Page 82 of The Fake
Chloe turns on her side to face me, but I don’t drop her hand—I hold onto it like a lifeline. Her teeth sink into her trembling bottom lip.
“I’ve never told anyone all that,” I confess.
“How come?” she asks tentatively.
“It’s fucking embarrassing. Joel and Zeke know I have the nightmares.”
It feels weird to call them that, but I guess that’s what they are. Reliving the worst fucking day of my life from an alternate point of view. I hadn’t been there when my dad had a heart attack in his favorite recliner, but I’ve seen it over and over nearly every night since.
“Zeke used to come in and wake me up when they were really bad. Most of the time I wake up on the floor in the morning, my room trashed, and I have no memory of doing it.”
Rolling on top of me, Chloe blankets me with all of her. Her hair falls around her shoulder into my face and I breathe it in. I breatheherin. She’s an ocean of possibilities and hope that there’s still good to hold onto. That there’s still good in me.
“It’s never happened twice in the same night, but if you want me to sleep somewhere else tonight, I’ll totally understand.” I run my hand over her hair and down her back. “Or if you want me to take you home.”
She stands and holds her hands out to me. I get to my feet and she pulls me to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And neither do I.
* * *
I’m dragging ass as I walk across the street to the fieldhouse at dark thirty. I left Chloe sleeping in my bed and damn it was hard to leave. As my muscles warm up and the fog from not enough sleep starts to ease away, I find my rhythm.
We split into two teams and do a light scrimmage to run through plays. We’ve got the exhibition game coming up and a lot of work to do before we show the university and local fans this year’s team.
Basketball has become an escape, but this morning I try and push all that away and remember my love for it. I don’t want to play to forget, I want to play for me and for the great memories I had practicing with my dad and Heath, memories I’ve made playing on this court for the past three years, and for the memories I hope to make with my team this year.
We may not make it back to the Final Four, but we’re gonna fight to go as far as we can.
Joel and I bump wrists as we head to the sideline to grab water. “Nice fake back there. Datson was three steps in the wrong direction when you blew past him.”
We sit down to take five, and I look out over the court. “Last year. Pretty surreal.”
“Getting sentimental about graduation already?”
“Guess I am.”
“Me, too.” He tosses his towel on the floor next to him. “What are you thinking for next year?”
I glance at him in confusion. “Next year?”
“Yeah, next year, after graduation. Are you entering the draft?”
I laugh but he doesn’t join me. “You’re serious?”
“Hell yeah.”
“I hadn’t given it any thought,” I answer honestly. “I just wanna see this year through first.”
“Alright then, let’s do it up right,” he says and stands ready to go back out and get our team ready.
* * *
Chloe’s already gone to her early morning classes when I get home from practice. I hop in the shower and get ready for Comm class.
When I slide into the seat next to her, I’m grinning like an idiot. She’s smiling at me, and my chest fills with such happiness to have her. Really have her. I worried last night was going to make things awkward between us, but in some weird way, I think it brought us closer.
Professor Sanchez is on a rampage today, so we barely get a chance to scribble notes to each other and when class is dismissed, I groan because I know she has to hurry to make her bus.
