Long Shot (Hoops 1)

“Thank you for inviting her. For inviting Sarai and me, too.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a very long time, Iris.”

“You have?” I turn to her, surprise temporarily overshadowing my anxiety.

“August told me all about you long ago.”

“Long ago?” I shake my head and laugh as lightly as I can with a boulder sitting on my chest. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, he didn’t give me all the details,” she says hastily, her blue eyes teasing. “But he did say he thought he had found the right girl. This was when he stayed home for rehab.”

It would have been around the time we saw each other that week at the community center.

August and I didn’t see each other much until I moved to San Diego. What was it about me that struck him so powerfully? That made him think I might be the one after only a few encounters? Probably the same thing that urged my thoughts back to that first night we met time and time again—the thought of that night as the fork in the road, and of him as the path I should have chosen.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally respond, my cheeks hot.

“I’m just glad it worked out. I’m glad to meet the girl who stole my son’s heart.” Mrs. Foster says. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Neither could I.

The moment I’ve been dreading lands on me with crushing force. When Caleb’s team takes the floor for the pre-game shootaround, every nerve in my body screams for me to run. My internal alarm system warns me of danger. My muscles tense to the point of pain. I’m braced for a confrontation of wills, but when Caleb looks up into the stands and sees me, he smiles. He’s at the opposite end of the floor. There’s so much distance between us—I should feel safe. But I could never feel safe with him in the same building. Some days I don’t feel safe knowing he’s on the same planet.

All of his teammates go through the pre-game warm-up, but he just stands and stares. His smile grows wider the longer I stare back. He shifts his glance to Sarai in my lap, and the smile falls away. His eyes, when they return to me, promise retribution. That one day, he’ll make me pay.

“Iris!” August calls from just beyond the bench, down on the floor.

As soon as I see him, my body relaxes. The tension dissipates. At the other end of the court is my dark past—a nightmare I barely survived. My future stands in front of me. And it’s so bright. August is so bright. We share a smile before he starts his pre-game shootaround and joins his team.

He asked if I was sure I wanted to come today. He doesn’t know everything that happened with Caleb. In the grand scheme of things, he knows almost nothing, but he knew today would be difficult for me. I’m so damn tired of running, though. For a long time, I was Caleb’s marionette, but he doesn’t pull the strings anymore. My boyfriend’s mother wanted to meet me; wanted to meet my daughter; wanted to sit beside her son’s girlfriend and watch him play on Thanksgiving. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’m glad that at least I tried.

At halftime, the game is tied. If the Waves don’t win any other game this season, I pray they win this one. The speculation has been rampant leading up to this rematch between the two teams, specifically between August and Caleb. It resurrected talk of Caleb’s dirty play.

Everyone knows Caleb and I have a child together—that I lived with him during his rookie season. And anyone who didn’t know I was with August will figure it out now. I’m sitting with his mother. I know some of his teammates have wondered about it, and I’m sure some of them have talked. There’s already some nasty speculation. People will say I’m out to trap August the way I “trapped” Caleb.

God, if only they knew what a trap Caleb set for me.

“Would you have preferred we sit in a box?” Mrs. Foster asks, her eyes astute.

“It’s just …” I laugh, a false sound if I ever heard one. “This may fuel more talk about me being with August after Caleb. Some have said it’s August’s revenge for Caleb’s dirty play. They say I’m a …”

I don’t even want to voice the things people say about me.

Whore. Opportunist. Gold-digger. Trick. Groupie. Thirsty. Trap chick.

Don’t google yourself if you don’t want to know what people actually think. They freely express it from the anonymity of their laptops and behind the mask of their avatars.

“You know the truth,” Mrs. Foster says, patting my hand. “And so does August. He doesn’t care what they say, and neither should you.”

I force myself to relax, running my hands up and down Sarai’s arms. She’s playing the piano on her iPad and wearing her headphones. She’s gotten so big and probably wouldn’t even recognize her father if she saw him.

“Gus!” Sarai screams, jarring me back to the action.

August is on the free-throw line, and I’m so afraid Sarai’s scream might break his concentration, I cover her mouth.

“Shhhh,” I say in her ear. “August needs to focus, baby.”

She puts her index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide, and looks up at me.