vegetables”. And since having the proper nutrition intake was an important part of the healing process, she wanted to make sure I was taken care of, her commitment to my well-being beyond appreciated even though she refused to let me pay her for her troubles.
“Boy, don’t nobody want your money. What I want is for you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” she requested as she joined me on my sofa, taking the opposite end of the sectional where I’d been spending most of my time as of late.
I ate there, slept there, watched basketball and played video games there.
Hell, I probably would’ve showered and shit there if it was possible since using my crutches every time I needed to go to the bathroom made both of those simple tasks a lot more difficult. But until I could bear weight on my ankle without being in pain, it was mandatory for me to use them, only making this injury shit that much more annoying as I finally replied, “I’m doin’ my best, Ms. J.”
With that, I used the remote on my phone to turn on the Trojans game, the fact that my team was all the way down in Miami without me lowkey making me not even watch that shit. And it also didn’t help that Bleu was the one working the sidelines, looking good as hell as she ran down the keys to tonight’s game that unsurprisingly included a mention of me.
“Now the Trojans are still without their point guard, Kage Steele, which means they’re currently relying on backup, Travis Miller, to play floor general. And though the rookie has been struggling a bit since being moved into the starting lineup, Coach Kirkwood seemed confident that tonight will be his breakout game.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I thought as the broadcast cut to the tip-off, a scowl already on my face as Ms. Jeanine asked, “Have you talked to her lately? Bleu Taylor?”
The inquiry was so random that it made my annoyance turn to confusion when I questioned, “Why you ask that?”
“No reason. Just curious,” she replied in this extra pitchy tone that only made me more suspicious as I shared, “She’s checked in a few times through text, but that’s really it.”
“Hmph,” was all Ms. J responded as she settled deeper into her side of the sofa to watch the game. And while I was tempted to ask more about her interest in Bleu, the fact that my team was already down twelve to two in what felt like a blink of an eye was too damn distracting for me to even start that conversation, my scowl tightening as I yelled, “Call timeout, Coach!”
Like he’d heard me through the television, the whistle was blown to signal he’d indeed called an early timeout as an attempt to stop the bleeding. But even after the fact, whatever suggestions he’d given hadn’t done much to contain Miami’s fast start, the entire thing frustrating as hell to watch since there was literally nothing I could do about it.
Honestly, if Ms. Jeanine wasn’t here, I probably would’ve gone ahead and turned it off at that point. And really, I was still considering doing so once I heard her answer the phone with an extra cheery, “Heyyyy, Joe Joe.”
“Oh, so now that nigga is Joe Joe,” I thought, giving a subtle roll of my eyes as Ms. Jeanine listened to whatever Coach Joe was saying before she responded, “Yeah, he’s sitting right here looking ashy.”
Snapping my eyes her way, she only started to giggle as she continued, “I know, I tried to tell ‘em. Even went and got the boy some groceries.”
Listening to them go back and forth about me was already annoying as is. But when I heard Ms. Jeanine croon, “Joe Joe, you so damn nasty,” I knew I had to step in before I heard something I wouldn’t be able to unhear, doing my best to be polite about it when I interrupted, “Ms. J, I ain’t tryna be rude. But can you at least take that outta earshot?”
With a glance my way, she gave a wave of her hand to say “my bad” as she climbed off the couch only to sensually respond into the phone, “Tell me what else you wanna eat like groceries…”
“Come on, man,” I whined as I turned up the volume on the T.V. just in time to catch a report from Bleu about what was said in Miami’s last huddle. But not even the sound of her soothing ass voice could keep me from being irritated as hell once I heard the front door keypad being used, followed by the sound of Keilani’s heels against the hardwood floor as she entered my place.
I’d only given her the access code so that I wouldn’t have to crutch to the door every time she stopped by. But I was already regretting the hell out of that shit, especially once she had the nerve to wrinkle her nose when she asked, “Why does it smell like old ladies on the holidays in here?”
Even with the T.V. on extra loud, I heard it clear as day when Ms. Jeanine said, “Joe Joe, lemme call you right back,” making her way over to the couch to give an extra petty, “Well hello, Little Miss. Kamakazi.”
“It’s Keilani.”
Giving a wave of her hand to say, “Whatever,” Ms. Jeanine stepped into my line of view to ask, “Kage, you need anything else before I get on outta here?”
Since I didn’t even know she was about to leave any time soon, the question caught me a bit off-guard. But after catching the stank look she was giving Keilani who was already busy on her phone, it made sense; the fact that I was now about to have to deal with her ass alone only irritating me even more as I finally responded, “Nah, I think I’m good. But I appreciate everything, Ms. J.”
“Mmhmm. I’ll be back to check on you in a few days,” she suggested, grabbing the few things she’d left on the couch before giving a stale, “Kalamari.”
“It’s Keilani,” she corrected again, this time in a whinier tone as she waited for Ms. Jeanine to leave before turning back my way to ask, “Why doesn’t she like me?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” I answered with a shrug, settling back in to watch the game until I remembered, “Ms. J brought a whole bunch of food over if you’re hungry. Chicken wings, mac & cheese...”
Before I could even complete my list, Keilani interrupted, “You know I can’t eat that stuff,” going back to her phone as I just shook my head and started watching the game. But the bigger Miami’s lead got, the more irritated I became; even more so when I felt ol’ girl just staring at me for no reason.
“What now, Keilani?”
Avoiding my eyes, she responded, “I just thought dating a ball player would be more like, spontaneous shopping trips on your dime and V.I.P. treatment at every restaurant. Not… watching you mope around all day and eating your grandma’s leftovers.”
The chuckle I responded with was less about humor and more about trying to contain my annoyance when I responded, “Ms. J ain’t my grandma, and nobody told you you had to be here, Keilani.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Since when were we a couple?” I asked, frowning as Keilani immediately started acting all offended.
“Wow, Kage. It’s one thing for you to sit up here and be all depressed, but it’s another thing for you to be a straight-up asshole.”
“That was a serious question, though,” I told her. “I mean, it ain’t like we’ve ever talked about it.”
Yeah, we’d been messing around on and off since Christmas a few weeks back, but that hardly qualified as a relationship. Though Keilani apparently thought so considering how passionate she was when she defended, “Kage, I’ve been over here damn near every day this week.”
“Yeah, and gettin’ on my damn nerves every day this week too,” I muttered, that response only making her gasp again before she hopped up from the couch and decided, “You know what? I don’t have to stick around for this shit. There’s plenty of niggas just like you in my DMs right now, and they all have two good ankles.”
She was already near the door when I asked, “Did all of ‘em get your panties for Christmas too?” my petty ass question only making her more upset as she groaned, “Oh, fuck you.”
Tha
t reaction made it easy for me to assume she was about to leave for good. But instead, she surprised me by coming back towards the couch and grabbing my crutches, moving them near the entryway so that they were out of my reach when she left.
Even with the front door already slammed shut behind her, I still yelled, “That’s real mature of you, Keilani!” grumbling a bunch of nothing as I pushed myself up from the couch so that I could hobble over to get them. And with every painful step I took, I was reminded of two things.
One, I needed to get my access code changed ASAP.
And two, the next time I felt lonely, I was getting my ass a dog.
Thirteen
I usually didn’t answer calls from numbers I didn’t have saved in my contacts unless it was a call being forwarded from my work line. But I suppose it was the semi-familiar Nashville area code that had me breaking my own rules, thinking it might be Katianna hitting me up from a new phone number since she was known for changing hers often.
“Can’t have everybody I’ve ever met being able to reach me forever,” was her logic, something I didn’t exactly disagree with even though I never felt the need to follow in her footsteps. And I could only hope this was her calling so that I wasn’t forced to change my mind, feeling optimistic about it when I answered, “Hello?”
“Heyyy, Miss. Bleu. How are you, hun?”
So it wasn’t Kat.
But it wasn’t some random weirdo from my past either, the voice familiar enough for me to respond, “Hey, Ms. Jeanine. I’m good. How are you doing?”
“I’m still here, so that’s good enough for me,” she replied. “But I was actually calling to see if you’ve talked to Kage recently?”
My eyebrows bunched in thought as I answered, “Umm… we texted a little bit like two or three days ago, but that’s about it. Why? Is something wrong?”
Now that she’d brought it up, I found myself thinking back to our last conversation that was more of a check-in on his condition than anything. And when he said he was good, I didn’t think much of it. Though now, I was wondering if I should’ve pressed a little harder once Ms. Jeanine replied, “Well, yes and no. I mean, he’s not dead or anything crazy like that. But he just hasn’t been his same self if you know what I’m sayin’.”
On The Rebound Page 13