Page 60 of The Assist
“She was always the one who wanted to rule the world. I just wanted to be by her side while she did it.” The words taste bitter.
“That doesn’t make you less worthy.”
“Maybe not, but it feels that way.”
He’s quiet for a beat before he responds. “There are two types of ball players. Those with more talent than heart and those with more heart than talent. You’d think it’d be the ones with the most talent who perform the best, but it isn’t.”
“This coming from the guy who was sleeping through statistics. Where was your heart?” I tease.
“I’ve been running stats for myself and my teammates for as long as I can remember. That class is cake because I studied it early on in order to understand basketball.”
“And none of that is talent or brains?”
“Sure, of course. Listen, Joe Schmoe off the street who’s never touched a ball before isn’t likely to be able to beat Lebron, but when you’re talking players of a roughly equal talent spectrum, heart wins out. Sure, the most talented guys make some shots, pull off things I couldn’t dream of, but they never really become a part of the team. When it comes game time they never mesh, and we’re a team out there. We practice seven days of the week, year-round, and it rules our lives. Talent burns out before heart.”
I consider his words and how it relates to me. Am I all talent and no heart?
“You have as much heart as you do talent,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “You show it in everything you do. I’ve never met anyone with more heart than you. You’re holding on to dreams of your best friend long after most would have abandoned all hope. When you figure out whatyou’repassionate about, you’ll be unstoppable. It’s time to decide what your dreams are. As shitty as it is, Gabby may never be ready to stand by your side running a company, so whatever plans the two of you had back then have to be shifted some. Why are you holding on so hard when she’s making it clear she just wants you to be happy?”
“Because I can’t give up hope that, someday, she’s going to be ready. I just won’t let myself believe that’s a possibility. She’s the most deserving person I know. At first, I thought I could somehow make up for her absence by doing everything we planned like nothing had changed. And I guess I wanted to honor the dreams we made. I still want those things, and I want her beside me. The scars and the emotional toll of the accident changed her, but she has grit and determination hidden away somewhere deep inside. You two are a lot alike—well, Gabby before the accident.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I liked her a lot.”
I nod toward his bracelet. “I’d say it was mutual. I’m a little jealous, actually. You’re the first person besides me she’s ever made one for.”
“Yeah?” He looks positively elated. “In that case, I’m gonna have to get a wristband so I can wear it during games.”
I roll my eyes, but it makes me happy he’s going to make a point to wear it even if no one else can see it.
23
Wes
“You’re dragging ass,Reynolds. Shaw take Reynold’s place while he rests the foot.”
“Coach.”
He lifts a hand. “Don’t bother. You’re off. I’d rather you be rested and ready.”
My foot is killing me, but I keep my face neutral, not giving in to the grimace that begs me to grind down on my back molars to distract from the throbbing radiating up my leg. I sit on a chair at the end of our row, leaving a half dozen seats between me and anyone else. Cursing Coach and Shaw, I wipe my face with a towel and then toss the terrycloth onto the floor in front of me. I know it’s no one’s fault but my own, but I’m pissed anyway.
I’m off my game, and I don’t know if I can blame it on just my foot. I’m not as focused. I spent the past two days with Blair and hardly thought about ball. I’d even put off coming back last night, convincing her to leave at the ass crack of dawn this morning to get back in time for practice. A good break before the crunch of the season was what I’d told myself when guilt crept in for not getting in my drills and daily run. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to have time off. I’m not where I should be, and I have only my lack of concentration to blame.
Coach takes the chair next to me as the rest of the team runs through the plays with Shaw on point.
“How many more weeks of physical therapy?”
“Two more weeks. The foot is fine, coach. It bothers me when I push too hard. They said that was to be expected.”
“I’m switching up your workouts. Until further notice, I want you and Shaw working together. Everywhere you go, he goes. Everything you do in this gym, he does.”
I open my mouth to object, close it, and think through my words before I say something I can’t take back. “I’ll be ready. I won’t let my team down.”
“I know. You always leave it all on the court, but your team needs you to take it easy. Even if you were at your best, we would still need a strong six man. I think Shaw can be that.”
I nod. I don’t like the thought of anyone taking my spot. Least of all the guy who has one foot on the court and the other on the field. What happens if he decides he just wants to play baseball? Or gets hurt? It’s ironic, I realize, worrying about someone else getting hurt while my foot screams. I rationalize it away because I hurt myself playing the sport I love, not the one I’m splitting my time playing.
“All right.”
