There was a long, long silence. Richard waited it out. Trevor was a smart kid. Let him think it through.
“You know what I’m talking about,” he finally muttered.
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Richard said wearily.
Shrug.
They’d reached home. Richard reached up to press the button on the remote control and pulled into the garage. Trevor shot out of the pickup and raced into the house before Richard so much as set the emergency brake.
Another highly successful, father-son moment, he thought with renewed frustration and depression.
* * *
MOLLY HAD CONSENTED to drive to Snohomish with him for Tuesday night’s game, which was something. Richard was determined not to press her for anything but conversation. They kept it light during the forty-minute drive, although he knew she was sneaking glances at him, probably trying to nail down his mood.
She looked good tonight. Really good. He’d felt a rush of hunger when he picked her up. She wore a turtleneck, tighter jeans than usual and athletic shoes. She had her hair in a ponytail, which made her look ridiculously young and left tiny tendrils of softer hair at her temples and nape. Once they arrived, watching the sway of her hips as she climbed the bleachers ahead of him came close to killing him.
He’d seen Trevor play only a few times. Last year he’d flown down to Sacramento when the team played in a three-day-long tournament and had felt such pride, he’d had a hard time not jumping to his feet and bragging to everyone in the stands, “That’s my kid. Mine.”
He felt the same tonight. Trevor might have what it took to make it to the pros. Richard had been good, good enough to be wanted by some top college programs. But he’d known in his heart that he was done growing, which left him too short to be a forward on a professional level, and he wasn’t quick enough to be a guard.
Trevor was different. For all his grace and athleticism, it was obvious that he wasn’t done growing. His feet still looked too big for his body; he had that lankiness a kid has when his body is unfinished. Like Molly, Lexa had been tall for a woman, so Trevor got it from both parents. Richard was willing to bet he’d end up two or three inches taller than his old man. And if he didn’t…he was quick. And he had a hell of an outside shot.
When the team first began warming up, he casually sent up a shot from so far away, Richard, and probably everyone else in the stands and on the court, had stared in disbelief. The perfect arc ended with the ball swishing through the net. Trevor paid no attention to the resultant silence followed by murmurs.
Molly had leaned close to Richard and murmured, “Show-off.”
“Yeah.” He’d laughed. “I think that’s exactly why he did that. He’s putting a scare into the other team.”
The game was intense from the first drive down the court. A Snohomish player put up a shot and Trevor sprang up and smacked it away from the hoop. One of his teammates snatched the ball, passed it to the West Fork guard and ten players tore the other direction down the court.
At halftime West Fork led by two points. The team was outclassed by Snohomish—except for Trevor. He was everywhere, as strong at defense as he was at offense. His slam dunk was primitive and powerful, his outside shot a thing of beauty. Richard could only watch in awe.
Molly, he discovered, was a vocal supporter. She yelled encouragement, she moaned disappointment, she laughed, she clapped, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle that had Trevor looking up from a time-out huddle and grinning right at her.
That grin socked Richard in the chest. It was delighted, triumphant, filled with a young male’s vanity and a boy’s mischief. He hadn’t seen that grin in a long time.
“Oh,” she said finally, sagging to the creaking bleacher seat. “I don’t know if I’ll survive the game, never mind the season. Oh, Cait!” She waved at her daughter, who was bounding up the bleachers to them. “He’s amazing.”
“Did you see him, Mom?” Her face was alight. “I knew he was supposed to be good, but…wow.”
“I’ve seen him play, and I didn’t know he was that good,” Richard said. “We could end up with recruiters from every major basketball powerhouse in the nation knocking on our door.”
“Will they even see him play?” Molly asked. “He’d have been better staying in L.A. if he wanted to get noticed, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably, but I think he’ll get noticed no matter what.” He was giddy. That’s my kid.
He could tell Molly was laughing at him the rest of the game, when she wasn’t on her feet screaming her own delight. Trevor had been dominant in the first half; he ran away with the second. He stole the ball, took it down court himself, dunked, did layups, took wild outside shots. But he wasn’t all hot dog, he also played team ball. Perfect passes, so smooth they looked effortless, had West Fork defeating last year’s league champions by fourteen points.