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FORTY-NINE

ELI

I’ve lived most of my life living with certain proclivities. Beliefs that were projected like a bullhorn, blaring into my eardrums until I was deaf to anything else.

One: Pops’s word is law.

Two: Success is the only thing that matters.

It’s no coincidence the two molded together like playdough. Different colors of the same thing mixing until I couldn’t tell them apart. Pops’s aspirations became my own. Still, through all the times Pops pushed me, all the critiques he gave instead of his pride, he was still my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong, and I was forever trying to appease him.

But yesterday, something shifted.

Something cataclysmic came loose, rattling around until it jumbled up my head and my heart, forming a new mold for my soul to fit into.

Now, I see things clear.

Pops isn’t infallible. He’s human. He makes mistakes. He’ll have to pay his own penance for the things that he’s done. For the people he’s sucked into his vortex, whipping them through the tornado of his grief, and spitting them out damaged and torn.

My hope is he’ll put in the work at Stepping Stones, which is where I dropped him off yesterday after Lee came over. He went without fanfare, solemn on the drive and quiet as he was checked in.

Now it’s Monday morning, and even though I’ve been trying like hell to relax, my muscles are tense and my mind is a minefield.

Basketball lost its meaning once Becca left.

It hurt to look at the glossy maple floors and remember teaching her to own the paint. Too painful to reflect on the feel of her fingers under mine while I positioned her hands. But for the first time in five years, my fingers itch to hold a ball in my hands. To stand on the court and breathe it all in. Not because it’s my job, but because my soul is yearning for solace.

It’s that twinge of a spark which makes me head to Sugarlake High this morning. I’m not even sure the doors will be unlocked, but there’s a pull between my stomach and my chest, tugging me in the direction of my memories.

For some reason, I know it’s the only way to quiet my mind today.

A few cars are scattered through the lot and the doors are open, so I walk inside and head straight to the gymnasium. The squeak of my shoes rebounds off the metal of the lockers, and the bittersweet taste of nostalgia fills me up as I remember what it was like to make this same trek eleven years ago.

Back when I was the next big thing. Before I became the town’s biggest disappointment.

The thought doesn’t sting like it once did. To assume we know our fate is futile, and when one path is stunted, another one is paved.

I stay quiet when I push open the double doors to the gym, not wanting to attract any attention. I’m not sure I’m technically allowed to be here.

A smile pulls at my lips as I make my way to the center of the court. If I strain my ears, I can almost hear the cheers ringing through the bleachers, chants of my name and number thirty-three bouncing off the walls. My chest warms at the memory, but I don’t ache to grasp the feeling like I once did.

My eyes take in my surroundings. Not much has changed in eleven years. The Sugarlake Bobcat is still painted in a gaudy blue, shining off the whitewashed bricks on the far wall. A rolling cart of basketballs is resting against its surface. I walk over and pick one up, staring at how the black lines cut through the dark orange surface.

This feeling right here—this rightness —has only happened with two things in my life.

The feel of a ball in my hands and the warmth of Becca in my arms.

I palm the leather, popping it up and spinning it on the tip of my finger as I make my way to the free throw line.

Inhaling a deep breath, I dribble once. Twice. I take the shot at the exact moment a bang echoes off the walls, making my stance falter. The ball hits the backboard and bounces to the side, rolling toward the entrance to the gym.

My eyes follow.

Bright red heels.

Killer legs.

Hips that make my hands tingle with the memory of their curve.

Rebecca.

My stomach flips at the sight of her.

“You,” she gasps.

I smirk, the first time we ran into each other at FCU flashing through my mind.

“Rebecca.” I stride toward her, my cock jerking as she bends at the waist to grab the basketball. Those unruly curls fall over her shoulder, begging me to grip them in my palm, tug the silky strands as they tangle in my fingers.

She straightens, her cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink. I stand close, peering down at her. Our gazes lock and heat simmers low in my gut.

She brushes a curl out of her face. “What are you doin’ here?”

My eyebrow quirks. “What’s it look like?”

She scoffs. “I meant at the school, Big Head.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you doing? I thought you were gone. Running away to somewhere new.”

She lifts a shoulder, chewing on her lip. “The people who matter most need me here.”

Stale anger filters through my veins at the audacity of her statement. Once again, she’ll stay when someone else needs her but wouldn’t stay for me.

It’s the bitterness of that thought on my tongue which makes my voice sharp. “Never stopped you before.”

She sucks on her teeth, nodding. “I know. And as much as I wish I could turn back time and change my choices, I can’t.” She sighs, her fingers brushing through her hair. “But I’m tryin’ to learn. Tryin’ to stand up straight for the first time in my life and see things from a different angle. To forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made.”

Old wounds throb inside me and the ache has me stepping in closer, my breath fanning the wisps of her hair away from her face. “Well, what about my forgiveness, Becca? You give a damn about that ?”

She licks her lips, and my own lips tingle from envy. “If I thought for one second it would make a lick of difference, I’d be on my knees beggin’.”

Try it, baby girl. Just show me you give a damn.

Her eyes catalog my every action. She’s holding the basketball against her sternum and she steps into me, the ball pressing uncomfortably against my abs.

My stomach jolts, my cock growing against my leg.

“I’m sorry, Eli. I’m so damn sorry for hurtin’ you. I could go into all the reasons why, but they don’t matter. Not really. They’re nothin’ more than excuses to try and keep my guilt at bay.”

I grit my teeth, gulping around the lump in my throat. “What if I want your excuses?”

She shakes her head, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye and trailing down her cheek, her makeup melting away to showcase those perfect freckles underneath. “You deserve better. And even if I tried to give you reasons, they don’t change a thing. I made a mistake. The worst…” She blows out a breath, her eyes squeezing shut as she swallows. “The worst mistake I think I’ve ever made in my life, and I’m still strugglin’ to gather all my pieces and accept I was the one who broke them.” She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m not the woman you deserve, Eli. I never was.”

My heart slingshots off my ribs, my chest pulling tight at her admission. At her show of emotion.

At her heartbreak.

She backs up, the cool air slicing through my shirt, sending goose bumps scaling down my arms. My hand snaps forward and grips her wrist tight, yanking her back into me.

The basketball drops from her hands, the rhythmic bouncing an echo of the way my heart beats in my chest.

“I broke it off with Sarah.”

The words are gruff as they sail through the air. I’m not sure why I said it at this particular moment, other than the delicate thread holding me together is fraying at the seams and all I can think about is how badly I need her to know.

“What?” she gasps, her eyes widening. “When? Was it after?—”

“It was before the party,” I interrupt. “Right after we left the meeting with you, actually.”

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Yeah. Oh . And do you know why, Rebecca?”

Her chest heaves against mine, the fabric of my shirt scratching against my skin with each of her breaths.

I lean in, my mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “Because it doesn’t matter if she’s the woman I deserve when you’re the only one I see.”

She pants out a breath and I catch it with my lips, groaning at the explosion of her taste on my tongue.

Her moans vibrate through my body, her fingers diving in the strands of my hair and twisting, the sting just enough to make my cock pulse with want.

I grip her arms and pull her closer, plastering her body to mine, lost in the blaze.