Page 27 of Isolation

The house was too silent, and I would put music on to help drown out my thoughts, but I didn’t want to risk waking Mason. I pushed aside a row of purses, Prada, Louis Vuitton, and Coach, all gifts from various milestones in our relationship. Behind them was the heavy black box bolted to the wall.

Insurance papers were all I needed. Coach wanted to ensure everyone was adequately covered for the upcoming season and contract renewals. I wanted to review my policy before signing the updated forms. Most of them niggas didn’t read that shit, but I’d learned the hard way that the fine print mattered. I punched in the combination. The day we met—zero, eight, two, three.

I opened the door and thumbed through a few folders inside. Where the hell was the insurance folder? I scanned the labeled tabs when I spotted something—a USB drive tucked into the corner of the safe. A sticky note attached to it read “copy” in Danica’s handwriting.Copy of what?

I picked up the drive. Something about this wasn’t right. I left the safe open and headed to the computer, where I tapped in the code to unlock the screen. I plugged the USB drive in and double clicked the icon when it appeared.

And there it was. The folder was labeledinsurance. It was not the insurance I’d been looking for in the safe. I clicked it open, and there were screenshots of text messages, dates, and times of the nights I’d told Danica I was at practice sessions or team meetings, and photos of me entering the building.

“The fuck?” I muttered as I scrolled through the files.

There was a timestamped document from three months ago, detailing my movements over a two-week period. There was also a photo of me entering the practice facility labeledmigraine.

The next one was labeledconfession draftwith notes at the bottom—Evidence sufficient for legal consultation? Police?

Danica thought I was a fucking monster. The thought hit me like a physical blow. I built a life with this woman, the mother of my son. I thought she would have my back always, but she’d been gathering evidence against me. She was planning to turn me in and leave me. For what? A mistake? A single bad decision made under pressure?

I stood abruptly, needing to move. The energy moving through me was too much to contain by sitting. I paced Danica’s home office like a player running a play that was falling apart. Danica had been smiling in my face, kissing me goodbye at the door, and then watching my every move. She was building a case against me.

I’d been in tough positions before—down by twenty points in the fourth quarter, key players fouled out. This was just another game that needed a strategy. I returned to the computer, and there was a lot here, but she didn’t have everything. She didn’t have the whole picture, only pieces of what she was trying to put together, and some of them were wrong. I visualized the plays drawn up on a whiteboard in my mind.

Option one was to lawyer up—mutually assured destruction. If she burned me, she got burned back. The thought had appeal, but would be messy, and I wouldn’t want Mason to get caught in the crossfire. Option two was a darker strategy. I could orchestrate a medical scare for Mason, nothing real, but something that would distract her for a few weeks while I cleaned up loose ends and reset the narrative. For option three, I could swoon Danica with a new home or surprise getaway. I could reinforce our bond, reminding her why she fell in love with me in the first place. I needed more than defensive plays. I needed offensive strategies and ways to assert control.

Control was what this was about. Danica thought she had taken control of the situation with her investigative skills and secret file. She believed she had the upper hand. I closed the computer’s windows, ejected the USB drive, pocketed it, and returned to the closet. I stared at the safe for a long moment and deliberately left it that way as a message for Danica—I’ve seen your evidence. Your move.

Now that Ihad started the last three games, I averaged twenty-two points and eight assists. The spotlight was finally warming my face. The commentators were talking about my breakout season as if I’d just developed these skills when the truth was I’d been like this all along. I just needed the minutes to prove it.

At what cost, though? DeAndre could get traded to another team with no hope of going to the playoffs. His market tanked after that injury, and his career trajectory had been forever altered. Meanwhile, I was being discussed as a potential all-star, Mason was wearing my jersey proudly to school, and Danica was getting calls about endorsements. All this was built on quicksand.

I grabbed the USB drive out of my pocket and rolled it between my fingers. Put it back, keep it, or destroy it? Neither option felt clean. If I kept it, I was holding proof of my own complicity. If I destroyed it, I had nothing to hold over Von if he ever tried to implicate me.

My phone buzzed. Danica told me she was finishing up at the gym and would be home soon. I had been frozen here in moral purgatory for almost twenty minutes.I wondered what Danica would say if she knew? She believed in me when no one else did. She moved us three times following my basketball dreams. Danica deserved better than a husband who cut corners, who stepped on others to get ahead. I thought about her face when I dropped thirty points against Denver last week, how her eyes shone with pride. I thought about Mason jumping up and down when the highlight reel made the SportsCenter’s top ten.

My fingers curled around the USB drive. I slipped it back into my pocket. It wasn’t noticeable against the fabric, but its implication was heavy on my conscience. I wasn’t going to destroy it yet. It was insurance against Von, against the system that kept me down, and anyone who tried to take it all away from me.

I wiped sweat from my temple and was surprised because the AC was on. My heart had been racing, but I felt strangely calm now that I’d made a choice, crossing another line I’d never thought I would cross.

The front door beeped. Danica was home. I patted my pocket, ensuring the USB was secure. I plastered on a smile as I prepared to greet my wife with the smile she knew, not the one I’d been wearing.

“Hey, babe. How was your workout?” I asked, moving toward the entryway.

“Hey.”

The USB was in my pocket—a sin, a secret, a shield. It was mine now, and I would do whatever it took to protect what was ours, even from Danica herself if it came to that. Some truths were better left buried in the back of a safe or the conscience of a man who was finally winning at any cost.

Danica dropped her gym bag and kicked off her shoes. Her hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail that had barely been disturbed during her workout. Even sweaty and in athletic wear, she moved with a confidence that caught my attention years ago. I slid my phone in the opposite pocket of the USB as if keeping them separate might make them less dangerous.

“You’re back early.” I leaned in, kissing her cheek. I caught a clean scent underneath a layer of exertion.

“Mmm huh. Julius had to cancel halfway through our session for an emergency. Are you good? You look tense,” she asked.

“Contemplating tomorrow’s game. Portland’s guards have been cooking lately,” I lied.

Danica made a little sound in the back of her throat that told me she wasn’t convinced but wouldn’t push it. One of the things I appreciated about her was she knew when to give space and when to dig. Right now, I needed space more than ever.

“You got it. You want some tea? I’m making chamomile.”

“Nah. I’m cool.”

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