Page 37 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Four

T he following afternoon, I rang the Montgomerys’ doorbell with a pint of Rocky Road ice cream sweating through a paper bag.

Eva had sounded tired but receptive on the phone that morning—still in a haze of pain meds, still cranky about her limited range of motion.

I promised to swing by after lunch, provide her with some company and junk food, and watch an episode or two of whatever murder-y docuseries she’d picked out.

It was my last day in Boston before my flight back to Miami later that evening, and I wanted to spend as much time with her.

The front door opened before I could knock again.

“Oh! Hello, Alexandra.” Mrs. Montgomery looked like she’d just stepped out of a Talbots catalog—buttoned cardigan, flawless blowout, pearls around her neck. “Eva’s in the sunroom. She has a visitor.”

I blinked. “A visitor?”

She didn’t elaborate. She stepped aside and let me in, her eyes falling to the bag in my hand. “That’s not more sugar, is it?” she clucked. “I’m trying to keep her diet anti-inflammatory.”

I offered a sheepish smile. “It’s ice cream for morale.”

Mrs. Montgomery gave me a knowing look before leading me through the elegant, artfully decorated living room and down a short hall to glass-paned double doors.

She’d called it a sunroom, but the glass-encased space looked nothing like the three-season rooms I was accustomed to in the Midwest. The Montgomerys’ sunroom looked like something out of a glossy lifestyle magazine—white-painted wicker furniture with navy cushions, an expensive-looking rug layered over heated tile floors, and potted evergreens in the corners.

Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the pale winter light; the view outside revealed snow-dusted hedges and leafless oak trees.

Eva sat at a small table near the windows, her leg propped on a second chair. She wore glasses instead of contacts and sipped lemonade from a tall, skinny glass like it was champagne.

Sitting next to her, lounging like she’d never left, was Kate Gillespie.

I froze mid-step.

Kate looked up and smiled. “Hey, Lex.”

I had to grip the paper bag a little tighter to keep from dropping it.

“Hi,” I said, trying to summon some version of my voice.

Eva glanced at me over her glasses. “Kate was just stopping by.”

My face or body language must have broadcasted my displeasure.

Kate didn’t move to leave. She sat back in her chair, looking like she was settling in for the long haul. She stretched her legs out in an effortlessly athletic way.

I walked slowly to the table and set the ice cream down with a thunk.

“Rocky Road,” I offered.

“Aw,” Kate cooed. “You still like that stuff, Eves? I thought you outgrew it after that food poisoning debacle sophomore year.”

Eva pursed her lips, amused but noncommittal. “Clearly not.”

I took the empty chair on Eva’s other side and tried to keep my shoulders relaxed.

The soft hum of a space heater in the corner of the sunroom seemed louder than it should have been.

Somewhere down the hall, Mrs. Montgomery’s heels clicked faintly on hardwood.

Eva’s stiff knee brace peeked out beneath a blanket, stark against the afghan’s soft fabric.

“You’ve got a nice setup here,” I said, trying to sound normal.

Kate laughed, and I wasn’t sure why it irritated me. “It feels a little Ivy League, doesn’t it? I used to tease Eva about growing up in a Nancy Meyers movie.”

Eva turned her glass in her hand, but didn’t saying anything.

Kate leaned back in her chair. “I’m glad you graduated to actual ice packs for your knee.” She flashed a quick look in my direction. “I had to beg her to stop icing her knee with frozen peas our freshman year. She wouldn’t believe me that ice packs were a thing.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “The peas worked just fine.”

“Sure,” Kate smirked. “Until they exploded in your gym bag. Twice.”

Eva finally smiled, and it made something shift uncomfortably in my chest.

I knew they had history. I wasn’t naive. But sitting there, observing the memories, the little shared jokes, the way Kate casually touched Eva’s arm when she reached for her drink—it was like watching a play I hadn’t been cast in.

I stood abruptly. “I’m gonna put this ice cream in the freezer.”

“Yeah. You do that,” Kate said, leaning back again. “We wouldn’t want it to melt.”

I shoved the pint of ice cream into the freezer with a little more force than necessary.

It wasn’t just that Kate was here. It was how easily she fit in. How natural she looked in this setting, how at home she seemed in Eva’s childhood world. She belonged here in a way I wasn’t sure I ever would.

I needed to vent. Mathilde would get it.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and typed out a message.

Kate’s here. Again.

I stared at the words for a second. I considered editing them down to something cooler, more neutral. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want to play nice.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. It’s like I’m invisible.

I hit send before I could overthink it.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

What the hell? Is she just showing up?

I leaned back against the kitchen counter, feeling the weight of my frustration settle deeper in my chest.

It’s too much. Too many inside jokes and stories from the past. I’m sitting here like a goddamn ghost.

My phone buzzed again.

You should call her out.

Seriously.

You need to stake your claim, Lex. Eva chose YOU.

I rubbed a hand over my face. Mathilde wasn’t wrong, but the idea of calling Kate out made my stomach churn.

I don’t know if I can do that.

I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing again.

I’m just gonna try to survive the next few hours without tearing anyone’s head off.

I hit send and leaned my palms flat against the cool surface of the countertop to steady myself. It didn’t help that the quiet of the house felt so at odds with the knot of tension tightening in my stomach.

When I returned to the sunroom, the scene before me froze me in my tracks.

Eva was still sitting in her chair, her leg propped up on a second one, but it was the way Kate was leaning over her—so close, her hand brushing Eva’s arm, her face mere inches from hers—that made my chest tighten.

The look in Kate’s eyes was too familiar, too soft, and I felt a stab of something sharp and unpleasant.

I blinked, trying to clear the scene, but it didn’t go away.

Eva looked up at me and seemed to shift backwards, but Kate didn’t move—not right away at least. She stayed where she was, still too close, her fingers lingering too long on Eva’s sleeve.

“Lex, sit,” Eva said, her voice low and a little strained.

I hesitated with my feet rooted to the floor.

Eva’s gaze softened as she caught the tension in my posture. Her eyes flicked briefly to Kate before returning to me. “Please.”

I walked to the chair opposite her and lowered myself into it. I kept my gaze on Kate, who finally pulled back. She smoothed the front of her sweater like she was trying to make the moment look more casual than it felt.

I cleared my throat. “How do you like med school, Kate?”

She turned to me, polite and bright. “It’s really great.

I’m starting clinicals soon, hopefully ortho.

So Eva’s case was kind of fascinating. Not that I wanted her to tear anything,” she added, glancing at Eva.

“But, you know, it’s rare to get such a clean midsubstance ACL tear without other complications. ”

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course she knew the exact type of injury.

Conversation after that continued to be stilted—Kate brought up some mutual acquaintance from Boston and Eva offering a few clipped observations.

All the while, I stared out the sunroom’s windows as the afternoon’s pale sunlight faded with the advancing hours.

I couldn’t shake the memory of Kate leaning in too close, her presence far too easy.

At some point, Eva leaned her head back against her chair and closed her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Just tired,” she murmured.

Kate reached for the blanket draped over the back of Eva’s chair and unfolded it with a kind of familiarity that stung.

“Thank you,” Eva mumbled, barely looking at her.

Kate glanced between us, maybe finally sensing that something was off. She set her lemonade down and stood. “I should probably head out. I’ve got class early tomorrow.”

She leaned down to give Eva a careful, lingering hug. Her movements looked almost too deliberate. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll text you.”

Eva nodded. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Kate gave me a polite nod as she passed. “Nice to see you again, Lex.”

I somehow managed a tight smile. “You, too.”

We watched Kate walk down the hall. The soft click of her boots grew faint as she headed for the front door.

Eva exhaled sharply once she was gone. “Well. That was a disaster.”

I looked at her, startled. “You think so?”

“I had to sit through a pissing match on painkillers,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

“I wasn’t trying to piss?—”

“Yes, you were,” she said, not unkindly. “And so was she. And I’m too fucking tired to referee.”

I couldn’t help but glance toward the door Kate had just left through. “I didn’t expect her to be here again. It threw me.”

Eva shifted in her chair, looking a little guilty. “I didn’t expect her to stay so long either. She came by this morning and … lingered.”

“She still loves you,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“She doesn’t know me anymore,” Eva countered. “Not who I am now.”

“You two seemed pretty comfortable,” I said before I could stop that, too.

She frowned. “Lex?—”

“I know. I know, it’s stupid,” I muttered. I pushed my hair back in frustration. “I just felt … like I didn’t belong here. And like she does.”

Eva was quiet for a moment. She sighed and her shoulders dropped. “This house is like a time capsule. It makes people remember who I used to be. But that version of me is gone.”

I looked at her, searching her face. “Who are you now?”

Eva reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “I’m the person who wants you beside me while I figure out how to walk again.”

My throat tightened and I rapidly blinked.

The sunroom fell quiet except for the soft hum of the space heater and the faint rustle of snow sliding off of the roof.

Eva shifted so her leg rested across my lap instead of another chair.

The bulky brace was cool beneath my fingers.

I traced slow circles on her calf, careful not to press too hard.

“I hate that you’re leaving,” she said, voice low and a little rough.

I swallowed. “Only a few more weeks and I’ll be back.”

She shifted again, wincing as she adjusted the brace. “It still feels like forever.”

I wanted to sugar coat it—to tell her it was nothing, that the Miami league would wrap up before we knew it, and that I’d be calling her every night until then—but the words stuck in my throat.

This was supposed to be our time together, she and I playing ball on the same team in the same city, but now we were apart again.

I squeezed her hand. “I’ll text you too much,” I vowed. “You’ll get sick of me.”

“Impossible,” she snorted softly. Her mouth curved just enough to make my heart stutter.

I wanted to memorize the moment—the way her braids slipped loose over her shoulders, the stubborn tilt of her mouth, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

“You’re all set for your flight?” she asked, an edge of concern in her voice.

I nodded. “Yeah … in a few hours. But right now, I just want to stay here a little longer.”

Making my flight was the last thing on my mind.