Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“And now we’ll hear from the guy who carried this team while he was here,” Myron says, smiling at his old friend. “Our captain, Cliff Fletcher.”
The applause is thunderous. I’m not sure if it’s for all he accomplished while he was here or supporting him because of how he fell when he left, but I join in. Even if I don’t want to, I do for Takira. And because, dammit, though the drugs have aged him and addiction took a heavy toll, denting his good looks, I still can’t see him without seeing her.
“We’re here to honor a great man,” Cliff says at the mic, looking out over the crowd. “Coach Lipton, you taught me a lot. You taught us all a lot.”
His laugh is hollow. His grimace comes and goes. “Some of us never learned. You instructed us as much off the court as you did on, Coach. Character, you used to say, always trumps stats.”
He pauses, swallowing and glancing down at the floor.
“I had to learn that the hard way, I guess,” he says. “It didn’t matter how many records I broke or where they hung my jersey, when I was selfish and foolish, reckless, no one cared about my stats. I failed in character. I failed my team. I failed my coach and my family. I failed myself.”
It’s totally silent as Takira’s brother breaks in front of everyone. Not crying or making a scene, but breaking off, piece by prideful piece. Humbling himself. Or is it life that’s humbled him?
When I look at him now, it’s through Takira’s eyes. I see the big brother she adored and would do anything to protect—to shield. I see him warning the team off his sister because she was too good for all of us.
He was right about that.
They shared a special bond, and for me—because by some miracle, she loves me—she put her relationship with him at risk.
I had every intention of making a beeline for the door, going straight to my hotel, calling Takira and trying to convince her to meet me somewhere. Anywhere. But when the ceremony ends, I first have to make my way over to Coach Lipton and thank him personally for all he did for me.
“Armstrong,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Thank you for coming. So proud of you, son.”
“Thank you”—I step back and look him in his eyes—“for seeing my potential and recruiting me. For giving me a shot. You had a huge impact on me.”
“Aww. Just…” He blinks, his throat moving with a deep swallow. “Just doing my job. How’s your mother? Your sisters?”
He moves to small talk because I suspect his emotions tonight are hard to keep under control. Having said my piece, I turn to leave, only to come face to face with Cliff.
“Fletcher,” I say, barely sparing him a glance, and move to walk around him.
“Wait.” His hand snakes out and grabs my arm.
I look from the grip he has on me to his face. Is he really going to do this shit on Coach’s big night? I don’t answer but stare at him, waiting.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, tipping his head toward the gym exit.
Tension rises around us as people watch our interaction. If he’s gonna show out, the least we can do is go somewhere everyone won’t see it.
“Sure.” I shrug and head for the exit without checking to see if he’s following.
Once we’re in the hall, he glances at the glass case, his mouth assuming a bitter twist.
“I, um, I owe you an apology,” he says.
My eyes snap to his face, disbelief freezing me in place and keeping me silent.
“I’ve talked about you a lot over the years.” He scoffs. “To my sponsor, to doctors in rehab, to my family—to anyone who would listen to how you had ruined my life.”
I wait, wondering what changed since he talked to Takira last week.
“I had stopped going to group for a while,” he says. “After that last time I relapsed, I couldn’t face them. Felt like such a failure.”
“You went back?” I ask because he’s the one doing all the talking, and I don’t want him to think I’m not engaged, not really hearing him.
“Last week, yeah.” He glances at me, and his eyes are so much like Takira’s, but so much older, so much wearier, it makes my chest tighten. I know how much she loves him, and his pain is hers. And now hers is mine.
“When Kira told me about you and her…” He draws a sharp breath through his nose, rubs his mouth. “I was pissed. I kept thinking, him? Of all people, him? The guy who got everything that was supposed to be mine?”
I don’t correct him. At times I’ve felt the same way, even though I know it’s not actually true, a kind of survivor’s remorse.