Hoops Holiday (Hoops 2.50)

I gulp down the disappointment and clear my throat.

“Uh, yeah, I get that. Of course,” I say, hoping I’ve disguised the deflation I’m feeling. “Well, I wish you the best and—”

“You are the best, Deck,” she interrupts softly.

All the words I had queued up to assure her I understand why she needs to walk away from this, from us, wither.

“What does that mean, Avery?”

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nbsp; And why the hell did she call? Just to ruin Christmas? Mission fucking accomplished.

“I’m screwing this up,” she says.

“Yeah, a little,” I reply, a bit of bite in my words. “If you’re just calling to let me down easy, you don’t have to. We had a great night, like you said and—”

“I wanted to tell you,” she interrupts. “Today felt like I had a breakthrough or something . . . shifted. Like I took steps forward when I’ve felt like I was standing still ever since I found Will. In some ways like I was still in that bathroom with him.”

She stops to draw a deep, shaky breath.

“And you were . . . you were the only person I wanted to tell. To call.”

Her disjointed explanation sucks all the air out of the frustration swelling inside me, diffusing the irritation and hurt – yes hurt – when I thought she called to stop what had barely started between us, but I desperately wanted to continue.

“I’m glad you had that,” I reply simply. “And I’m glad you called, that you called me.”

“I think I’ll take more steps forward, and that I will be ready, but I want . . . I’m just asking for a little more time to clear this fog,” she says. “I want to be healthy, whole, when we do this.”

When, not if. Good sign.

“Are we ever really whole, Avery?” I ask. “If you figure that shit out, share your secret because most of us live with cracks. I had a career-ending injury, and it healed, but I’ll never be the same. I’ll never play ball again. Not the way I did before. That spot hurts like a summabitch when it rains. I don’t know that I’d call that whole, but I’m walking. I’m not asking you to be whole. I just want to walk with you, baby.”

“I think I can do that soon.” Her words are so soft, but they fill my ears and land in the vicinity of my heart. “But I’m asking for the time to make sure. My last relationship turned out to be the worst kind of shit show, Deck.”

“Ours won’t be,” I promise without hesitation.

I hear her breath catch, and I want to crawl through the phone, across time zones and kiss her senseless. Fuck her until she forgets everything but us. Fuck the fog away.

“I know it seems like this whole conversation has been about Will and my psychosis,” she says, her voice dropping to a husky rasp. “But that’s not the only reason I called. I can’t stop thinking about you; about that night.”

“Dirty thoughts?” I ask hopefully.

“Oh, God,” she says with a breathy laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question, Ms. Hughes. Have you or have you not been thinking dirty thoughts about me?”

“Filthy.”

“Dammit, Avery,” I mutter, running a hand over the back of my neck and glancing at the closed door separating me from Kiera in the other room. “If my daughter wasn’t here—”

“Oh, I forgot, Deck. I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Are you kidding? I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

All week. Ever since.

“Dirty thoughts?” she teases.