One Last Shot (Nymphs & Trojans Series Book 2)

by Alexandra Warren

  “But I’d do it anyway. Because you loved them,” she said with a grin of her own, glaring up at the sky to watch the fireworks still going off in the neighborhood as she brought up another memory. “And remember when you chased your grandma with that bag of snappers I bought you? Your little bad ass kept throwing them right at her feet!”

  “I didn’t even know grandma could move like that,” I told her with a little chuckle, thinking back on the ass whooping I got once my bag of snappers was finally empty.

  It was the kind of whooping that pretty much kept me in check for the rest of my childhood, though I really couldn’t do much wrong in my grandmother’s eyes anyway. I was her baby. And because of my situation with my parents, I knew she felt kind of sorry for me, wanting to put me in the best situation she possibly could so that I wouldn’t fail solely because of their shortcomings.

  Little did she know, I’d be the cause of my own demise. Though my mother somehow saw it differently enough to comment, “You look like you’ve been taking better care of yourself. That’s good. I’m glad to see you doing good.”

  As far as the last five or so years went, I was definitely in a better place than I had been. But one look at her only reminded me of those not-so-good times, a frown on my face when I replied, “Wish I could say the same about you, Jeri.”

  Shaking her head, she sighed, “Lord knows I’m tryin’. Every day is a struggle. Every. Single. Day.”

  Strangely enough, that was something we could relate on; the daily struggle of making sure your reasons to stay clean continuously outweighed the desire for a tiny hit. But lucky for me, I had plenty of things going on to stay busy and motivated, something I knew I couldn’t say for her since she was right where she’d always been.

  Well, at least to some degree, my eyebrows bunched when I asked, “Where are you staying at now?”

  Shrugging, she answered, “Oh, you know. A little bit of everywhere.”

  I knew that was code for her essentially being homeless, something my heart couldn’t allow no matter how much wrong she’d done. And since it was already late, I made an executive decision for us both to get some rest, offering her hand as I said, “Come on. Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.”

  For whatever reason, my simple invitation brought tears to her eyes, her dainty hand squeezing my much larger one as I unlocked the door to my grandmother’s house. And once I stepped inside, I was hit with a rush of emotions, taking me back to the months I'd spent holed up here questioning my existence long after my grandmother passed and long before Mr. Lloyd showed up.

  That’s when it all really spiraled out of control; the anxiety, the paranoia, the addiction. But to honor her legacy in this moment, I knew I had to stay strong, putting on a brave face as my mother whispered, “I think it’s time, Dre. For us both to let go of this place. It’s the only way we can really move forward with our lives. Otherwise, we’ll just… keep coming back. I’ll just keep coming back.”

  Looking down at her, I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. But after another beat, I knew she was right. While this place represented so much of who I was, was the place I’d called home for so many years and the place we’d both been raised in, the life of it left with my grandmother’s spirit and the memories it held now weren’t happy for either of us.

  The last time I was here, I felt hopeless, like I couldn’t trust anyone, like I didn’t want to live. And that just… wasn’t my life anymore.

  It couldn’t be my life anymore.

  Of course there were a few things we both wanted to keep; photo albums, random trinkets, etc. But in that moment, my mother and I made a mutual decision to spend the next few days sorting through what we wanted and making plans to get rid of the rest so that we could finally put the house on the market.

  So that we could both finally be free.

  Thirteen

  It was taking everything in me not to blow up his phone.

  With every day that passed, every game he missed, I found myself growing more and more worried, trying to let his vague texts about “being okay” hold me over until he came back from… wherever he was.

  The fact that he was keeping it all a secret bothered me. Even when I asked Kat if she had any idea, she only gave me information that I already knew.

  “He’s handling a personal matter.”

  Personal matter, my ass.

  My concern for his well-being was beginning to override my performance on the court, and that was a problem.

  I mean, it was no one’s fault but my own for growing so attached so quickly, for caring so much about him, for admitting that I liked him and inviting him to meet my father even if it wasn’t like that.

  The optics said otherwise.

  Dre going with the flow and being cool about my father’s antics said otherwise.

  But that was also the last time I’d seen Dre. So hell, maybe that said something too.

  Had I scared him off to the point that he didn’t even feel comfortable showing up to his job?

  No, that was ridiculous. I knew what coaching for the Nymphs meant to Dre, and he wouldn’t blow that opportunity for anyone; not even me. But the fact that he’d now missed three games straight and no one knew what was really going on with him…

  Shaking my head, I did my best to focus my attention back on Sugar’s postgame speech, listening in as she announced, “That game was a hot mess, so let’s just focus on the good of our very own Selena Samuels being voted as an All-Star!”

  Wait, what?

  Before I could really process the information, my teammates were already crowding me in celebration, Mikayla’s voice somehow being the only one I could hear when she shouted, “I know that’s right, Sharpshooter!”

  Accepting their praise, I gave as many “thank yous” as I could before Sugar asked everyone to settle down so that she could share more information. But once she announced that I’d also been selected to participate in this year’s Three-Point Shootout and that Mikayla had been picked to participate in the Skills Challenge, all hell broke loose like we hadn’t just lost a game, the whole locker room cheering as someone started playing music from their Bluetooth speaker that Sugar shut down immediately.

  “Nu uh! Did y’all forget what just happened out there tonight?! We still have games before All-Star, and we sure as hell have plenty more after it so stay focused!” she shouted at the team before directing her attention to just Mikayla and I to say, “Congratulations, you two. Enjoy this huge honor and the weekend in Vegas when it comes. But don’t forget what our team goal is for this season.”

  “I got you, Coach,” I told her with a confident nod, completely tuned in as she gave a rundown of our schedule for the rest of the week before dismissing us to do postgame stuff. And of course, now that the All-Star announcement had been made, all the questions I received were about that, making it a little easier on me since that meant I didn’t have to talk as much about my poor play tonight.

  My poor play because of… well, not because of him since I was the one out there on the court; not him. But still, his absence affected me and that was something I needed to process, wondering if being involved with Dre was even worth the trouble if it equated to feeling like this.

  The fact that the moment was still in progress certainly didn’t help my cause, giving me every reason to call it a wash the second I knew he was okay. But because I didn’t know for sure, I stayed worried, and I continued to check my phone, and I stalked his social media for clues even though I knew he wasn’t all that active on it.

  Even when my doorbell rang to signal my food order had arrived, I kept my phone in my hand, not wanting to miss anything when I pulled it open and saw it... wasn’t my food.

  It was him.

  “Dre…” I sighed, more relieved than anything to see him in one piece. And you would’ve thought he hadn’t gone ghost at all considering the way he smirked to tease, “I heard an All-Star lives here. Is that true? And if so, can I get her autograph
?”

  With a roll of my eyes, I pulled the door open to let him inside, waiting until it was closed behind us to ask, “Where the hell have you been, Dre?!”

  “It’s a long story, Selena,” he answered with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face when he added, “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Well congratulations, I did anyway! Like, a lot. And I’ve been playing shitty because of it,” I whined as if I hadn’t already come to terms with that part of it being my fault.

  Still, he needed to hear about it. And it made me feel a little better when he wrapped me in a low hug to say, “I’m sorry, lil’ baby. But that’s why I’m here now. To explain what’s been goin’ on.”

  “I’m listening,” I replied with more attitude than I felt since being in his arms always made it hard for me to think straight. And thankfully, I didn’t have to stay there, the ringing of the doorbell snapping me out of the trance I was slowly falling into as I pushed myself out of his hold to explain, “It’s the food I thought you were.”

  Instead of letting me handle it, Dre opened the door to get it himself. And because the order was under my latest alias, Patricia - don’t ask - , the delivery guy was beyond surprised to see him, literally shaking as he handed over my chicken alfredo, Caesar salad and cheesecake from 12 South Bistro.

  “Appreciate you, bro. Have a good night,” Dre told him with a polite nod, already closing the door in his face as the guy stammered, “You… you too, Mr. Leonard.” And after locking the door behind him, Dre carried the food to my kitchen like he just owned the place - and the food - already unbagging it for me on the kitchen island as he started his story.

  “Aight, so… after I left the cookout at your father’s house, I drove to St. Louis.”

  “You drove to St. Louis?” I repeated, my eyes tight with confusion as he pushed the salad my way to eat first like he just knew that’s what I wanted.

  It was what I wanted. And once he slid the plastic fork my way, I dug right in, not even bothered by the pre-dressed lettuce as I listened to Dre explain, “Since my grandmother passed, my mother randomly has these episodes outside of her house; usually because of whatever she’s been smoking or drinking. She’ll be in the yard screaming, and crying, and just… having a big ass, dramatic meltdown.”

  My heart was already aching for a number of reasons, but I stayed quiet, balancing my attention between Dre and the salad as he continued, “Thankfully, the neighbors know to alert me when it happens instead of just calling the police even though this last one, I kinda wanted them to. But I’m glad they didn’t cause by the time I got there, my mother had sobered up enough to have a long-overdue conversation about what to do with my grandmother’s estate.”

  Because I knew how much his grandmother meant to him and what role his mother played in her passing, I had tons of questions about how they’d even gotten to the point of speaking. But it wasn’t my business to pry in quite yet, letting him get it all out when he sighed to finish, “So that’s why I’ve been away. We cleaned out the house, got it put on the market, and now we’re just waiting for a buyer.”

  Nodding, I shoved a bite of salad in my mouth before asking, “Your mother. Is she okay?”

  The way he sort of shrugged and chuckled in response had me confused until he explained, “Honestly, it’s a daily thing with her. Damn near an hourly thing. But we got her somewhere safe to stay temporarily until the house sales, and then we’re gonna use some of that money to put her in a nicer, long-term rehab facility.”

  It sounded like a great plan, one I was glad they’d agreed on even with their relationship being rocky. But because it wasn’t like him to hide much from me no matter how complicated, I also couldn’t help asking, “Dre, why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve come with you, or at least come to help.”

  Even with my busy schedule, there were pockets of time I could’ve made to be supportive of him the same way he’d done for me. But he didn’t exactly agree with that logic, rounding the island to take the barstool next to mine and reply, “It wasn’t your problem to deal with, Selena. This was something I needed to do on my own so that I could come back to the city free; so I could come back to you open.”

  Now that I knew the ins and outs of what he’d been up to all this time - trying to get his personal endeavors in order not only to benefit him but also to benefit us - I felt silly when I admitted, “I thought you might’ve relapsed.”

  “What?”

  Dropping my fork, I turned his way to explain, “You were being so vague, didn’t wanna talk on the phone or FaceTime, went missing on both me and the team with a “personal matter”. I thought maybe you had fell back on old habits.”

  From the look on his face, I could tell he was a little disappointed that that was where my thought process had taken me to. And in an effort to help him better understand how I got there, I was quick to add, “I also thought I had scared you off by introducing you to my father, so I pretty much exhausted every possible explanation for you being away.”

  The little laugh he let out made me feel a bit better even though it was paired with a frown when he asked, “Wait. Why would I trip off meeting your dad?”

  “I don’t know,” I whined, gnawing at my lip as I pushed out, “I was just pressed for an answer because I care about you, Dre. I care about you a lot. I care about you as my friend, as my coach, as the only person who can show up to my house in the middle of the night and not get sent away for not texting or calling first…”

  “Your greedy ass only opened the door cause you thought I was your food,” he interrupted with a smirk, reaching for my cheesecake until I slapped his hand.

  “That’s not the point, Dre. The point is, your well-being matters to me. And I don’t know how I feel about that if it means playing more games like today and spending more nights like this worried sick about you.”

  It might’ve sounded a little selfish. But considering how new things were with us, it would’ve been stupid of me to knowingly set myself up for a dynamic I didn’t want, Dre not exactly making me feel much better about it when he grabbed my hand to say, “Selena, I can’t make any promises cause I honestly don’t know what’s gonna happen. None of us do. But I need you to trust me when I tell you not to worry.”

  “Easier said than done; especially considering your history,” I sighed, watching as Dre’s face almost immediately scrunched into a frown.

  “My history with you, or my life history? Cause I know good and well I haven’t given you any reason to be suspicious about if I’m telling you the truth or not. But if you’re always gonna hold my past shit against me, I can save us both the time and just leave now.”

  The way he said it made my chest tight, letting me know I was already in a lot deeper than I was talking. Sure, “us” being a thing was new, but my feelings for Dre weren’t new at all. And they were honestly a little hurt until he grabbed my chin and expressed, “Look, Selena. I want this. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have shown up tonight fresh off the road; would’ve just caught you at practice tomorrow with everyone else. But your well-being matters to me too. I care about you too.”

  I would’ve been lying if I didn’t admit how much his words softened my stance, how much his touch softened me period. And honestly, the longer I looked into his eyes, the more I believed him; though I purposely pulled away from his hold and returned my attention to my salad when I asked, “Just don’t ever do that to me again, okay?”

  Popping up from his seat, he moved so that he could drape himself around me from behind and speak right into my ear. “I’m fuckin’ with an All-Star now. You think I’d purposely drop that ball?”

  “I am an All-Star, huh?” I bragged with a smirk, turning my face a little to share, “I also got picked to do the Three-Point Shootout which means we have some work to do in the gym.”

  If there was anyone I could count on to get me right for a shooting competition, it was Coach Leonard. Though apparently, that was the last thing on his mind w
hen he went full Dre and countered, “As long as we’re good. That’s what matters most.”

  I appreciated his focus, but I also couldn’t help turning around to face him completely when I asked, “Are you good? I mean, after going back to your hometown. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

  It was a tidbit he’d shared on the first day we met; that being back in St. Louis wasn’t good for him. And now that I knew so much more about his complicated relationship with the city, I understood why, again wishing I could’ve been there with him once he answered, “At first, it wasn’t. Being back in my grandmother’s house, that shit was honestly painful. But now I feel like I can really move forward with my life. And I hope that includes you.”

  “Whew. Come through with the flattery,” I teased with a smirk, playfully fanning myself until Dre caught my hands with a serious expression on his face.

  “I’m serious, Selena. I’ve always trusted you with the ball in your hands. But can I do the same with my heart?”

  The question gave me butterflies, my heart racing as Dre stared at me waiting for an answer. And honestly, my response didn’t take much thinking, my grin tripling in size once I told him, “As long as I can do the same with mine.”

  “I got you,” he replied with a confident nod that told me he held the responsibility in high regard, bending to press a lingering kiss against my forehead before returning to his seat. And now that we’d gotten that perfectly mushy moment out of the way, I couldn’t wait to comment on his choice of words regardless of how sweet they were, already laughing to myself when I picked up my fork and called him out.

  “Dre, you saw me air ball a buzzer-beater. Why on earth would you trust me with the ball in my hands?” I asked as I poked around what was left of my salad.

  Shrugging, he leaned into the island so that he could see my eyes when he assured me, “That was a fluke. I know you got it next time.”

  “Hopefully, there won’t be a next time,” I muttered more to myself than him, just the thought giving me a bit of anxiety since the last thing I wanted was two blown games on my record.