Page 154 of The Locker Room
“I broke my goddamned little toe talking to Chris on the phone on
the running path, because I realized that we probably wouldn"t get to see
each other until the All-Star break in February and kicked a rock like a
little kid, does that make you happy?”
Leo started laughing a little, and stood, that brittle, bitter sound not
stopping even a smidge. “Ecstatic. Here. Here"s the goddamned remote.
I"m gonna go get you some ice. And another bandage because your
arm"s bleeding. And maybe a brain transplant, because I swear to Christ,
Xander, I thought you were the smart one, right up until you practically
stepped on my head.”
“I didn"t come anywhere near your head,” Xander grunted. Hell, he
hadn"t even come near Leo"s umbrella. It didn"t matter. Xander pressed
play and watched the television hungrily as Chris ran onto the court in
the lights and the music and the thunder of the crowd.
God, Chris could play to the crowd—and they loved him. He
waved and dimpled, and danced through his intro, and the announcers
said things like, “Well, when he gets over his shyness, we"ll stop
worrying about how he"s going to fit in here!”
“Chris could play with anyone,” Xander said, believing it.
Leo let out a sigh and a grunt, and Xander glanced at him.
“Let it go, Xander,” Leo said quietly, packing one of those
chemical ice packs around his toe. “Let"s just watch the game, okay?”
They did, and Denver was doing okay. They were behind by six or
eight points but they kept the lead steady and didn"t do anything stupid.
Chris was starting, and he was making a fair show of it, hands up,
moving quickly, throwing himself into the game the way he always had,
but he didn"t seem to be racking up the points.
“Hmm…,” Xander muttered. There was something wrong with the
television. He tried adjusting the tint, the contrast, the hue, and finally
Leo stole the remote from him and snarled, “What in the bloody hell are
