Page 35 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

She nodded, opening a slim folder I hadn’t noticed before.

“We don’t want to spin this as a setback.

Instead, we highlight the comeback arc—her discipline, her resilience, her focus on recovery.

We’re going to be fielding a lot of questions over the next few weeks.

I want to make sure we’re on the same page before the messaging goes public. ”

The folder contained glossy printouts and clipped together notes. I flipped through a mock-up of what looked like a press statement. There were even a few early logo treatments— Eva Montgomery: The Return scrawled across them in bold serif font.

My stomach tightened.

“Sorry, but is now really the time?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet. “She just got out of surgery.”

Veronica gave me a look that wasn’t quite surprised, but was clearly patient. It was a reaction akin to how someone might respond to a naive question in a high-level meeting. “It’s never too early to start protecting the narrative. Trust me, Lex—if we don’t tell the story, someone else will.”

Across the waiting room, Kate stood and stretched her arms over her head. I watched her turn slightly, her eyes flicking to where Veronica and I sat together. I couldn’t tell if she was eavesdropping, but she didn’t exactly look away, either.

I shifted in my seat. “That might be your job, but mine is to be her girlfriend. She doesn’t need a brand strategy right now; she needs rest.”

Veronica closed the folder, looking neither offended nor dissuaded. “Of course. I only wanted to get this on your radar.”

With immaculate timing, the nurse from before returned. She scanned the room briefly before her eyes settled on me. She gave me a gentle smile. “She’s asking for you.”

I was already on my feet, Veronica’s PR folder untouched on the seat beside me.

My initial thought was how small she looked in the hospital bed.

On a basketball court, in an ad campaign, or plastered across a billboard in Times Square, Eva Montgomery was larger than life. In a post-op recovery room in Boston, Massachusetts, she looked young and vulnerable. Fragile.

Her right leg was elevated, wrapped tight in a brace. A cold therapy sleeve hummed quietly in the background. Her braids were a little messy, and her skin had lost some of its warmth. But her eyes lit up when they found me.

“Hey you,” she said, her voice dry and thin. “I wasn’t quite sure you’d make it.”

“I’m so sorry I was late,” I rushed to apologize. I had the strangest urge to fall to my knees. “Traffic was?—”

“You’re here now,” she cut me off. “That’s all that matters.”

I exhaled. Just like that, she let me off the hook. No lecture. No guilt. No scorekeeping. I relaxed with the realization that she wouldn’t hold me to impossible standards—not even now.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Sore,” she admitted. “Still a little groggy.”

I grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it closer to her bed. I took her hand in mine and stroked reassuring fingers across her palm and knuckles. Her skin was cool to the touch when normally she was an inferno.

“Where’d your parents go?” I asked.

Eva frowned slightly. “They both had work conflicts they couldn’t get out of.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said with a shrug. “I actually prefer this. They’d just be hovering over me when I can’t do much more than sit here.”

“I’m happy to hover,” I offered, smiling.

“How long are you in town for?” she asked.

“How long do you want me here?”

“I could be selfish and ask you not to go back,” she said quietly. “But I’m not going to do that.”

“You can be selfish,” I told her. “I’ll stay.”

Eva’s features softened. “I know you would, baby. But you’ve got to go back and see this season through. My girlfriend isn’t a quitter.”

The corner of my mouth lifted up. “Is it dumb that I still get butterflies when you call me your girlfriend?”

“It’s not dumb,” she said. “Lots of people want that title.”

She started to laugh at her own joke, but then winced. Her smile crumpled into discomfort.

“Easy,” I said gently. I let go of her hand so I could grab the plastic cup of water on the bedside tray. She sipped gratefully, and I stood beside her, one hand resting on the bed’s metal guardrail.

She let her head fall back against the pillow, visibly exhausted from the mundane action.

“Where are you staying tonight?” she asked, her voice still hoarse.

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean this hospital bed isn’t big enough for both of us?”

Eva flashed me an impatient look.

“Mathilde’s,” I relented. “She’s letting me crash at her place as long as I need.”

“I forgot about Mathilde.”

“I won’t tell her you said that,” I teased.

“Not forgot her ,” Eva said, “but that she might not have gone back to France in the off-season.”

“Yeah, she decided to stay in Boston and keep working on her game. Lucky for me, otherwise I might have had to ask the Honorable Virginia Montgomery to crash on her couch.”

Eva winced in mock horror. “Oh my God. I can’t even imagine that.”

“Why not? I think your mom is starting to warm up to me.”

I said the words, but I didn’t really believe them. For all my efforts, I still felt like an outsider. Like I was showing up to a party I’d never been invited to and was only tolerated because Eva had insisted on bringing me.

“Alexandra,” Eva said, mimicking her mother’s sharp cadence. “I do hope you’re thinking about life after basketball. It isn’t a forever career, you know.”

I laughed despite myself. “You’re kind of spooky good at that.”