Page 10 of Isolation

The fourth quarter was winding down, and we were up by six. Solid but not comfortable. Coach kept me in, riding the hot hand. I had twenty-two points, four assists, and five rebounds—career highs across the board, the kind of stat line that changed perception, the thing that might finally give me the respect I’d been chasing.

The ball was in my hands at the top of the key. The shot clock was winding down, and the defender gave me a sliver of space, disrespecting my range. Something flared up in my chest.I rose and released. The ball arched high and dropped through the net with a satisfying swish. I backpedaled down the court. The crowd was on their feet, my teammates slapped my back, and I found Danica’s eyes again. She was standing too. The crowd was chanting my name, and my dream was within reach. All I could think was, was it worth it? The answer should have been simple—twenty-two points, a game ball, maybe even a starring role.

As the buzzer sounded, I jogged toward the tunnel away from the light, and the noise of the note burned in my memory like a brand.Don’t waste your shot.I didn’t but at what cost? The darkness I’d always contained, insecurity masquerading as ambition, seemed to pulse under my mask as I high-fived fans on the way to the locker room. I crossed a line and stepped into a showdown I wasn’t sure I could escape.

It had been almosttwo weeks since Coach Von pulled Mateo off the bench and nearly two weeks since his twenty-two-point performance, and the sports channels were losing their mind over The Wizards’ hidden gem.

I was halfway finished stacking plates when I caught Mateo checking his phone again. It had been like three times in twenty minutes. He used to help clear the table, crack jokes about my cooking, or even pretend to be invested in whatever show we played in the background. Tonight was different. Mateo sat on our sixteen-hundred-dollar sectional like he’d left pieces of himself at that last game, which put him in the spotlight.

“You normally help,” I commented.

Mateo looked up. “You got it.”

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t a question, but whatever.”

Our home felt quieter tonight with Mason at my mother’s for the weekend. The open floor concept did nothing but amplify the silence between us. When Mateo signed with The Wizards, we’d convinced ourselves this was a temporary move until he got steady playing time, and we had saved enough. Now, we paid three times our old mortgage.

I scraped the leftovers into the trash, stealing glances at my husband. This new Mateo went to extended practices and took calls in other rooms.

Silverware clanked into the sink, and I realized I was being too rough with the dishes. I blew out air and centered myself. PR crisis management habits died hard—control, assess, and present the best face, even at home.

“You all right?” Mateo asked.

“Yeah. I just had a long day.”

He nodded and lost interest quickly. His eyes drifted back to his phone. I wiped my hands on the dish towel and studied the man I’d spent nearly a decade with. His jawline was strong and now covered with a neatly trimmed beard. He had deep brown eyes that used to admire me like I’d hung the damn moon. There was something new, a hardness and calculated moves that weren’t there before. His phone buzzed, and his body tensed, telling me everything I needed to know about who was calling.

Mateo stood. “I gotta take this.”

“Mmhmm.” I kept my tone neutral, though on the inside, it was anything but.

Mateo walked to the far corner of our living room and turned his back to me. His voice dropped to a whisper. The mysterious calls that couldn’t happen in front of me for some reason were new, too.

I grabbed his jacket from off the dining room chair where he tossed it and headed to the coat closet near where he stood. Notthat I was attempting to eavesdrop, but that was precisely what I was doing, and no, I didn’t feel bad about it.

“That wasn’t a part of the plan. I told you I handled it,” Mateo said.

Careful not to bring attention to myself, I slowed my movements, but a hanger scraped the closet rod as I hung his jacket.

“I don’t care what he thought he saw. It’s done now.”

I strained to hear more as I pretended to straighten the other coats.

“No. He shouldn’t have been in the way. Exactly. Problem solved.” Mateo paused, listening to the other person speak.

Problem solved?What was the fucking problem? My mind raced. Was it another woman, another teammate, or money? I realized I’d been standing by the closet too long. I closed it, and when I turned, Mateo was watching me out of the corner of his eye. He pivoted and lowered his voice even more.

“We’ll talk later. I gotta go.” Mateo hung up and slid the phone into his pocket as if he didn’t sound like a character from a crime show.

“Who was that?” I questioned, trying to keep my tone light as I returned to the kitchen.

Mateo shrugged. “Team stuff before the trip. Coach wants extra film sessions.”

I knew he was lying, and it slid right off his tongue, making me wonder how many more I’d missed.

“It’s nine thirty at night.”

Mateo forced a laugh. “You know how Von is. The man is obsessed.”

---