Homecourt Advantage

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Homecourt Advantage Page 28

by Rita Ewing


  Once they were alone, Paul said, “Brent?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Why do you think Coach fed us that crock?”

  “I have no idea, but that had to be the most bullshit I’ve ever heard him shovel. Something strange is going on.”

  Chapter 41

  Dawn sat on the living room sofa watching Michael quietly as he dashed back and forth between the kitchen and the laundry room. He had placed a sausage muffin in the microwave and was trying to find a pair of matching sweat socks in the dryer at the same time.

  She’d done a great deal of soul-searching during the last couple of weeks of silence between them. The decision she’d reached had not been easy, but it had been necessary just the same.

  She had gathered some essential personal items and was ready to move into the medical-resident housing complex at Columbia University until she found an affordable apartment in the city. She had exhausted all of her emotional energy dealing with Michael. First, he’d begged, whined, and cajoled, trying to convince her that nothing had been going on between him and that model even though she’d flat out busted them together. He had not admitted to anything about their relationship,certainly not to having become blinded by all his endorsements, money, and promised glory. Since arriving in New York, other than being a wonderful lover, Michael had been missing in action where their relationship was concerned. Dawn had not been able to get through to him before he’d cheated on her, and afterward, she hadn’t even tried. It hurt too much and she was tired of hurting.

  As the microwave timer buzzed, Michael flung the door open and grabbed the hot muffin. Dawn watched him blow on his steaming hot breakfast and then toss it onto the granite kitchen countertop. This was the longest time she had been in his presence since the Chicago incident.

  Michael had to notice her sitting in the living room watching him, but he would never let on. He was even more stubborn than she was now. Dawn knew that he would not speak to her until she broke the silence. She was certain that he assumed his initial begging and diamond-tennis-bracelet guilt bribe should have been sufficient for her to stop sulking. She knew he really thought she should just get over it. Normally she would have been the peacemaker in their relationship, but that role had begun to feel stale. She was not interested in keeping score. She simply wanted to tell him she was leaving. Watching him greedily gobble down his food, Dawn knew that Michael could have easily continued with this game of silence for months. She had outgrown these childish tactics.

  She let him finish eating his breakfast and figured that now was the best time to break the news to him. Just as Michael rinsed off his hands at the kitchen sink, Dawn rose from the couch and walked toward him.

  Standing with the kitchen counter between them, Michael gave her one of those killer smiles that usually made her heart melt.

  “So you finally ready to kiss and make up now?” Michael said, continuing to grin.

  Dawn smiled weakly, unable to speak.

  “I know these past few weeks have been hard. Let’s just forget about it and move on,” Michael said, still grinning from ear to ear.

  Dawn managed to shake her head as she felt the tears sting her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” Michael said, moving around the kitchen counter toward her.

  Dawn instinctively backed away from him before he could reach her. “Michael, don’t …” Dawn began, fighting back the tears. “Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  Michael stopped a few feet short of Dawn and stared at her. “You’re scaring me, Dawn. You’re looking at me like you don’t even know me,” Michael said, taking another step forward.

  Dawn lifted her balled-up left fist and held it in midair for a few seconds before speaking. “Michael … I love you. I admire you, I don’t think I’ll ever get over you, but I’m going to have to give this back to you,” Dawn said as she opened her fist and placed the five-carat diamond engagement ring on the kitchen counter.

  Michael only stared in disbelief. “I … I don’t understand, Dawn.”

  “I know you don’t, Michael,” Dawn said, unable to stop a lone tear from rolling down her flushed cheek.

  “But, Dawn … I told you that girl in Chicago didn’t mean nothing to me. I told you she was just going to be in a photo shoot with me. That’s all it was. Why you gotta go and give me the ring back? It wasn’t that deep,” Michael said, sounding flustered.

  “Exactly, Michael. It was not that deep, for you. That’s the problem. You don’t get it. You just aren’t listening,” Dawn said, walking back toward the couch to pick up her small duffel.

  Michael ran up behind her and snatched the bag out of her hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” Michael said, still holding her luggage.

  “Michael, you should thank me. I’m letting you off easy. Now you don’t have to hear my nagging anymore.” Dawn reached for her bag.

  Michael pulled the bag so it was out of her reach. “Come on, Dawn. You don’t want to leave. Everything’s gonna be all right. We can have a nice dinner tonight after the game and then we can come home and snuggle … Well, not tonight ‘cause I’m leavin', but … but maybe when I get back from Los Angeles. Come on, baby. I know this isn’t what you want,” Michael pleaded.

  “You’re right. It’s not what I want …” Dawn began.

  “And neither do I. We can work this out.”

  “And after you get back from California, then what? What do we do then?” Dawn asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

  “Then it’s me and you. We’ll concentrate on our relationship. I promise.”

  “Until your next flavor of the month or your next call from Jake or your next photo shoot or until you have some other basketball-related commitment that causes you to run off and leave me again. Until you can put off marriage once again. I don’t want your broken promises anymore. I’m sick of trying to convince you that I’m worthy enough to marry. I’m sick of the people in your life making decisions for you and for me. All this extra stuff that comes along with you wanting to be the biggest sports star in the world, which Nike ad you get next, which billboard you’re going to grace next—all that stuff is frivolous and has no place in a relationship. At least not with me. I just wanted you. I’m tired of always coming second in your, life, Michael,” Dawn said, resolutely shaking her head.

  “Dawn, what about your work? As much time as you spend at that hospital, it’s not like you put me first either,” Michael countered.

  “Stop trying to bullshit me again, Michael. You’re just rationalizing your behavior. You know that’s different. When I’m at the hospital, that’s work, and I leave it there where it belongs. When I’m at home with you, I’m all yours. And you know what else? I’m ready, willing, and able to be all yours for the rest of my life. You can’t say the same thing. You’re not ready for a committed relationship, Michael, but I am and I want it from you. Can you say you want the same thing from me?” Dawn said as she stared at the only man she’d ever truly loved.

  Michael dejectedly sat down on the sofa and dropped Dawn’s bag to the floor.

  “I didn’t think so,” Dawn said, leaning down to retrieve her bag as Michael grasped her arm.

  Dawn remained in the same position for a few moments as her eyes and Michael’s locked in unspoken understanding. Pulling herself back up, Dawn smiled at Michael through her pain.

  “Dawn, wait … don’t,” Michael said.

  Dawn leaned down once more and gave him a deep kiss full on the mouth before she pulled away for the last time. “Michael. It’s okay. Itreally is. You’ll be fine. Our relationship has run its course. That happens. I guess it’s a part of growing up.” Her own words ripped at her heart.

  She stared at Michael long and hard once more before she left the apartment that used to be theirs. He looked to her like a distraught little boy who had just lost his first pet, and as she walked out the front door, she knew he would be fine. As the tears relentlessly strea
med down her face, she only hoped she would recover.

  Chapter 42

  Remy’s hand shook uncontrollably as she inserted the key in the door. Collin had given it to her the year before, telling her that she was always welcome in his home. Popping in on Collin without calling first had never been her style, but on this particular occasion she did not care about such formalities.

  Liza, her agent, had telephoned her earlier this morning in Toronto and told her about the New York Post article.

  Collin had not left Remy any other choice except to find out the truth for herself.

  As Remy eased the door open, she heard talking that sounded like it was coming from the library. Stepping inside Collin’s foyer, she softly shut the thick oak door behind her. As much as Remy believed she had a right to know what was really going on, she still felt as if she was sneaking up on Collin.

  After Liza had read the article to Remy and described the photo, Remy knew she had to confront Collin in person. She had fled herhotel room determined to catch the first flight to New York. An array of emotions had raced through her mind as she sat on the airplane. For months now, she had to admit that her conversations with Collin had been strained. Even though an unspoken distance had crept between them, Remy had assumed the main reason for his aloofness was the Flyers’ play-off pressures, not that he was having a relationship with someone else—well, she had to admit the thought had crossed her mind. But never did she suspect that it was with another man. It was just too devastating to believe.

  As she walked through the dimly lit foyer toward the library, the unmistakable smell of blueberry bagels drifted through the air. She and Collin used to eat them whenever she spent the night. Now she became increasingly nervous as she physically neared the man she had been so emotionally tied to over the last three years. She had no idea what she was going to say.

  When she entered the cherry-wood library, Collin was sitting on his hunter green leather sofa with the phone in one hand and the other one reassuringly on Phil’s shoulder as if he were consoling him. Phil was sitting at Collin’s feet on the floor in front of the coffee table, reading a magazine. The picture worth a thousand words was right there before her—domestic bliss. Pain sliced through her. Remy felt sick to her stomach. She felt humiliated and betrayed. The two men worked together. Phil had always been so friendly toward her. She had thought he and Collin were like brothers. It was embarrassing watching the two men in such an intimate scene. The lone, strong woman who had for the first time in a relationship lowered her shield of armor felt a thousand things. Remy used to be the one sitting between Collin’s legs on the floor; now she was an intruder. Too stunned to say anything, she remained transfixed.

  She searched for words that refused to come. This could not be happening.

  Remy closed her eyes for a moment in hopes of regaining her composure. When she opened them, Phil was sitting up ramrod-straight staring at her. Collin abruptly hung up the phone. No one said anything as time was suspended and the room took on a surreal quality.

  Both men rose at the same time—fumbling, looking ashamed andguilty. They were both parties to the deceit. Collin took a few steps toward Remy while Phil began straightening the papers on the coffee table.

  Remy’s eyes bored into Collin’s, questioningly. Why? Why hadn’t he told her? Numbness crept inside her, replacing the hysteria and nervousness she had felt in the taxi ride on her way from Kennedy Airport. As her defense mechanisms were kicking in, Collin continued to walk toward her with sorrow in his eyes.

  “I … I think I better go,” Phil said, grabbing a sweater that had been flung over a wing chair in the corner of the library.

  Phil did not look at Remy or Collin as he brushed past them leaving the room. The effect of his presence lingered on.

  Remy felt as if her knees were going to buckle. She leaned against the wall closest to the door, farthest from Collin. Betrayal had previously been foreign to her; now the feeling penetrated her heart.

  “Remy …” Collin began, with his hands up in the air as if offering something. “Remy. I’m so sorry about this. I never meant for this to happen, but—”

  Remy held up her hand to silence him. “How long have you been lying to me?”

  “Remy, it was not like that … I …”

  “How long, Collin? How long has this affair,“ Remy said, spitting out the word “affair” with contempt, “been going on between the two of you?”

  “Remy, it’s not an affair,” Collin said flatly.

  “Well, whatever you want to call it!” Remy’s rage broke through the numb, hollow, empty space and propelled her. “Have you been doing it right under my nose all this time? That would certainly be convenient with all the late night business meetings the two of you had.”

  “Remy, please,” Collin began.

  “Or did you just wait until I was out of town so you could sneak around behind my back?” Remy said, strong enough inside now to move away from the wall.

  “Please, Remy, it’s much more complicated than that. I don’t expect you to understand right away, but please give me a chance to explain. You have every right to be angry.”

  “How did it work, Collin? Huh?” Remy said, beginning to piece things together. “No wonder you always looked so damn giddy on your postgame shows. You got to be with your lover, didn’t you? Let’s see, what did the article say? That the two of you have been seen gazing into each other’s eyes all around town. Is that it? Did you take your boyfriend to our spots, too, or did you pick some new hang-outs?” Remy said, feeling the rage strengthening her.

  Collin fell back down onto the sofa and began rubbing his temples. “All right, Remy.”

  “All right, Remy, what? Is this the point where I finally get the truth or do I have to read about it in part two of the Post exclusive, ‘Lovers at Play—Again'?” Remy said, mocking the headline as she walked into the library and snatched up a copy of the New York Post lying on the coffee table.

  Remy studied the photograph of Collin and Phil on the cover and began shaking her head back and forth. “Did you think about how I would have to pick my humiliated ass off the floor? About my image, my career? Oh, and let’s not forget about my feelings.”

  Gently he took the paper from her. “The freak show’s over. I have no excuse, I’m sorry—I couldn’t stop it. Please, Remy, I couldn’t help what I felt.”

  “Couldn’t you have postponed the public displays of affection until you at least broke it off with your girlfriend?” Remy said, clutching her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white.

  “Remy—”

  “So now what?” Remy said, looking at Collin with her head cocked to the side.

  Collin did not respond.

  “Well? How do I go on, Collin? How do I hold my head up—and maybe go on to trust another man?”

  “Stop, Remy.”

  “ ‘Stop, Remy?’ When was Remy going to find out the truth? I ought to be thankful to the Post. I might not have ever known the true Collin.”

  “Remy …” Collin struggled as he covered his face with both hands and began to cry.

  Remy looked at this mammoth jock of a man so visibly tormented. “Collin, how long have you known that you’re gay?”

  “Remy I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I lied to you,” Collin said in anguish, still covering his face.

  “How long have you known, Collin?” Remy pressed.

  Remy watched as Collin began to rock back and forth on the couch.

  “Collin? Was it before we even started dating?”

  Collin slowly removed his hands from his face, revealing red eyes and damp cheeks. “Probably. It probably was.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear. Good-bye, Collin,” Remy said, turning on her heel.

  Remy hurried out of his apartment and into the hallway. Banging on the elevator call button, she tried to control the emotions and tears that were welling up within her. She felt as if her best friend, her lover, and a part of herself
had just died.

  Chapter 43

  “Who wants to get their ass kicked? It’s all about the Benjamins’ baby!” Steve said, throwing a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the airplane seat next to Brent.

  “Didn’t we get our asses kicked enough for one night?” Brent said, completely disinterested in the card game and wanting to stay engrossed in the latest book he was reading, Stupid White Men, by Michael Moore. The Flyers had lost game two to the Lakers, 78–109. No one was shooting well, least of all Brent. Good as his word, Coach had benched both Collin and Steve.

  “Might as well take our minds off of it. There’s nothing we can do about our fucked-up coach this late in the series,” Steve said as he began to shuffle a deck of cards. “How ‘bout you, Paul? You feel like a game of blackjack?”

  “I don’t feel like doing shit except strangling Coach,” Paul said in disgust as he stared out the window.

  Steve walked to Rick’s seat. “Rick, my man! Now, I know you’re good for a game. I think tonight might be your lucky night. I’ll even start with two hundred for you,” Steve said, leaning back and winking at Brent.

  Brent shook his head as Steve attempted to entice Rick. Everyone knew Rick never turned down an offer to win some money. The whole team knew about Rick’s gambling problems and his mounting debts.

  “What? You hear that, fellas? Rick doesn’t want to win any money tonight!” Steve said, looking back over his shoulder toward Brent and Paul. “Are you feeling all right, Rick?” Steve teased as he placed his hand up against Rick’s forehead.

  “Get your hand off me, man!” Rick began, smacking Steve’s hand away. “I’m trying to get some sleep. Just ‘cause you didn’t play tonight don’t mean nobody else ain’t tired. Shit, you try guarding Shaquille’s big ass for forty minutes in one night.”

  “All right, man. That’s cool. You don’t got to get so sensitive.” Steve got up and started walking back toward Brent. “That’s never stopped you before, but that’s cool.” Steve sat on the edge of Brent’s seat and grinned sheepishly.

 

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