Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

“Yeah, if you work hard as hell and sacrifice just about everything else in your life, dreams really do come tr

ue.” He grimaces. “At least some of them do.”

I heard about his divorce, but don’t want to assume that’s what he means. He glances up, a wry twist to his lips.

“You wear your questions all over your face, Avery.”

I huff a short laugh. “Do I?”

“I did have a dream other than basketball, if you’re curious.” His shoulders lift and fall, but they seem to be lifting more weight than he lets on. “I wanted a wife, kids, the whole package.”

“And you got them, right?” I ask softly.

I want to ask what went wrong. I wonder if that question is on my face, too, because he answers without me voicing it.

“Tara, my ex, and I didn’t as much grow apart, as we never should have been together.”

I’ve thought that of Will and me many times. Wondered if things would have ended differently if he’d never met me. Sometimes it keeps me up at night. Sometimes it’s the first thing I think about when I wake up.

“Statistically, half of all married couples would say the same thing.” I smile my sympathy. “And kids? I heard you had a daughter.”

“Yeah, my little girl Kiera.” The rugged lines of his face noticeably soften. “You wanna see?”

I nod, surprisingly eager to see how his DNA played out on a little female face.

“Oh, she’s so pretty, Deck,” I whisper, my eyes glued to his phone screen. She’s blonde and looks uncannily like the woman I saw Decker with at a Sports Illustrated party a couple of years ago. Her eyes, though, are golden brown, just like her father’s. I glance up from the phone.

“She has your eyes.”

“That’s about it.” He chuckles, accepting his phone and glancing affectionately at the picture before setting it on the table. “I can’t take much credit for how beautiful she is.”

I look away, afraid my eyes would betray my thoughts as clearly as he said he could see them. Afraid he’ll see that I think he’s the most beautiful specimen I’ve ever encountered. That sometimes during the show, I almost lose my train of thought wondering how his tawny hair would feel wrapped around my fingers. That in just a week, I’ve memorized the curve of his mouth and how he smells. Not his cologne, but that rawer scent made from nothing but skin and bone and him that rests just below the veneer of civilization we all wear.

“Tara just moved to LA,” Decker continues, a rueful set to his lips. “And took Kiera with her.”

“I’m sorry.” I frown. “It must be harder to see her now with you still on the East Coast, I guess?”

“Yeah. Takes a little more work, but she’s worth it. I’ve accomplished a lot, but she’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” He shrugs and then turns an inquisitive look on me. “What about you?”

“What about me?” My fingers tighten around the fragile stem of my martini glass. My heart tightens in my chest, braced for questions I’ll have to evade.

“Well, I know you were engaged,” he says with a careful look at my bare ring finger. “And I don’t think you are anymore.”

He doesn’t know.

I savor that tiny slice of time while I can where he doesn’t know. For the last year of my life, everyone has known what happened. And I often feel smothered under the weight of their speculation, their awkward sympathy, their damn good intentions because they know everything. Well, they think they know everything. I have my secrets; secrets kept alive only by me because only Will knew.

And now Will is gone.

“He died.” I clear my throat, my lips trembling in the most vexing way. I steady them like I’ve learned to steady my emotions. “Will, my fiancé, died last year around this time actually.”

When I say everyone knows, it’s not like when “everyone” knows Deck got a divorce or the details of a multimillion-dollar contract he inked. When “everyone” knows what’s going on in his life, it’s the world. His fame is much broader than mine. I’m a sportscaster, and I’m on television, but my life isn’t national news, much less international. With Deck, the whole world could know his business. The whole world doesn’t know my fiancé died last December. Only everyone who knows me and everyone who knew Will. Everyone in my life knows. And now so does Decker.

For the last few minutes, it was easy to forget that just beyond the barrier of Deck’s torso and shoulders, our colleagues are drinking and talking. Laughing and blowing off steam after a long day. I didn’t realize how completely Deck had managed to isolate us; to monopolize me until it gets so quiet in our little corner.

“Avery, I’m so sorry.” His voice is a soft rumble of compassion. “I had no idea. I hadn’t heard.”

I nod, panicking as a familiar knot ignites inside my throat, threatening to choke me. Out of habit and necessity, I start blinking rapidly against ill-timed tears.