Page 36 of A Shot at Love
“We were,” she insists, smiling shyly at me.
“Weare,” I correct her. I lean my head on her shoulder, a struggle with her 5’9” frame, but I make it work. I grab her hand and squeeze. “I don’t want Jack, Mom. I don’tneedhim. I have you and Jadea and my team.” I don’t include Daniel, but I know my mom is thinking it.
I pull back after a few heartbeats of closeness, of motherly comfort. It’s my turn to be honest. “I don’t need Jack. Or Trenton or a whole new family. But this isextremelycomplicated. Jack seems like he wants to make amends, but I’ve yet to meet the man. Trenton wants meto stay away, and I have no idea how Tiffany feels. This story has hurt lots of people and disappointed even more.” I try to hold her gaze. “I have the family I need. But I might have to see Jack one day. He’ll never be my dad. But he might besomething. I just don’t know.”
It feels good to say it. I’m not lying when I say there is no dad-shaped hole in my life. I don’t need Jack to come into my life and start coaching my little league team and ordering me to clean my room. He missed that time in my life. But there is a small part of me that’s curious. He did something terrible, manipulating the draft and the team, but why did he do it? Guilt? Misplaced devotion?
My mom’s expression clears. She nods resolutely. “I understand. You do what you have to do.”
I gnaw on my lower lip. “The league is still investigating, but Trenton told me that Jack is no longer involved in day-to-day operations. Do you think he did everything the source says he did? Insisted on my draft? Blackmailed journalists? Screamed at the board, so I got a starting position?” It sounds horrible, all laid out like that.
Her gaze goes unfocused, looking out at the stadium, which is currently being cleaned and deconstructed. “I want to say that I know one way or the other. The man I loved did not seem demanding, high-handed, or manipulative. But that man was just an illusion, hiding the real him.” She purses her lips grimly. “I have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“Comforting,” I murmur, my gaze zig-zagging across the staff cleaning the floors and Daniel, who has finally dismissed his camera crew. It’s sweet he’s waiting for me when I know he has a plane to catch. He’s flying back to New York to tape his show.
“Annie.” My attention snaps back to Mom, who looks serious all of a sudden. She hardly blinks, gripping my hands tightly. “You and I, we’re the same, but different. You’ve always been quieter and more independent, but we deal with our problems the same way.” There’s a pause, and I know she’s making sure I’m listening. She gives me a ghostly smile. “We don’t.”
There’s a lump in my throat. “I’ll figure it out,” I promise. “I won’t just sit on the sidelines.”
She seems to believe me and changes the subject, her features relaxing now that we’re back to normal. “You played beautifully tonight, Annie. And I’m certainly not the only one who noticed.” Her eyes focus on Daniel, lingering down below.
“I wanted to tell you,” I reassure her, “because it’s not what it seems.” I quickly fill her in on the highlights of Jadea’s scheme. I don’t say much else about Daniel and our date, but something must bleed into my tone.
“He left you, honey. He left and didn’t say anything, even when you called and texted for weeks.” It’s a gentle reminder, a loving one.
I keep my eyes on Daniel. He’s taken a ball from one of the racks and goes to the free throw line. I remember the ways our bodies glanced off each other as I showed him how to shoot.
He swishes the first shot.
I look back at my mom, who’s been watching me curiously. “I know what he did. And he’s offered to talk about it.” I remember being in the parking garage and insisting we didn’t talk about the heavy stuff.
How do Largers deal with their problems?
We don’t.
“You didn’t let him?” she asks, brow furrowing in confusion. “He wanted to explain what happened?”
I sigh. “It’s all fake, I know, but it’s been so nice. If he tells me what really happened, it will pop our bubble of happiness. All those ugly, messy feelings will spill out.”
Mom stares at him, shooting aimlessly on the court. “I didn’t like what he did to you, Annie. It was horrible.” I think she’s going to leave it at that, and my chest aches. If my mom can’t see redemption for Daniel and me, maybe there is none.
When she continues, that ache turns to a fluttery hope. “But he had just gone through something equally horrible. You and I both know from this week that sometimes we don’t act like ourselves in the face of something terrifying.”
Daniel and I creep closer and closer to the precipice of this whole facade. Maybe Mom is right, and we should just leap together.
“Besides,” Mom’s voice has grown light, “I always liked Daniel.”
*
I’m exhausted when I get back to the apartment that night. A little shot of pleasure goes through me when I see the bouquet from Daniel still preening in its vase.
I shower and change into my softest pajamas. I even pull out my unicorn sleep mask, saved for those nights where I want to crawl under the covers and sleep forever. We have a light practice tomorrow and then another game on the road Tuesday. I need my beauty sleep.
I’m checking the alarms on my phone when I notice my Twitter is blowing up. There are mentions everywhere. I open the app and see a trending video of the game. It’s from after the game actually, a few moments post-buzzer beater.
I’m hugging my friends and grinning like a fool. It’s a good quality clip because it was taken from the ESPN2 broadcast. They zoom in on my freckles and flushed face and my long red braids in a disarray. I look disarmingly happy.
You can see me search the sideline for a moment after extracting myself from the excited huddle. There’s a spark in my eyes, and then I’m running to get to Daniel. ESPN managed to capture our long hug and the soft conversation that ensued. The clip is barely 45 seconds long, but it makes an impact. For those who don’t follow my Instagram or haven't been keeping up, now they’re in the know.
