Page 18 of A Shot at Love
Trenton opens his top desk drawer, pulling out a thin manila folder. “I want you to stay out of it. Forever. At this point, I believe I can sweep this scandal under the rug. Even if my father gets in trouble, I can keep you and the team out of it.”
This all sounds too good to be true. “Why would you do that? Don’t you want me off the team?”
Trenton shrugs. “I don’t watch much of the Arrows’ games, but my female assistant assures me you’re quite good. You were an All-Star this year. It makes no sense to throw away a good investment.”
In some ways, he’s saying exactly what I want to hear. I can keep avoiding Jack. I can play with Jadea and the team I love. However, my brain catches every dismissive word he says about the Arrows, and his “female assistant”, and I worry that there’s something he’s not saying.
He flips open the folder and shoves it towards me. “This is a standard-issue NDA. You’re welcome to have your lawyer look it over. It says you will never speak out about any business pertaining to the Smith family.” He flips the page. “Thisis a legally binding will. I had my father edit it to include you. If you sign the NDA, the terms of the will go into effect. You’ll inherit five percent of Father’s fortune when he passes, and in the meantime, you will receive an immediate trust of ten million dollars.”
“Ten million dollars?” I almost choke on the words. “Right away?”
Trenton taps the papers patiently. “Onlyif you sign the NDA. The will and trust will only go into effect then.” It’s a mind-boggling amount of money. My rookie contract, which ends this year, has only a $78,000 annual salary. While that is certainly a survivable and welcome amount, it’s piddling money compared to the millions that the men make when they’re drafted at age nineteen. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander just received asupermax deal for four years of $285 million dollars. $285milliondollars. He makes more money in one game than Jadea or I ever will in a whole season.
On the other hand, it feels slimy to take the money. I don’t need it. I play overseas too, in Hungary during the off-season, and while it’s another exhausting reality women's basketball players face, it’s also where I make better money. Financially, I do not need $10 million dollars.
“I don’t want the money.” I try to sound steady, even as every part of me wants to leave this room and escape Trenton’s too-smooth expression. “It feels like a bribe.” I leave the last word dangling, waiting to see if Trenton will take the bait and admit he’s trying to trap me. Maybe he only wants me to sign the NDA because he thinks I know something about Jack? That my mom will tell me some of his dirty secrets and ruin the family business?
Trenton is nothing if not prepared. He smoothly pulls out another piece of paper. “I anticipated your resistance to accepting money for yourself. But, what about a nonprofit?” I tug on my braid nervously, then cross and uncross my arms. I wish I knew how to act in these situations. Should I play hardball? Should I let Trenton clean this mess up for me? Should I remind him that I’m his sister, or distance myself? I suddenly wish I had brought Jermaine with me. “Something we’re considering is creating a nonprofit that funds scholarships for women or non-binary student athletes. This would also include other programs to improve women’s sports, including camps, Title IX celebrations,and other events. Instead of the money being transferred to you, it can be put into the funding of the nonprofit, and you will be given a board seat.” This offer had to be for good press and to get me off his back, Iknow, and yet it is so tempting. To have millions going to women’s sports and the growth of the industry I love so much.
“And I don’t have to work with the family?” I sound pathetically hopeful to my own ears. Is this the way to pay the debt I owe for even being a part of this poisonous family? “I won’t have to see…Jack?”
Trenton shakes his head almost vehemently. “No, in fact, we’d love to keep you separate from the family. I know that’s what your mother wanted, and we agree.” I wonder what “we” he’s even referring to—him and his mom? He seems to have pushed Jack completely out of the picture.
Even though I secretly agree with him, a small part of me feels that sad, unwanted teen version of myself waking up. That girl who knew she had a father out there who didn’t want her. Now, my half-brother sits in front of me, literally rejecting any offer to spend time with me. We’re strangers, and we’ve just agreed to stay that way forever.
I swallow down those feelings and reach for one of his fancy fountain pens. I need to keep moving forward, and this will help me do that. “Where do I sign?”
As I do, trying to keep my hand steady, I feel like I might be making a mistake. The NDA looks pretty standard, and since I know very little about my biological family worth publicly sharing, it hardly seems a threat tome. Trenton might be handing me a hush nonprofit to stay out of this mess, but he doesn’t know me. I’ve always been the ostrich with my head in the sand. Not the eagle on attack.
Once I’ve signed and initialed in the appropriate places, Trenton smiles too brightly. I’m suddenly itching to get out of his office. “Are we done here?”
He nods, calling his assistant in so she can take the damning manila folder. “I’ll reach out when the scholarship fund is ready to go. For now, keep doing what you’re doing.” As I stand up, he seems to finally notice my apparel. “Do you have practice today?”
I bite my tongue, so I don’t tell him to turn his head and look out his gigantic window. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “We leave for Indiana in a few hours.”
I’m hovering in the door, unsure if I’m dismissed, when he asks distractedly, looking through his desk for something, “How’s the team doing this season?”
My whole body flares cold and then hot at his question. I can’t keep the anger out of my tone when I shoot back, “Aren’t you an owner of the team? How do you not know?”
The situation only becomes worse when Trenton looks back up at me. He’s puzzled, as though my anger is misplaced. He finally smiles. “I’ve always been more focused on the men’s side of things. Sorry.” Hollow words. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed with a vise.
“Yeah, so is everybody else.” I have to turn and slam the door behind me before I start screaming at him.
My whole body is fizzing with anger and unsaid words. There should be better comebacks, logical ones that make him seem small and ridiculous and misogynistic, but instead, I just leave. I’ve always been that way. I know how I feel, it’s almost overflowing from me, but how to articulate myself? Women who are stoic and cold are heartless bitches. Women who are overly emotional are crazy. We never win, and so I shut my mouth and play. I’m always too afraid to say what I feel.
It’s the shame that gets you.
When I escape the elevator and rush out onto the courts, Jadea is just finishing her individual workout. “Jadea!” I wave her over. She stops talking with Coach Zak, looking up from the tablet they’re studying, and jogs my way. Daniel and his camera crew are in between our two practice courts, and he’s wearing a suit, speaking to the camera. I can just hear some of his words about where we are in the season. “Today’s August third and the Arrows have only five more games to solidify themselves as the number one seed in the East…”
Jadea approaches before I can hear more. “Where have you been?” she demands. “I saw you with Daniel last night and then you disappeared! I’d make some dumb sex joke, but the expression on your face tells me that wouldn’t go well.”
I shake my head sharply, and the meeting with Trenton comes spilling out. “What have I done, Jadea?” I’m shaking when I sink into one of the folding chairs on the sideline. “He looked so smug and sure, and I thought maybe this could all end quietly with some money putinto women’s sports, but now that I’ve signed it, I feel sick. He’s terrible. I honestly don’t think he cares about this team at all. Or me. His sister.”
I look at Jadea for reassurance, but I’m surprised to see she looks faintly sick, too. “I don’t like Trenton Smith,” she admits, her voice sounding smaller than usual. “He’s the reason I do the dunk show before every game.”
She could have slapped me, and I would have felt less surprised. “But youlovethe dunk show. You love dunking.” I know our coach and Jermaine think it’s beneath her, as a professional athlete, but I always thought it was just Jadea’s showmanship shining through.
She sits next to me, knocking her knee into mine. “Idolove dunking. I loved our videos growing up, and I love the TikToks and social media stuff we do. I love experimenting with different dunks. It reminds me of when we were kids, imagining a league where we could be Michael Jordan or LeBron James. Where we were given every opportunity they had.” I nod encouragingly. “But it was Trenton who approached me with the idea of doing the dunk show before home games. He saw the videos online, the high view count. He thought it would be great for selling tickets.”
