Page 60 of The Transfer
A buzzing sound has me out of my seat and walking into the kitchen. I see my phone lighting up on the countertop, and that feeling of dread and nausea comes back tenfold. I don’t pick it up; I just let it keep ringing until the screen goes black. Black, like how I’m feeling right about now.
When I finally get the nerve to grab my phone, I press the side button to illuminate the screen, and my hands start to tremble when I see all the missed notifications.
Ten missed calls from Riggs. Ten!
Eight text messages from Riggs.
Then I see a few other messages from my mom and Mack, but all I can focus on is him.
He didn’t leave any voicemails, so I immediately open our message thread.
Riggs
Reagan, answer your phone, please
The things I said, they didn’t come out how I meant them to
I’m sorry, Sunshine.
Please pick up your phone. I’m worried about you driving.
Reagan, call me back
At least let me know when you get home.
I know I don’t deserve any of your time right now. But trust me, what I’m doing will be for the best…eventually.
J, text me you made it home. I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. I don’t see another way.
My fury builds as I read the last few messages. How could he just decide for me? He decided to push me away. He decided that this is what’s best. He, He, He…I’m so sick of not being able to choose for myself.
I type and delete about five different messages ranging from anger to sadness to pleading before finally sending one back in response to all he threw my way today, both in person and on the phone.
I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that you decided for me instead of letting me have the choice. I’m sorry that you feel like you have to do everything on your own. But mostly, I’m sorry that this ended before it ever really began.
FORTY-SIX
RIGGS
It’s been a week since my dad’s funeral. It’s also been a week since I’ve talked to Reagan, and that has only added to my pain, which wasn’t what I expected. I thought giving myself space would allow me to grieve and not bring her down, but it isn’t that simple. Every time I think about texting her or calling her, I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I’ve seen her from a distance on campus a few times, and she is devastatingly beautiful. Someone I don’t deserve to be around right now.
No.
Right now, I have to put all my focus on basketball.
Uncle Jake and I missed one game, and the guys struggled, barely beating a team they should have destroyed. Zee played a great game as the starting point guard, but the other team gave an incredible effort and nearly flawless execution of their game plan.
I can’t help but feel guilty for not being there for my teammates. In the past seven days, I have been able to run and lift weights every day, but stepping back on a court felt wrong.
Today will be my first practice back. My guys need me, and my dad would want me to be out there playing. So here I am, sitting in my car, trying to get the nerve to open the door and make the walk to Titan Gym, where my teammates and coaches are getting ready to start practice.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and slowly release it.It’s time, Son.The thought shoots through me like lightning, and it brings tears to my eyes and a small smile to my face. I know it’s my dad. If I can’t do this for me yet, I can do it for him.
By the time I get inside and change, everyone is already on the court warming up and stretching with our trainers. The last thing I want is to make a big deal about coming back, but being the last one on the court means all eyes are on me.
The first eyes I meet belong to my uncle and coach, who looks somewhat surprised to see me there. He gives me a hesitant smile that grows as I walk closer, and he can see I’m doing well enough to be here today.
As my feet hit the court, a sense of peace and calm comes over me that soothes my soul and heals a crack in my broken heart. Basketball has always been a significant part of me, and for the next two hours, I’m reminded why.
