Page 61 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 23
Lance
“Am I just old or are these workouts tougher than they were last year?”
I throw my wet towel in the bin next to the locker doors and pull on some briefs, nodding my head in agreement at my teammate Christian Lancaster question.
We’re a week into the season, workouts in the athletic department weight room in the mornings and full two-hour daily practices during the week. Once we begin games in early November, it’s about twenty-to-thirty-hour week practices. And my body is mad as a motherfucker right now from the intrusions on my daily nap routine.
I don’t seem to recall it being so difficult to get back into the swing of things the last few years when we transitioned back into play. Then again, I spent those summers keeping myself in shape, where this summer I spent time drinking and fucking. Both activities that were A-OK with me.
Even Christian and my trainer commented last week on my lack of physical endurance and gave me shit about the little Buddha belly I’d apparently developed. Their jabs and sarcastic shit are just part of our typical smack talk and locker room talk. I know I’m still in better shape than any normal college senior. And Mica certainly doesn’t complain when her hands are all over my body.
As if reading my mind, Christian smacks my ass with the end of his wet towel.
“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re coming out with the new recruits this Friday to Tomas’s house party cause you ain’t looking for chicks any more, are ya?”
He smirks at me with a knowing cock of an eyebrow.
Normally I’d push his buttons or quip about my skills in the ladies department, but in this point in my relationship with Mica, there’s no use. I have no desire to seek out the company of other girls because she’s the only one I want.
“What can I say, bro. I’ll be hanging out with my lady if I’m lucky. And without me there to steal all the chicks, you’ll finally get a chance to get lucky and score.”
Christian laughs good naturedly and is about to say something else wholly inappropriate, I’m sure, when we’re interrupted by the new assistant coach, Coach Parker.
“Hey Britton, can I speak to you for a minute before you head out?”
My instincts tell me this is not a conversation about my thoughts on the lower classman and new recruits, but about how I need to show up a little more out on the court. Because I know, just as much as he does, that I’ve been sucking wind.
Stuffing my dirty laundry in my gym duffle bag, I zip it closed and turn around to face him.
“Sure Coach. Whatever you need.”
Coach Parker pats me on the shoulder and turns to walk toward the bank of offices on the outside of our locker rooms.
Glancing over at Christian, I notice his expression is one of solidarity, but lacks the confidence in me.
“Good luck, fucker,” he croons, making the sign of the cross. “Hope I see you tomorrow at practice.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
And without a backwards glance, I follow in the direction of Coach Parker as I head into his office situated at the end of the hallway.
“Take a seat, Lance,” he says, moving around the corner of the desk and finding his own seat.
I do as he says, but not before I get a chance to scan the contents of his office. There are boxes lined up against the far wall and a few pictures hung up, as well as one on his desk of a cute kid. Otherwise his office is pretty baron. Probably because he’s the newest addition to the staff this year and the youngest assistant on the team. I think he’s maybe pushing late twenties, maybe thirty.
We’ve heard rumors about Garrett Parker. He went pro right after his first year of college. Played a few years, was traded around as a free agent. He married his high school girlfriend and they had a kid, and then last year his wife and kid were in an accident, leaving the wife dead and the kid with some sort of disability.
It’s crazy to think that a guy like this who seemingly had it all got such a shit break like that. What hasn’t ever been explained, and what we all wonder, is why Garrett left the pros and decided to take an assistant coaching job. But I’m not about to ask him that very personal question.
I sit uncomfortably in my chair across from him watching his expression change as he looks down at what I assume is the team roster sheet and his notes from the last week of practices.
There’s a few beats of silence and then he says, “You need to step up this year, Britton. Be a leader.”
Um, okaaaay. Not sure what he means by that.
He continues, seemingly aware of my inner dialogue. “As a fifth-year, you have the most experience on this team. You know what it takes to get to the championship. You know the amount of hard work and teamwork that’s involved. This game isn’t about just one single guy or even a few. It’s about the entire team. But one guy can make it or break it. If we want another chance at the Big Dance this year, I need you to step up your game.”
