Page 9

CHAPTER 9

ASHTON, AGE 18

"James! My office!"

Tossing the ball back to Miles, I jog upstairs to meet Coach Callion. He's waiting for me outside his office, which has a floor to ceiling glass wall overlooking the practice court. No wonder he seems to have eyes in the back of his head. He can see everything from up here.

"Take a seat, son."

His flat tone gets my attention, and I worry for a minute that I'm in trouble. I could have probably done better in the exhibition game yesterday, but I still feel like I've been killing it through summer training. Despite a few hiccups, we won the game by over twenty points, and I put up my fair share of the numbers. I feel great about it, and I'm looking forward to starting the season. I've imagined those first moments, running out onto the court for my first game as a Blue Devil. Knowing my dad will be watching me on ESPN, proving that I can do this without his help, is what drives me. He's pissed that I turned down Cumberland Valley, but he should have talked to me before trying to make underhanded investment deals with the dean of the school. However much money he lost in that deal is on him. CVU is a great school, and I understand the connections made there can make or break future investors, CEO's, judges, and other masters of the universe. But that's not my path, and he's going to have to deal with it.

I haven't come right out and told him I have zero interest in continuing in his footsteps with the family business. Declaring a business major is the only way I've been able to keep him pacified for the time being. But by this time next year, he'll understand. Because by then, I'll be drafted to the NBA. All it takes in one great year in a top NCAA school, and I'll be plucked up no problem. I know I'm a damn good player, and I have the stats and resume to prove it. My new team has been a little slow warming up to me, but once the real season starts, I'll show them the star player they recruited.

I'll show my father.

"What's up, Coach?"

"Ashton, you're a great player. You had a killer year last year, and the team got some good press bringing you on board. We're happy to have you."

"Thank you, Coach. I'm excited to be here. Picking Golden State University was a no brainer. I'm looking forward to getting on the court and showing you what you recruited me for."

"About that…"

I'm not sure what he's saying exactly. My vision and hearing both come through a tunnel, and I zero in on Coach Callion's mouth, trying to read his lips because the words I'm hearing make no sense.

"You're… redshirting me?"

This can't be happening. I was a five-star recruit, named one of the top ranked high school prospects in the entire country. I had my pick of colleges to choose from, and I chose Golden State University because I was promised a team who would help me continue to rise to the top. I have endorsements and sponsorships that have already been announced, all riding on my standout performance. Surely one sub-par performance in an exhibition game, because the team was still working out some kinks, isn't going to jeopardize everything I've already built.

"Ashton, like I said, you're a great player?—"

"So then why are you making me sit out?"

Coach clears his throat, crossing his arms and waiting for me to listen to what he has to say. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper.

"You're a great player, but I think you'll be better with a year of practice and development under your belt."

"I've been a championship level player since I was ten years old."

"I'm not trying to downplay your skills, son. You wouldn't have gotten this far if you weren't a good player. But I think you need some time to develop as a team player."

"What does that mean?"

"The last several years, you've flourished with a team of guys all passing you the ball and clearing the way for you to make shots?—"

"—isn't that the point?"

"That's not how we do things here at the college level."

"But—"

"And that's not how things are done in the NBA, either. I know that's your goal, and I think this is how I can best help you reach it."

Or you can just give me the ball and get out of my damn way.

"Did my dad put you up to this?"

"Excuse me?"

"This is some sort of prank, right? He's getting back at me for not choosing CVU?" Coach doesn't say anything, his brow so deeply furrowed I'm convinced it'll leave a mark in his forehead. "Oh, wait. I see what's happening here." Crossing my own arms, I lean back and assess Coach the way he's assessing me. "If this is your way of getting my dad to open his checkbook and make a donation, all you had to do was ask. I won't stand to be threatened or bribed?—"

"I can assure you, your father has nothing to do with my decision."

"Look, I'll get him to make the donation, just stop this?—"

"This school brings in over forty-five million dollars a year in revenue. A check from your daddy isn't going to change a thing." He stands. "If anything, the way you're behaving in response to this is proof that you're not ready. Sit back, listen, and learn, Ashton. Work on becoming a team player, then your first year on the court will be a breakout success."

"This is ridiculous."

"You're dismissed, Ashton."

Aside from my father, I have never been talked to like this in my life. My face burns, and I want to throw something, but I know showing my anger will look like a tantrum in his eyes. I'll find a way around this. I'll transfer to one of the other half a dozen schools that begged me to join their rosters. Coach Callion will be sorry.

I'll show them. I'll show them all.

To my fans, teammates, and supporters,

After careful consideration with my coaches and family, I have made the decision to accept a redshirt for the year. This was not an easy decision, but is in the best interest of my team and my long-term development as a player.

While I won’t be on the court this season, I remain fully committed to supporting my team and our goals. As an athlete, I am eager to compete and contribute to a winning season. This year will provide me with a valuable opportunity to focus on my academics and my future on this team.

Thank you for understanding and for your continued support.

Sincerely,

Ashton James

A cameraman moves along the row of players, pausing in front of me for an uncomfortably long time. I want to put my hand up in front of the lens, or tell the camera guy to fuck off, but it would only make everything worse. Instead, I look straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the game and not at all embarrassed to be sitting on the bench instead of playing.

When the news broke that I wouldn't be on the court for my first college basketball game, my phone blew up with notifications. The local news from my hometown has been reporting on it nonstop, trying to reach me for comments, but so far, I've put them off. As mortified as I was, I finally broke down and called my dad. After what felt like hours of listening to him tell me he told me so, and that I should have listened to the plan he’d laid out for me, he agreed to get his PR team working on a public statement that doesn't make me look like an asshole. This isn't something that can be swept under the rug, unlike getting mixed up with Kent's bullshit case against Marcus Vell. They’ll find a way to put a positive spin on it.

Once again, I'm back to thinking about that night. This is probably karma for that whole mess. Fucking Kent. I told him to fucking drop it, that he didn't have a case. But Kent is one of those people that doesn't like being shown up, under any circumstances. He just had to put Marcus in his place, show him who held the power in our little town.

I nearly had a panic attack when Pinecrest High's basketball coach showed up with security footage. I scrambled to get my hands on it before anyone else could see it, but the footage was shown on a big screen where my dad, Kent, and Kent’s dad all saw. Thankfully, there wasn't a camera directly on us, but it was enough to strongly imply something was happening before Kent and his idiot goons showed up. My father and his PR team were able to scrub my name entirely, and the case was dropped, considering it was clear that the fight was four on one. And since Marcus is openly gay, he could have grounds to come after us for a hate crime.

Marcus never said anything. He never outed me or fought back against Kent's continued public vendetta against him. I almost wished he had. I cut ties with Kent and didn't talk to anyone outside of basketball. Luckily, by that point, we'd all been playing together for so long that everything came easily. And since Marcus dropped off the leaderboards, I found myself on top without his name next to mine for the first time in as long as I could remember.

When I was named number one in the nation, my team threw a party for me. Kent looked me square in the eye and said, "You’re welcome." I nearly puked on the spot.

I've benefited from Kent's bullshit, and I hate myself for it.

Every day I thought about leaking the security footage, of coming out and telling the truth about what happened that day. I almost did it on day one, but my father and his team of lawyers charged in and took over. Days passed, then weeks. It wasn't as if I could go back and fix things. All I could do was move forward.

Except I'm not moving forward. I'm stuck in place, watching the game from the sidelines. And with so much idle time, I find myself thinking about Marcus and how he's faring. I couldn't find any information about where he ended up. Surely he didn't stop playing ball entirely?

Wherever he is, I hope he's happy. And I hope he isn't watching me right now, sitting here on the bench while the team that promised me a breakout season plays without me.