Full Court Press

by Sierra Hill

  “Or is it true that you’re making an example out of him and you’ve pulled him from starting the first three games of the season? Do you deny this, Coach?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I’m screwed. We’re screwed.

  Me. Coach. The team. My parents.

  Everyone is now going to know about this. The idea that this little incident could be swept under the rug and kept secret was a serious miscalculation on our part. My attorney and my father had promised me that the court records, although public, wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands or cause widespread interest. Coach kept this between a select few so as to avoid it swirling around and creating a media shit-show.

  No such luck. Now it would go national and be a matter of public opinion. Instead of the media focusing on my stats and abilities on the court, my personal life would now overshadow my accomplishments as a player. Over one stupid, minor indiscretion and lapse in judgment.

  My dad is going to go ape shit. He already read me the riot act – not once, but twice since the night of my arrest. And the last time I saw him was the day I met with Coach. The day I was informed of my suspension from the first three games.

  Most of the team doesn’t know about it yet. Coach said to keep it on the down low and that he’d inform the entire team during our first team meeting, which is coming up in a few weeks. But now the cat is out of the proverbial bag and the bomb has been dropped. And it has currently exploded all over my fucking life.

  I suddenly feel like my shirt collar is choking me and my chest has been rammed with a wrecking ball. I’m having trouble breathing, my lungs are filled with lead. I can feel the wide-eyed stares of my teammates. I hear some snickers of disapproval from the audience.

  Looking over to my left, I notice Lance has his head down and is picking at an invisible spot on his dress pants. The fucker doesn’t even look up.

  And Carver. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath and his mouth is formed in a tight line, forehead etched with lines of anger and concern. For all the crazy-ass stunts this guy has pulled over the years, and the trouble he’s gotten me into, Carver is a decent guy. A true friend who I know has my back no matter what. As the team captain, it’s painfully obvious he’s disappointed this came out this way and he wants to help me fight my battle. Unfortunately, there’s nothing he can do or say that won’t implicate me further.

  There’s no way out of this. I have to face the music. Take it like a man.

  My attention goes back to Coach Welby, who is now about to lose his shit, based on the severe twitch in his eyes, and have it out with this weasel of a reporter.

  “On the court, Kincaid Griffin is a warrior,” Coach compliments me, turning his head to look me directly in the eyes. “He led this team last season with an average of 20.6 points per game. I love coaching him and I’m thankful I have the opportunity to continue coaching him during his last season with the Sun Devils. I’ve watched him over the last three seasons develop into a great basketball player, athlete and even better man. His enthusiasm and drive are unmatched, and he’s a great mentor for his younger teammates. As with all my players, Griff has grown up by making mistakes. But like all of us, including myself, it’s how you handle those mistakes that will be remembered. I’m proud of Griff’s character and his ability to accept responsibility for his actions. And I’m thrilled that he’ll continue to play out his senior year at ASU.”

  I’m a little awestruck at Coach’s kind words. While I’m not his top player, I’m an integral part of the team and I’ve never been in this kind of trouble before now. Yeah, my stats are good. Solid. But unremarkable next to some other players on the team or in the division. I’m thankful I have a good relationship with Coach.

  “Coach Welby, you didn’t answer my question. Is Kincaid Griffin suspended from playing this season?”

  Coach’s reply is curt and quick. “No. Next question.”

  Technically, he answered the question truthfully. I haven’t been suspended for the entire season. I still get to practice with my team, but I just won’t get court time during our first three pre-season games. Which of course sucks but it’s not the end of the world.

  By looking at the downtrodden faces of my teammates, I know they’re pissed at me right now. Worried that it could hurt our record. But the first three games are pre-season, and don’t have much weight against our season standings. I’m determined to come back stronger, better, and more focused than ever before.

  Mark my words. Nothing will be a distraction.

  The press conference ended ten minutes ago and the team now sits in the large screening room in the athletic facility that we use for pre-game prep and discussions. I’m flanked by Van on one side and Christian Lancaster, our center, who towers over everyone at six-foot-eleven, on the other. Carver and Lance sit across from me in our oval-shaped conference style seating, all the guys still in our dress suits. There’s a low murmur of hushed whispers, but otherwise it’s quiet. Waiting for the boom to come down.

  And then Coach and the assistant coaches walk in, shutting the door closed behind them with an ominous click. Coach W stands at the front, near the whiteboard, and his gaze travels across the room. His eyes land on me for a second and then move on.

  “Gentleman, you all did great out there. I know talking to the press falls pretty low on your list of favorite things – but you all spoke with the perfect balance of enthusiasm, attitude and humility.” We all chuckle a little at that, because some of the guys are pretty arrogant when they tout their abilities and achievements.

  Coach clears his throat. “Now, in light of what you all just heard about Griffin…I’m sorry if that was a surprise for many of you. I specifically asked that Griff keep it under wraps. Technically, what occurred this past summer was a personal matter and did not affect the team in any way. However, now that it’s come to light, I’m going to use this as a teaching moment for all of you. I expect – no, I demand – that you all follow the law, and the rules of this program, pre, post and during the season. None of you pussies are above it. I will not tolerate reckless behavior and law breaking. Now…Griff is paying for his mistakes through the court ordered probation and I’ve also suspended him from the first three games of the season.”

  The room is filled with groans and mumbled curses.

  Yeah, I feel like a fuck-up. I hate letting my team down.

  “Cade, you got anything you want to say?”

  My jaw drops open and my head jerks up, feeling the penetrating stares of the guys in the room, all looking at me. Some with disdain. Others with sympathy. And my brothers who know me the best with support and encouragement.

  I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts, straightening my shoulders back against the uncomfortable chair.

  “Thanks Coach,” I begin, my voice a little rocky. “I made a stupid decision recently. I was busted for a DUI and underage drinking. I’m lucky because the situation could have been far worse and the punishment harsher than it was. I’m paying my dues, serving community service and owning up to my mistake.”

  My eyes scan the room, taking into account all the guys who have been by my side over the last several years on the team. We don’t always get along, or agree on things, especially when it comes to basketball, but we all respect each other. And I don’t want them to lose the respect they have for me. That would be the worst punishment of all. Because it’s what I value the most.

  “I’m sorry, guys, that my behavior and mistakes have impacted this team. You’re all my brothers. You don’t deserve to have to carry the burden of my mistake.”

  I hang my head in shame for a brief moment. When I look back up, I find Coach at the front of the room. “I appreciate all the support I’ve received from Coach W. He didn’t have to stand by me, but he did. And I can’t thank him enough for being there for me. I will work hard to make sure none of this shit affects the team or our upcoming season, because I know we’re gonna have a kick-ass year. And mark my words – we will
get to the championship. So who’s with me?”

  My voice grows louder and my words more emphatic as I neared the end of my speech. And when I finish, there’s a brief moment of silence before a loud burst of cheers flood the room like a dam opening up and the water crushing through the barriers. It fills me excitement, hope and an incredible sense of belonging. And a little bit of sadness, as I know this will all be over soon. Once I graduate and my college career comes to an end, the comradery and brotherhood in this room right now will be a distant memory. But one that I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

  The team begins to disperse after the Coach concludes our meeting, and a few guys come up and give me their support. Pats on the back, bro hugs, and laughter go a long way in making things right. But I still feel a sense of remorse and shame. Like I’ve tarnished what could be the beginning of a great new year. It’s my worst fear that this will haunt me the remaining six months of my final season.

  Van stands up and moves toward me. When he’s directly in front of me, his hair falling around his shoulders, he reaches out for my hand and gives me his usual bro handshake. I accept it with gratitude.

  “Dude, I’m sorry about your situation. That really sucks.”

  I nod my head in agreement.

  “Yeah, thanks man. It is what it is. I’m moving forward and trying to put it behind me.”

  “Good to hear. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, okay? You’re a big part of this team and I won’t let others talk smack about you.” He turns and grabs his gym bag from the floor by the chair he just vacated.

  “You bet. Thanks, bro. Thanks for having my back.”

  Van’s hair slips around his face, covering a portion of his ears. He usually wears it in a manbun with a headband when he’s playing, or underneath a beanie, so it’s weird to see it hanging loose. I guess chicks dig the look, but I don’t get it. Seems like a lot of hassle to me. I like my cropped do. No fuss, no muss. And Ainsley doesn’t seem to mind it, either.

  In fact, she likes to grab on to the short hairs when I’m between her legs, either pushing my head harder to her or yanking me up after I’ve made her come with my mouth.

  The thought of going down on Ainsley has me sporting wood. I mentally tell my dick to quiet the fuck down, but he knows what he wants. And that’s Ainsley. Aside from our brief chat in the library earlier, it’s been days since I’ve been with her. Which sucks. Our schedules always seem to get in the way. She hasn’t even had time yet to introduce me to her mom or her sister. I’m not sure if she’s just leery of the introduction or if there’s something she’s trying to hide.

  My mother loves Ainsley already. Called me the day after I brought her over for dinner and told me what a lovely, bright girl I’d chosen. And I’m looking forward to when she meets my sisters over the holidays. I know they’ll love her, too. And just like that, my mood has brightened exponentially as I think about the upcoming holidays with Ainsley, even though it’s not yet October.

  Carver still gives me shit about settling down with Ainsley. He just can’t wrap his head around being with one girl all the time. He’s the biggest man-ho I know, and has no less than three girls a week. It amazes me that he continues to find new chicks to hook-up with. Although he’s a great friend, I’d never let him anywhere near my sisters. He treats girls like they’re disposable. Even knowing his reputation, girls still look at him with starry eyes and the hope that they’ll be the one to change his tune.

  Fat chance, ladies.

  The room has cleared out and I stand alone toward the back, with the exception of Coach Welby and our head trainer, Scotty. They finish up their chat as Scotty heads out the door, and Coach centers his attention on me.

  His voice fills the room, laced with sympathy and disappointment. “Well, Griff. It went as good as could be expected.” He begins, signaling for me to join him at the front of the room. “I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep it away from the press for too long, but at least it’s out there in the open now so we can move forward and focus on getting you ready for the season.”

  I come to a stop in front of him, my head inclined slightly because Coach is even taller than me. He’d played college ball back in his day and is a minimum six-foot-eight. My eyes are cast downward until I find the grip of his huge hand on my shoulder.

  “You did great today, Griff. I’m proud of you. And honestly, I’ve seen guys with a lot less character screw up far worse than you and come out of it without even a scratch.”

  Coach is referring to Tashawn Bryce, a former player when I was a red-shirted freshman. He was arrested and charged, but subsequently cleared, of rape charges when he was a senior. It was an ugly situation, where the school and the authorities were at odds with the public. The entire fiasco brought down a firestorm of bans across the entire athletic programs and put in stricter penalties for student athletes who were accused of criminal activities.

  I remember at the time that the public outcry was harsh. Fans boycotted the games. They posted scathing remarks on social media sites, all shouting for reform and how the system was corrupt because the accused always got off scott-free due to their athletic status. And maybe that is true. Justice is blind.

  A part of me is pissed that my case went in front of the judge and didn’t get dropped when Tashawn’s charges were ten times bigger than mine. The evidence against him was damning, and yet he still got away with only a slap on the wrist. It stands to reason that it was because he was a big name and a huge prospect for the NBA. He was actually drafted first round by the Cavs.

  Sadly, last year, more charges were filed against him. This time, it was caught on video and he was prosecuted for felony rape and kidnapping charges. Jesus. How does that even happen? It makes me sick to my stomach that he could get away with a crime while he was a student and then perpetrate a similar act again. The victims in all this – the women in these cases. There was not justice immediately, but a zebra doesn’t change his stripes. He was convicted in the end.

  But since that incident, the school has a zero tolerance policy. And that’s why Coach had to suspend me for the first three games. I understand it and don’t fault him for doing what is right. I am the fuck-up in this situation. And I was determined to clean up my image. To be a better team mate. Be a good citizen. And turn things around for my future.

  “Thanks Coach,” I say, determined to remain humble and prove that I’m worthy of his admiration. “I know I made you and the team look bad out there, and I’m really sorry. That’s not what I want to remembered for. I’ll work my ass off this year to make sure I leave in good standing.”

  He nods. “I know you will, kid. I have faith in you.”

  The words he says, full of confidence and pride, have me choking back tears. My own father has never even told me this. Never declared his love or adoration toward me, or any of his children, I’m sure.

  I’d tried so hard as a kid to please my dad. To be the son my dad wanted me to be. But I could never live up to his expectations. My dad was an asshole who just wanted a trophy wife and family. The only time he’d say anything remotely complimentary about me was in front of others who he wanted to impress. He never once paid me a compliment in private.

  I have mad respect for Coach Welby. He is a fantastic coach. A great man who cares about his men.

  I want to grow up to be like him. Because I’ll be damned if I’ll be anything like my dad.

  Starting with how I treat the women in my life.

  The problem is, I haven’t mentioned anything about my fuck-up to Ainsley yet. I’ve been too scared she’d look at me differently, so I haven’t brought it up. I’ve got to go find her and tell her the story before she finds out about this from anyone else.

  I just hope it isn’t too late.

  17

  Ainsley

  If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of my life, especially as an outcome of being raised by a mother with chemical dependency and a mental illness, it’s th
at whenever things are going really well in life, you can damn well be sure that something is bound to happen to burst your bubble.

  Call me cynical, or pessimistic, or whatever you want, but that’s the way it goes. And the same holds true now. The last month with Cade has been an amazing journey and I can’t help but thank my lucky stars that we met and I gave him a chance. Yet I’ve had this growing concern that I’ve harbored, feeling that something is off with Cade. Like there is something he wasn’t telling me. And I’ve been walking around on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  And today’s that day.

  “Hey, Ains. Your boyfriend’s on TV. Wow, he looks really good. So hot.” Kimmi exclaims with a girly giggle, wiggling her eyebrows as she turns up the volume on the small television we have in the kitchen breakroom.

  I swat her shoulder as I walk by because she’s so irritatingly sweet. Aside from Mica, she’s the only female friend I’ve shared my feelings about Cade with. My sister and mom know I’m dating someone, but I’ve not given too much detail, sidestepping any introductions. Maybe it’s my lack of faith that things between Cade and me will last, or maybe I don’t want to jinx my relationship. I fear that once he meets my mom, he’ll question why he’s even with me.

  It’s been so busy over the last few days and I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, leaving no time for Cade. I know he’s frustrated, and it’s eating at him, and I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but work, school, and Anika come first. It makes me sad, and I long for a life where I could be a normal girl.

  Although I saw him briefly yesterday before he went to his team press conference, we didn’t get any alone time together.

  And let me tell you, that alone time is pretty damn impossible not to want.

  Just the thought of what Cade does to me in the bedroom makes my lady parts tingle. In fact, I have to squeeze my legs together to get rid of the ache that he manages to cause even when he’s not around.