Circle K. He throws his hand up at the cashier. I doubt he even knows the guy, but that’s just Cole. He’s kind.
He’s also a basketball player.
“Shut up,” I grumble aloud to my conscience.
Cole returns a few minutes later with a bag and a bottle of something. He passes it to me as soon as he gets in.
“I hate the taste of coconut water, but I swear by it when I’ve drank too much.” I wrinkle my nose at the bottle now that I know what it is. “Drink up, Buttercup.” He takes out a tiny bottle of Advil and shakes two of the red pills into my palm.
Spitting out my gum in one of the already soiled napkins, I down the pills, cringing at the tang of the coconut water. “Yuck.” Eyeing the bag with a curl of my lip, I ask, “What else you got in there?”
“Gum and Cheetos. Cheetos is my personal hangover food so I thought you might want some for tomorrow, which is dumb because of course you’d want something different than what I would—”
“Shh.” I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “It’s sweet. Thank you.”
I don’t move my finger, so he murmurs, “You’re welcome,” around it.
He’s staring into my eyes, drowning me with the warm dark brown color. I feel so much, things I can’t handle, things I don’t want to think about.
I break eye contact.
He clears his throat, throwing the truck into reverse. “Let’s get you home.”
13
Cole
The polished maple floors squeak underneath my shoes as I run down the court, ball bouncing in front of me. Practice doesn’t start for a few more weeks, but my teammate Shawn, a sophomore, asked if I was willing to do some one-on-one work for him. He’s a good guy, hard worker, and genuinely wants to play his best. He’s willing to put in the work. Last year, he confessed to me that he has a son—a four-year-old—when he got his high school girlfriend pregnant. They’re not together anymore, but he said it ended on good terms and he wants to do right by his kid. I admire that about him.
Shawn snags the ball from me and I laugh, chasing him back down the court.
This feels good, like the old times when I was small, and this was just a game. Now it’s so much more, the pressure bearing down on my shoulders. But the love and passion are still there. It hasn’t waned, even when doubt nags in the back of my mind.
“What are you two doing?” Coach’s voice booms across the court from the door that leads down the hall to his office. “Practice hasn’t even started yet.”
Shawn halts with the ball, tucking it under his arm.
Lifting the edge of my shirt, I use it to wipe my damp brow. “Just having some fun, Coach.”
He shakes his head, hands on his hips. “Well, since you’re here I need a word with you, Anderson.”
I jerk my head in a nod. “See you later,” I say to Shawn, heading off the court after Coach.
Coach Reynolds. He’s about the same height as me, with dark skin and buzzed hair. He can be a hard ass, he expects a lot out of us since he was in the NBA a few years himself, but he’s always there for anyone on the team. He pushes us hard, but he’s compassionate. Can’t say the same for the coach I had in high school. He was a prick.
Coach opens his office door and lets me in first, coming in behind me. Sitting down in front of the desk, I smile at the pictures behind it of his wife and children. They recently had a baby girl. Shortly after she was born, they brought her to a practice to meet the guys on the team, and I’ll admit while we’re all a bunch of big tough guys, we go soft for a baby. We were passing her around, trying to see who could make her smile and laugh the most. There’s another photo, one of him much younger holding a little girl on his shoulders as she dunks a ball into a net. I haven’t noticed it before, but I’m really not in his office all that often.
He plops down into his chair, crossing his fingers together in front of him.
“I’m actually glad I caught you today. I was going to call you, but this is better. I know you’re waiting until you graduate to enter the draft, which I totally