The Fadeaway: A Smart Jocks Novel

by Jenshak, Rebecca

  “Victor on his way?”

  Her jaw tenses. “He’ll be here.”

  I try not to let her intimidate me as I take a seat next to her. She’s so angry, or maybe hurt, and I know my being here is probably making things harder, but I’m having a real hard time walking away.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “It’s fine. You can’t help how you feel. Or don’t feel,” she adds.

  “I’d do anything for you or Christian. It kills me that I wasn’t here last night when you needed me, but I don’t do love and relationships so we’re just delaying the inevitable. I care about you too much to do that to you or him.”

  “Why is that?”

  Determined and angry isn’t a side of Katrina I’ve seen before. She’s fucking scary.

  “I just don’t. Why does it matter?”

  “No, that’s not good enough. I want to know why?”

  “The last time I was in a relationship it ended horribly. It’s not a path I want to go down again.”

  “In high school? How bad could it have ended?” The way she says it I know she’s picturing my high school days differently than hers. Easy – the way my life is now. Easy comes at a cost. The price, deep and meaningful connections.

  “My high school girlfriend got pregnant.”

  Her mouth forms an O and I can practically see her trying to guess what might have happened.

  “For months she let me believe we were going to be a family. I was all in. I would have done anything for them. Which is why I was so shocked when the baby was born, and my girlfriend told me she wasn’t sure it was mine. She’d slept with someone else while we were together and couldn’t be sure. Would have been helpful knowledge before I held that baby girl in my arms. She wasn’t mine, of course, but for those months leading up to it and those two days after she was born when I thought she was… I loved her so damn much.” Fuck, if I concentrate hard enough, I swear I can still smell the top of her newborn head. Voice like gravel, I force myself to continue. If Katrina deserves nothing else, she deserves the truth. “I never saw it coming.”

  Katrina stays quiet, her lips pulled into a sad frown.

  “I admire you, Kitty. I know how brave you were to have Christian and raise him basically on your own. I just…” My voice cracks and I screw my eyes shut as I say the words. “I vowed never to get that close to someone again. Not to put myself in a position where I don’t have control over the situation. And with Christian in the picture, it just makes it that much harder for me. What if things end badly for us? Losing both of you, I just…”

  “I’m sorry she did that to you. That’s really shitty.”

  A rough chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Yeah.”

  “It’s what makes Joel, Joel.”

  I grind down on my back molars. Polly’s actions making me who I am is bullshit. I’ve moved on. Except, just the thought of her makes me so angry I can’t see straight. I’m pissed at a girl I haven’t seen in almost four years and at myself for falling for her in the first place. And doubly pissed it’s fucking with what’s probably the best thing to ever happen to me.

  “But, Joel, there are no guarantees. Not for you. Not for me. What she did was unfathomable, but do you really want to spend the rest of your life not trusting anyone enough to let them close? You deserve so much more. And I do too.”

  A knock at the door breaks the moment and Katrina goes to answer it while I stand and try to erase all the emotions Kitty has brought out in me. I gotta get out of here. I move to the door and the man walking inside eyes me carefully. Katrina looks between us.

  “Victor, this is Joel. Joel, this is Christian’s father, Victor.”

  Christian cries out and Katrina steps toward his room. “I’ll be right back.”

  I offer my hand to Victor. “It’s good to meet you. You’ve got a great son.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he says, not letting go of my hand past the point of polite. I release, letting him have the upper hand.

  “Well, I should get going.” I motion in the direction Katrina went. “Tell them I said goodbye.”

  “Sure, man.”

  I step toward the door and then turn back. “Take care of them. And, uh, I know it’s not my place, but Katrina is the type of girl who won’t ask for help even when she needs it. And she needs it – they need you. You should have been here already, but you know that.”

  Knowing I’ve overstepped my boundaries, I give him a curt nod and leave.

  37

  Katrina

  All of campus is talking about the game tonight. Blue and yellow floods University Hall. The café has been busy, students and professors alike getting their caffeine in anticipation to a late night watching the first round of the tournament.

  One week. Seven days. Long, excruciatingly empty days without Joel. He hasn’t texted, not that I expected him to. The fantasy is officially over.

  It’s the first Thursday, outside of holidays and school breaks, that Joel has missed, and I can’t help but wonder if he’d have come even if he weren’t in Salt Lake City.

  Gabby appears at the back of the line and waves. I’m so happy to see her I focus and get the four orders in front of her done quickly.

  “Hey!” I say when she’s finally at the counter. “What are you doing here?”

  She’s not taking classes on campus, so her presence means she’s come to see me.

  “I wanted to invite you to The Hideout tonight. It’s my first night working all on my own and Blair, Vanessa, and some of the baseball guys are coming to watch the game.” She looks at me hopefully. “And for moral support. Please? I need at least one table that I know won’t yell at me.”

  Gabby has a way of pulling smiles from people without even meaning to and I feel the first crack of a real honest to God smile since Joel broke my heart.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. Christian is with Victor this weekend.”

  And I could use the distraction. I know I won’t be able to not watch the game and watching the game can only lead to thinking of Joel. As if I’ve done anything but that this past week.

  “Great. Thank you.” She leans over the counter and hugs my neck. “My shift starts at six.”

  The rest of the day goes by without too much dwelling on my shitty week, and when the game starts and I’m sitting between Blair and Clark, a friend of Mario’s from the baseball team, I almost feel good.

  Almost.

  Part of me is even excited to see Joel on the flat screens plastered on every wall. Except it’s not the real Joel. It’s some solemn, defeated looking impersonator. As the halftime buzzer sounds and the announcers begin to discuss the first half of the game, I realize he’s just as miserable as me and it shows in his less than stellar performance.

  Maybe it’s stupid of me to not be jumping up and down at this knowledge, but if Joel isn’t going to be with me, I want him to go back to the charming easy-going guy I longed for. I don’t want or need his pain. It certainly doesn’t make my own misery feel better to have company.

  “This was supposed to be an easy game,” Mario says as Gabby brings a new pitcher to our table.

  I’m still shocked that Gabby took a job at the most popular college hangout. Half the time she’s hiding behind her hair hoping no one will notice her, but there is no hiding her gorgeous blonde hair and “remarkable ass.” That from Clark who, bless his heart, tried to say it as a compliment but sent Gabby running back behind the bar.

  The rest of the table weighs in on the game, but I stop listening and pull out my phone.

  I know there is very little chance that the guys spend halftime checking their phones, but I do know someone that may just be able to get a message to him.

  * * *

  Joel

  Coach’s suit jacket is tossed over a chair and he’s currently pulling at his tie. What a shitty first half. Florida Gulf is playing the half of their lives, but even so, we should be destroying them. Shaw, our rookie point man, is overwhelmed
in his first tournament game and I’m tossing up bricks.

  Letting go of distractions and focusing on the present is something athletes learn to do when they get to a competitive level. It’s necessity. For some players, they switch gears and are able to leave it all off the court, some use bad days to fuel their motivation. To be honest, I’ve never really needed to develop a coping mechanism. After Polly, I turned off that part of my brain, not just when I was playing ball but all the time. Until Katrina.

  “Moreno,” Coach’s voice pulls me out of my own thoughts. “Gonna let you start the second half, but I’ve got Johnson on standby if you can’t pull it together.”

  Spectacular.

  Z nudges me, giving me a silent pep talk with his serious gaze.

  Coach gives us our final marching orders for the plan of attack, and we stand to head back onto the court.

  “Hey,” Wes motions with his head and I hang back.

  “Dude, I swear to God if you give me another pep talk about heart, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

  He chuckles. “Damn, I need new material.” He passes me his phone. “I think this is better than whatever I could have come up with.”

  Confused, but intrigued, I take his phone and see a text from Katrina.

  Wes pats me on the back. “See you out there, man.”

  I sit back on the bench in front of the lockers and run a towel over my forehead. Let out a breath and read.

  Kitty: If you’re reading this after the game and you lost, well, just stop reading. But in the off chance, Wes is able to get this to you at halftime, here goes…

  You said once that I was your lucky charm. I don’t know if you were telling the truth or not, but there is a whole bar of people at The Hideout about to riot so here’s hoping.

  I gave this careful consideration and I’ve decided to go with wisdom from someone I know you’ll listen to, yourself. Ready? Winners want the ball. Yep, that's it. And if that doesn’t work, then just know, for whatever it’s worth, I believe in you.

  Read it three times before I stand, knowing I need to get out there but wanting to let her words motivate me. A lot of questions and thoughts of Kitty pull at my focus, but there’ll be time later to decipher the way it makes me feel to know she has my back even when I’ve given her every reason not to.

  Wes is waiting for me outside the locker room. Should have guessed. He looks me up and down carefully. “You good?”

  I hand him the phone. “Yeah, all good.”

  The sound of the band playing “Tequila,” the echo of basketballs hitting the wooden floor, I let it soothe something inside of me that I wasn't able to before Katrina's message.

  Fifteen thousand fans are here. This is what I live for – doing what I love in front of thousands of people. Giving them something to hope for, to cheer for. For two hours, they get to leave everything else behind. It’s more than a game. It’s a chance to be part of something bigger than myself.

  Wes pulls out the dry erase clipboard he held under one arm and glances down at what looks like a list. A long list.

  "Got a few notes for me, Coach Dubya?"

  He grins. "Thinking you should attack the basket this half."

  I play my best ball on the outside – long shots, jumpers, and fadeaways – that's my clutch move. I’m real good at the fadeaway. The best. On the court and off. You can’t guard someone who shoots and moves backward. You just can’t. I’ve staked my future and my personal life on that one move.

  "But they’ve got Louis down low. Man's a brick wall."

  "Yeah, which is why they aren't expecting it. I think you can get two or three good drives off him before they adjust and then start looking to Z and Malone. Don't need it to work all night, just to rattle them and gain some momentum."

  Florida Gulf is a fifteen seed - nobody expected them to give us trouble tonight. Wes is right, if we get some momentum and throw them off, they'll likely crumble.

  "Alright. Far be it for me to go against your years of coaching experience."

  Relief smooths out his features. “Alright then. Let’s have a game.”

  Yeah, let’s have a game.

  38

  Joel

  The bus to the airport is quiet. We pulled out the win, but it was a wakeup call to how quickly the season could end. Even if by some miracle we make it back here next year, I know it won’t be the same without Z. He’s made me work smarter and push harder. Playing with a guy of his talent makes us all look better because we strive to be better.

  Wes nudges me as I’m about to close my eyes. "Nice job out there."

  "Yeah, you too. I know I give you shit about coaching, but you've yet to lead us wrong. And you didn't even have to give the heart pep talk."

  "Didn't have to, someone else beat me to it."

  Katrina.

  Wes and I almost always sit next to each other on bus rides. Wes would never admit it, but I think he likes how I don’t sit and brood like him or Z. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind, getting things off my chest. But tonight, I’m lost in my head and he seems to sense that.

  "So, she's your lucky charm, huh?"

  Fucker read the text.

  As if reading my thoughts, he says, "Had to make sure it wasn't going to mess with your head. I like the chick, but not enough to gamble a national championship on her words of wisdom."

  "Yeah, I guess she is.”

  “You know what your problem is?” Wes angles his body toward me, and I groan. Just what I was hoping for, a critical review of my shitty performance.

  “What’s that?” I ask dryly, only humoring him because I know the fastest way forward is not resisting.

  “You think the fadeaway is your only move. It's not."

  “Fine, I’ll bite. What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you’re one of the best all-around ball players I know. You don’t have to stick with your signature moves. Try new things, take risks. You were amazing tonight.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “While I’m doling out the advice, I feel compelled to say that I think you could do the same off the court.”

  Ah, there it is. I knew this pep talk was going to lend itself to a personal intervention.

  “You’ve seemed happy this past month. I didn’t really realize it until you weren’t. I mean you’ve always been carefree and the life of the party, but since Katrina, you’ve just seemed… happy. Fuck, I don’t know how to explain it. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supportive in the beginning. I was wrong.”

  I have been happy. A deeper kind of happiness that I’d forgotten existed, if I’m honest. But that doesn’t mean I want to sign up for the inevitable wrecking ball in a month or six when things crash and burn.

  “Whatever shit you’re working out, I don’t think banging the entire Valley female population is gonna help. Especially not now.”

  I resist rolling my eyes. Just barely. “It’s not sex therapy. I just like women.”

  “Let me ask you, how many women have you hooked up with in the last month?”

  I grind my molars.

  “Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Fine. But you’re free now, right? Obviously, you and Katrina are on the outs judging by your shitty mood. So, can I assume you’ve texted a hand full of girls to see who’s available when we get back for a little victory high five with your penis? Since you two aren’t a thing, shouldn’t be an issue.”

  It’s true that’s what I would have done in the past and the asshole knows I haven’t texted anyone. I’ve barely touched my phone the past few days because every time I do, I want to text Katrina and I know I can’t. And the texts from jersey chasers come in steady succession, but I haven’t read a single one. God, I hate when he’s right.

  “Are you done?” I ask and pull out my headphones so I can block any further attempts to chat.

  He smiles way too sweetly like he knows he’s made his point.

  39

  Katrina

  Joel and the
team have been gone more than they’ve been at school since the tournament started. I haven’t seen him, and we’ve only exchanged a few texts, all of them about the games. This weekend is the Final Four. It’s Victor’s weekend with Christian, but Christian really wanted us all to watch the game together, so I’m at Nadine’s house sandwiched between my son and his father on the downstairs couch – never thought I’d see the day honestly.

  As the camera zooms in on Joel, Christian jumps up and cheers. The announcers talk about how his performance tonight is going to be key for a Valley win and my stomach is in knots.

  Victor offers me the bowl of chips and I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m not much of a potato chip kind of gal.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  There’s a lot we don’t know about each other but pointing that out hardly seems productive. Victor has been trying harder. He hasn’t been late or a missed a meetup and he actually came to one of Christian’s soccer games. Ever since Christian was sick and I called him for help, he’s been different. Maybe seeing his son that vulnerable finally got through to him.

  “I have an idea,” I say, watching Joel on the TV.

  When I glance at him, Victor eyes me suspiciously. Fair since I’ve not been the easiest person to co-parent with. My anger and bitterness about his absenteeism isn’t without merit, but I’ve certainly not helped matters by holding it over his head and acting like an ice queen around him.

  “Let’s play seven questions. You ask me any seven questions you want, and I’ll do the same.”

  Pulling a Joel Moreno move. It worked for us, maybe it’ll help with Victor – minus the kissing and fondling. There is absolutely zero chemistry between Victor and me now. He’s still attractive, blonde hair and blue eyes with long, dark lashes women would kill for. But he’s not really my type. Back then I didn’t realize I had a type. Victor had been nice and comfortable.