Page 11 of A Shot at Love
I walk faster, feeling the tears threaten. I don’t want to cry in front of Iris Langley and the newly reformed Daniel. They probably deal with this level of risk and reporting all the time. They won’t understand why I’m acting like my life is ripping apart.
I slam through the door to our locker room, feeling blindly for a bench to sit down on. I press the heels of myhands to my eyes, trying to force the tears away. Instead, I let out a small sob.
Do I even deserve to be out there? To stand with Jadea and Lynn? Sometimes it feels like I do, when I’m passing that ball through the tire and my blood is on fire, but right now it feels like I’m the only player in the league who bought her way onto a team. I might have taken a girl’s spot who had more talent than me. A girl who needed no help from her billionaire, manipulative father.
I’m surprised when I hear a knock at the door. I expect Jadea to burst in, full of blistering swear words and apologies for me. Instead, a wry voice asks, “Are you decent?”
Daniel Chan.
“What?” I squeak, voice full of even more cracks from crying. “Of course, I am!”
He opens the door a few inches, peeking in at me. I must look a picture. Two fiery braids trailing down my back, tears drying on my cheeks, fists clenched, and an indignant look on my face at basically being asked by my ex if I’m sitting naked in the locker room. He slips in, hesitating by the door. “I told Jadea I would talk to you, but as soon as I got to the locker room door, I had this paralyzing fear that I was entering a space I shouldn’t.”
I snort, rubbing some tears off my cheeks. “I guess that’s fair. Most men would probably love an excuse to push in.”
Daniel makes a brief disgusted face before coming to sit next to me. His thigh brushes mine as he sits, and Ihope he can’t see the blush through my tears and splotchy cheeks. Neither of us says anything, but my tears slow. I feel almost rational. I abruptly turn to face him on the bench, bringing one knee up so I can lean in. “Daniel, what the hell are you doing here?”
The words fly from my mouth, and for once, I’m proud of myself for just saying what I’m feeling. For better or worse, I always had an easy time talking to Daniel. We understood each other.
He finally looks as guilty as I’d expected, ducking his head. “I wanted to make things right.”
A crazed laugh burst out of me. “And so, you came back into my life right when it’s going to pieces? After we haven’t spoken to each other infive years?”
Daniel looks at me intensely. There’s a flash of us a few weeks before the accident, the first day after we said I love you. Daniel kept looking at me, and when I would ask what he was doing, he’d just laugh and say he loved me again. It was such a fizzy, deliriously happy feeling to be with him those months. All those memories feel strangely tainted now, like I’m seeing them through warped glass.
Daniel clasps and unclasps his hands. I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. “Annie, I ruined our relationship. I know that, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. But…Jadea’s right. You desperately need some good press, and my show could do that for you. If there is some small way I can help, let me do it. I owe you.”
I’m silent for a moment. It’s strange, talking to Daniel again. Our relationship is broken into stages inmy brain. Falling in love. Being in love. Sitting in the hospital and reading at his bedside. Me excitedly driving to the hospital to visit him but finding his bed empty. I had a lot of time to wonder endlessly what I did wrong. And then even more time to be angry at how he treated me, no matter what he felt about our relationship. However, I never really foughtwithDaniel. All our actual, in-person interactions were before his disappearance and weregood. He sounds like that now. Still good. Smart. Kind. Extremely driven.
It’s making my head spin.
“We need rules,” I blurt out. Daniel nods patiently, waiting for me to gather my thoughts. “I never told Jadea about us.”
Now, it’s Daniel’s turn to be surprised. “Never?” I hear his unspoken questions. All that texting, FaceTiming, and calling she and I did during my and Daniel’s relationship, but we never talked about him? When he left me randomly, I didn’t complain to her?
I refuse to explain myself to him. Partially because I can barely understand it myself. “No, I didn’t. No one really knew except my mom. Maybe some of our old Stanford teammates who paid enough attention. That’s it. We can keep it professional, and no one will be any the wiser.”
Daniel takes it in stride, nodding. “I want to help, Annie, I promise. I’ll do whatever makes you comfortable.”
His words calm me somewhat, and I wipe away a few more tears. Daniel stands up as if he might leave,following the rules I set for us, but I don’t let him. I grab his hand at the last second, pulling his dark gaze back towards me. “Daniel, do you think I deserve to be in the WNBA? After hearing that report?”
I don’t take my eyes off his face, bouncing between his sparkling eyes and that stubborn mole marking his strong chin. Daniel has always been a kind, moral person, the ghosting he did to me notwithstanding. However, he’s also intense and honest. It’s what made him a world-class athlete and competitor. It probably makes him a good reporter, too. I know that he’ll tell me the truth, no matter how things have changed between the two of us.
Our haphazard handhold tightens as he leans towards me. For once, I’m looking up at him. The moment lingers, both strangely awful and strangely wonderful. I can’t imagine what he sees in my face—howhe feels when he sees my face.
“Annie.” My heart skips at the way he says my name, just like before. His voice is deep, but quiet. “I know you. I know you grew up in St. Louis with a single mom. I know you met Jadea on the first day of fourth grade when she moved here from Kansas City. You became fast friends because you were both the tallest girls in your grade.” I picture Jadea the first day I saw her, wiry and lean, bare ankles on display because her pants were too short. I remember us shooting her first dunk video in ninth grade. When she finally made it in the hoop, we both screamed. “I know that it was your dream to go to Stanford together. When you joined her your freshmanyear, you averaged 5.4 points and 6.6 assists. By the time you were a senior, without Jadea, you were averaging 13.1 points and 8.4 assists. You got better each year and that had nothing to do with the press you received, which, despite ESPN’s report, we both know was minimal at best.”
I’m speechless at the way he rattles off my college stats. I only knew him during my final semester at Stanford. He doesn’t stop there. “I know that in your first press conference with Jadea she talked endlessly, and when a reporter asked you if that bothered you, you scrunched up your face and said, ‘Why would it? I don’t like talking to people’.”
I let out a surprised laugh, and Daniel grins at me. So, hehasbeen watching me, just as I’ve been following him. Something crackles in the air between us. That synchronicity, familiarity. I feel a little warmer, my chest loosening. Daniel grows serious one last time. “Annie, society looks for labels every day. They want to label you and these women incorrectly. All of this is Jack’s fault, not yours. Iknowyou deserve to be out there, which means you have to fight for yourself. Jadea believes in you. Your coach does. All your teammates. None of them even considered that you were in league with Jack. You need to punch back. Let me help you do that.”
He sounds like he’s on my TV screen, inspiring people to think about sports differently. To think about myself differently. Being the tallest girl in school who didn’t know her dad meant that nothing ever seemed to fit. Friends. Boys. Cliques. My clothes. When I foundbasketball and Jadea, I truly saw myself, and I liked what I saw. If I let Jack damage that, he’ll damage my whole life.
“I won’t quit,” I promise Daniel and myself. “I love playing too much.”
Daniel smiles easily and drops my hand. “That’s what first drew me to you. Every practice, every game, every teammate—they all mattered to you. When I saw you play that first time, Ifeltit. I knew I had to talk to you.” Daniel presses a hand to his sternum, over his heart.
My brow crinkles, sifting through my memories. “What do you mean? Your friend introduced us at that party senior year. You never came to one of my games until we were together.” He was friends with one of the men’s basketball players, Justin, and asked him to introduce us.
