Page 80 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 31
Lance
Holy shit that was so hot. I keep thinking about the other night with Mica.
I don’t know where that fantasy stemmed from, because I’ve never thought about impregnating a girl before, but talking dirty with Mica about knocking her up was the hottest thing we’d ever talked about or done.
But afterwards, she became extremely quiet. Shut-down and didn’t want to talk anymore. She said she was tired and rolled over and went to sleep. Which was fine, but very unlike her.
I, on the other hand, stayed awake for hours. Her questions got me to thinking about the future. Where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do. I honestly haven’t put a lot of thought or energy into it, mostly because the talks with my therapist have been about the past and the present. Not too much about where I see myself in a year. Five years. Ten years.
Yet that dream keeps coming back to me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s Mica standing there looking out at the water holding a kid. Maybe somewhere in the recesses of my mind I do envision that in the future. Having a family. Having a life with her. She’s the only solid thing I have in my life.
Well, aside from basketball.
I’m grateful to the coaching staff and everyone on the team for giving me a second chance. It’s helped me mature in ways that never would have happened had I not gone through rehab. And while I’m mostly sitting on the bench in games, like right now, seeing things from this perspective has given me a helluva lot of insight and direction.
Tonight is senior night, which is the last regular season game until the brackets are announced beforeMarch Madness. I know I’ll get to play at some point in the game, but the second half has already begun and I’m still on the bench.
In the past, I would have sat here and stewed, becoming more and more upset by the minute and then drinking my frustrations away at an afterparty.
Tonight, though, there’s a realization that’s hit me. One that gives me purpose and drive. I’m alive and healthy, clean and sober, and have love in my heart. It makes the experience so much better. And I finally feel worthy of it.
As does having Mica, Cade and Ainsley, Van, Kylah and a few other friends up there in the stands supporting me tonight. And I know that my mom and brother are watching me from above. They all have faith in me and it pushes me on and emboldens me to become a better man each and every day.
Coach Parker sidles up to me and gives me a nudge.
“You’re up, kid. Go show ‘em how it’s done.”
Grinning a punk-ass smile at him, I whip off my warm-up pants and shirt and trod over to the ref table to check into the game. As soon as there’s a whistle or timeout, I’ll exchange spots with Javin, the other small forward out on the floor.
The whistle blows and I charge out onto the court, pointing at J to gain his attention and let him know I’m taking his place. He passes me by with a fist bump and I ready myself in position. Our point guard, Tra’Von, has the ball from the sidelines and calls out our play before inbounding the pass to me.
Eager excitement lights up my blood as I catch the ball and dribble down the court. There’s this revelatory anticipation that draws me down into the paint, looking to my left and right, and then making a pass to Christian in the center. He turns and fakes, shooting the ball back over to me. I circle, pump, and take a pull up jumper that hits only the net.
The crowd goes wild and I receive head nods and bumps from my teammates as we rush back down the court, now on the defense. This feels good.
I post up and block the shot of my opponent, who misses the basket and Tra’Von is there to get the rebound. We head back down the court and Tra calls out the play that I love. It’s a pump fake, alley oop. It’s when he pretends to take a shot from mid-court and I, in the meantime, rush under the basket, lift off into the air, Tra arcs the ball toward the rim and I catch it and slam it home.
It’s fucking perfection.
Until I land.
The defensive guy, Josh Everson, comes down at the same time as me, and somehow, we get tangled up together. When I land on both feet, I end up stepping on his shoe, and my ankle turns in the opposite direction of my foot.
Pain sears through my leg as I reach for my ankle and writhe on the floor under the basket, screaming obscenities while holding my leg. When I look at it I think I’m going to pass out. This is not just a sprain. The ankle bone is popped out and looks like a broken tree branch.
Just like that, I know my season is over.
It’s been a good ride but I’m irritated it had to end this way. I had so much more play in me.
Why, me?
The coaches and trainer come rushing out and begin fussing over me, but I close my eyes in pain.
And then another realization hits me square in the gut.
No matter how painful this is or will be, or whether I have to incur surgery and pins or plates…I will have to endure all of it without the aid of drugs or medication. The only thing I can take to alleviate pain is Tylenol and Advil.
