Long Shot (Hoops 1)

“Oh, yes, it would have. He’s rich, famous, has the best lawyers money can buy, and no prior offenses. Sports, especially at his level, is so insular, and they protect their own. I’ve seen it for myself. Behind every woman who comes out telling her story, there’s a line of officers, staff, coaches, and people who should have helped, who knew and did nothing.”

Hurt, outrage, and fury throw a tantrum inside of me. I pause to draw a calming breath before going on. “He wouldn’t have gotten more than a slap on the wrist, and that’s if anyone believed me.”

I gather my hair back from my face and link my hands behind my neck. It’s an impractical justice, a woman having to share custody with the man who tried to kill her because his parental rights should be protected.

“Peop

le have no idea what some women go through behind closed doors or what keeps them there.” I shake my head. “That was me, living a lie and getting beaten up by the truth until I found my way out. And I don’t know if I’ll ever really get over it.”

“You will.” Lo tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and I flinch.

“See?” My laugh comes out slightly hysterical. “He used to do that. He’d push my hair behind my ear so gently, but with his gun.”

“Shit, Bo,” Lo says, anger and horror taking up arms in her expression.

“You know I still sleep curled at the edge of the bed because it’s the only way I can. I didn’t want our bodies touching while we slept.” Tears clog my throat, and a few escape my eyes no matter how much I will myself not to cry. “I didn’t want him that close when I was asleep, but he wouldn’t let me sleep anywhere else.”

“You need to talk to someone, babe,” Lo says.

“I am, actually. I do. I’ve been talking to a counselor at a women’s shelter here in the city, but can a therapist strip my mind of the memories? Of the nightmares? Sometimes I wake up thinking there’s a gun between my legs.”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, he liked to put a gun to my vagina and make me choose between that and his dick.”

“That bastard.” Lo’s eyes harden, and her full lips thin. “Don’t worry. His is coming. His days are numbered.”

Lo has removed her braids and wears her hair’s natural texture in a close cap of curls dyed platinum that contrasts starkly with her complexion. She looks so different, but the same light that burned in her eyes when she confronted Caleb ignites now.

“Lo, what does that—”

“Mommy, potty,” Sarai says. She stands and crosses one little foot over the other.

God, she’s adorable. I’m not biased.

“Potty training,” I mutter, standing and taking Sarai by the hand and heading for the bathroom. “We’ll be back.”

Sarai’s all done and washing her hands when Lo yells from the front room. “Bo, you said August’s number thirty-three, right?”

The concern in her voice propels my heartbeat, and I rush back into the living room just in time to see a replay in slow-motion.

August and his teammate Kenan, the one they call Glad, go up for the rebound at the same time. Kenan is huge, a little taller than August. He’s several inches wider and thicker.

His elbow slams into August’s forehead at full force. With dread building in my belly, I watch August fall to the hardwood and stay there unconscious for several seconds.

“Oh my God, get up.” My insides knot. “Please, baby, get up.”

I don’t even question the endearment when it slips naturally out of my heart and past my lips. I’ve been fooling myself, guarding my heart with a porous shield, and August slipped right in.

His eyes open groggily and he tries to sit up, but his hand starts shaking violently, and he collapses back to the floor.

I cover my mouth and ball my fist up over my heart.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Lo assures me. “Look. He’s getting up.”

Correction. Kenan is pulling him up, and someone is walking him off the floor. He gives a little wave to the crowd and stumbles into the tunnel.

They show the play over and over again, and every time, I hurt a little more. I think about everything I told Lo, and it’s all true. I am afraid of how Caleb will respond when he finds out about August and me. The fears I hoped to leave behind still wake me at night drenched in a cold sweat. Seeing August go down like that, though, and not knowing how bad it is puts everything in perspective. Every day that we’re living, breathing, and in good health is a blessing, not promised. Understanding that, seeing him get hurt, makes me realize that I don’t want to go slow after all.