Page 36 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

“ A lexandra.” Mrs. Montgomery stood in the doorway of the Brookline mansion, her eyes scanning me as if she hadn’t quite decided what to make of my unannounced arrival. “I thought you’d be back in Miami by now.”

I shook my head. “We’re on a break. I’ve got a few more days off.”

Briana had scheduled a promotional event midway through the three-month season: a one-on-one tournament with a $200,000 prize.

It was tempting—who wouldn’t want that kind of money for a single competition?

But I wasn’t exactly the one-on-one type.

That was more of a game for a stretch forward, someone with height, length, and handles.

Eva’s body type and skillset were actually perfect for it, but she was obviously in no shape to compete.

Mrs. Montgomery hummed in acknowledgment, though there was no trace of enthusiasm in it. “She needs her rest.”

“Of course,” I replied, nodding politely. “I won’t overstay my welcome. I just wanted to drop these off.”

I gestured to the small bouquet of roses in my hand—nothing extravagant, just a little something I’d picked up on the way. They were imperfect, half still in bud, but I figured it was the thought that counted.

Her expression softened slightly, though the skepticism lingered. Another hum escaped her lips, but this time, she stepped aside to let me in.

The house was still, the noise of everyday life muted by Eva’s injury. I climbed the stairs to the second floor with a practiced quiet, stepping carefully down the narrow hall toward the bedroom at the end. The door was cracked just enough to let in a sliver of warm afternoon light.

As I entered, the nostalgia hit me. The walls were covered with the same basketball posters I’d had plastered on the walls of my own room as a kid.

Eva’s old trophies, lined up on a shelf near the bedroom’s single window, were relics of a past before the world ever knew her name.

But none of it caught my attention for long.

What held me was her.

Eva lay in bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, her leg elevated on even more.

She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and loose cotton shorts.

Her braids were twisted into a messy bun that probably looked perfect when she’d put it up that morning.

The stillness of her was palpable—exhaustion, discomfort, painkillers—yet when her eyes met mine, they lit up in a way that made the whole room feel warmer.

“Hey,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, laced with that familiar rasp.

“Hey.” I smiled and sat gently on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Eva shrugged slowly, and I noticed the slight tension in her jaw as she fought to mask the pain. “I’ve been better.” She paused, her eyes softening as she added, “But I’m glad you’re here.”

My hand found hers, fingers intertwining. She squeezed, weak but meaningful.

“I realized I don’t know your favorite flower,” I admitted, the thought only hitting me now. “I hope roses are okay.”

A slow, soft smile spread across her face. “My favorite flower is whatever you thought to get me.”

Her words warmed me more than I expected, but I didn’t push the sentiment.

Instead, I leaned back, settling into the calm that came with just being near her.

We talked about small things—the taste of her mom’s cooking, the cringeworthy TV movie she’d started but never finished, the way the ice machine in her room was annoying but somehow effective.

Every so often, her eyes would flutter closed, and I’d reach out—touch her hand, her thigh, the soft curve of her waist—and each time, she’d blink back into the moment, her gaze focusing on me like nothing else existed.

There was a pause, a quiet moment in the conversation, before she broke the silence.

“Veronica’s brokering a deal with a streaming service to record my recovery,” she said.

I frowned, instinctively bristling. “Vultures.”

“Can I turn them down?” Her voice was very small.

“What do you mean? Of course you can.”

“I did this to myself,” she murmured, her gaze a little distant. “I kept telling myself I was doing this for the next little girl—the one who’d come up after me, breaking down walls and barriers. But I forgot about myself in the process.”

“I will fire Veronica myself if you want me to,” I genuinely offered.

Eva looked at me, and though her lips twitched in amusement, there was a tiredness behind her eyes. “Let’s not get crazy.”

After a moment, her voice broke through again. “I have to make a decision about where to rehab my knee.”

I rested my chin on the back of my hand, propping myself up to face her fully. “What are you thinking?”

She hesitated, staring out the window for a moment before turning back at me. “Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago. Stay with the team, travel with them. Build team chemistry.”

I nodded slowly, sensing the unspoken weight behind her words.

“But another part of me thinks Boston is the better choice.”

I smiled faintly, playing along. “I hear Boston has a world-class healthcare system.”

Eva laughed quietly, her breath catching slightly. “You and my mom both.”

She paused, brushing her hand over mine where it rested on her stomach. The moment felt tender and vulnerable.

“Chicago would be better for the team,” she continued. “But the thought of rehabbing my knee all day and coming home to an empty condo ... it just bums me out.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing her. “You could always get a roommate. Jazz is pretty chill.”

She worried her bottom lip rather than take my suggestion seriously. “Would you think me terribly selfish if I chose Boston?”

The truth? I wouldn’t think she was selfish at all. I’d be relieved. It meant I could have her in the same city as me for just a little longer. I didn’t trust myself to be objective about that.

“I can’t make that decision for you,” I said softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “But you need to do what’s best for you. Don’t worry about optics or what the internet trolls will think.”

Eva let out a long breath. A wince slipped across her face as she shifted in bed.

The bedroom door creaked, and Mrs. Montgomery’s voice floated through the crack. “Eva, you should get some rest.”

“I will,” Eva called back. The sound of footsteps retreated down the hall.

The silence settled between us again.

“Stay with me. Sleep with me.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped me. “Your mother would not approve.”

Eva reached for my hand. She squeezed it gently, her expression softening. “I love you.”

I leaned in to press a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? We’ll binge whatever mindless TV you want and eat all the Rocky Road ice cream your stomach can handle.”

Her smile was slow and sleepy. “Deal.”

I stepped out of the Montgomerys’ house, the cool evening air hitting me sharply.

I’d gotten used to Miami’s constant warmth; I had to remind myself it was February in New England.

My mind was still on Eva—her soft smile, her quiet vulnerability, the decisions she had to make about her recovery.

I was already thinking ahead, planning for tomorrow, when I heard a voice.

“Hello again,” came the sing-song tone.

I froze. My hand was still on the front door, and I turned slowly to face her.

Kate Gillespie stood at the end of the Montgomerys’ walkway, a slight smirk tugging at her lips.

“Oh. Hey,” I said. I tried to keep my tone even, despite the way my stomach knotted.

She started to walk in the direction of me and the front door, her long strides making quick work of the winding walkway. She didn’t explain herself or even speak; she only waved a little as she passed me.

I watched her move toward the front door like she had every right to be there. She didn’t ring the doorbell or knock. She tugged on the door handle and walked inside.

Any goodwill or serenity I’d felt about my visit was immediately dashed away. Ugly, foreboding feelings churned in my stomach when the front door closed with Kate inside.

I let myself into Mathilde’s apartment, distracted by the weight of recent events—the visit to Eva’s house, Kate Gillespie waltzing in like she owned the place, and the tightness in my chest that wouldn’t seem to ease.

I threw my bag on the couch; the sound of it hitting the cushion punctuated my frustration.

“Eva’s got us on rotation. Real slick,” I announced.

I paced a few steps and then back again.

I could feel the heat building in my face and the anger spiking.

“Kate shows up, just like that, like she hasn’t been out of the picture for years.

And you know what really gets me? She doesn’t even have the decency to knock.

Just—boom, walks right in like she’s still got access to Eva’s life. ”

I’d mentioned having seen Kate the previous day at the hospital. Mathilde had talked me through my insecurities the previous evening. This second round, however, might take longer.

Mathilde looked up from her phone, her expression unreadable at first. Her lips pursed as she watched me. “You’re mad.”

“What tipped you off?” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair.

Mathilde’s expression softened. She sat up straighter and set her phone aside. “You know Eva’s not playing you like that.”

I started pacing the room again. “It’s not about me being ‘played.’ It’s about the lack of respect. Eva’s hurt, on painkillers, and here comes Kate, back in her life like nothing’s changed. It’s disrespectful .”

Mathilde crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Eva’s hurt. She’s not in a place where she can deal with any of this right now. It’s not about you, Lex.”

I stopped pacing and looked at her. “So, I’m supposed to just let Kate walk all over me like this?”

Mathilde sighed. “This girl doesn’t have anything over you. She’s an ex. She doesn’t get to dictate who’s in Eva’s life now. You’re in her life. That’s what matters.”

I felt the knot in my chest loosen a little, but the frustration still clung to me, stubborn and hard. “I know. But it just ... it pisses me off. The whole thing. The way Kate acts like nothing’s changed. Eva’s not hers anymore,” I fumed, “and I’m not just some person she’s messing with.”

Mathilde gave me a long look, her gaze sharp but understanding. “Kate’s a problem for you, sure, but Eva’s not playing games. She’s injured. She’s not thinking about anything beyond her recovery right now. You need to trust that she chose you. Trust that, and let the rest go.”

I nodded slowly, even if it didn’t feel like something I could do just yet. My heart still felt heavy with the unresolved tension, and the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen.

Mathilde shifted to sit up, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, enough of this. I’ve got snacks. Let’s distract you.”

I managed a small laugh. “You really think that’s going to make me feel better?”

“Trust me,” Mathilde said with a grin, “it’s the only thing that works. But I’m picking the movie. You’re just along for the ride.”

I wrinkled my nose, but felt a little lighter despite myself. “Let me guess—something with subtitles.”

Mathilde turned on the TV, and snacks were procured from the kitchen.

I slowly began to lose myself to the mindless distraction that only a good movie can provide.

But even as the scenes flickered on the screen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my heart was tied to something complicated—and I didn’t know how to untangle it.