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Chapter 15

Brooks

I’m cooking dinner, thinking of how quiet it is at my new house. It’s not a new build but it’s new to me. With my most recent contract extension, and mental health suggestion from my therapist, I made the decision to buy a house instead of paying rent. I’ve been living here a few months but it still feels weird walking through the rooms, soaking in the space.

The thing about playing a sport for a living is your situation can get awfully tumultuous out of nowhere. You could get traded, lose your starting spot, not get a contract extension, or have a severe injury. Before I put an offer on this place, I had a meeting with the Jags’ head coach, owner, and general manager. I wanted them to look me in the face and tell me their honest intentions. Now they could bullshit me all they wanted, but I had a good feeling about our meeting.

I grew up in a cramped two-bedroom house as an only child. We didn’t have a ton of space, but my mom gave me everything she could. Let me tell you, it was more than enough. I’ve met many people who talk about their childhood as a time they’d like to forget, or they reminisce about struggles I’d never experienced. I may have only had a single parent, but we never went hungry, and we were able to do things like go on vacations and play travel sports, like basketball.

I’ll never forget when the head coach for The University of Alabama men’s basketball team came to my house, with the scout who attended a game the previous week. I was a junior in high school and had been offered a full-ride scholarship to play a game I’d been obsessed with for as long as I could remember.

“How much is this going to cost? Like really?” my mom asks, looking for the catch. “We can cover it. I just need to start planning for it.” She looks at Coach, who is sitting across from us in an accent chair in the living room.

“I promise there’s no hidden bill or cost. As long as Brooks remains in good academic standing and displays no conduct detrimental to the team, his tuition and on-campus housing will be 100% covered by this scholarship.”

It’s like it finally hits her. She sniffles and replies, “I already have a college fund for him though,” with tears running down her face as her hand rubs my back.

She looks at me, trails from her tears on her face, and it makes me wipe my own eyes with the back of my hand. It feels like I could possibly get everything I’ve wanted.

“What do I do with the college fund?” she asks.

“Well, you should go on a vacation,” Coach laughs. “Now, I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t hold me to it—it’s only a feeling. When I watch Brooks, I think about how he could actually play in the NBA.” He looks between my mom and I, and it’s hard for me to grasp what he’s saying. “I know that’s the goal for a lot of athletes, but the truth of the matter is, it doesn’t happen for most of them. Brooks might be able to play professionally, if that’s what he wants to do.”

My chest is tight and I feel like I could jump out of my skin, but in the best way.

“I have a feeling you will get a few offers like this, and I know we’re typically a football school, but I’m building quite the recruiting class. Hope you’ll wear crimson and spend your time with us in Tuscaloosa.”

As soon as Coach left, I knew in my heart I’d play for him. There were other offers, some for schools more known for basketball, but it didn’t matter. Sometimes you go with your gut, and it was the best decision I ever made.

I’m thinking about my mom, so I send her a text. She’s been taking a bunch of trips with her girlfriends and is on the edge of retirement. While she could retire now, it’s hard for her to stop working—it’s been such a key part of her identity. She busted her ass so I could have everything I wanted.

I paid off her house with my latest contract extension and started a joint account which she can pull from to take trips. I knew she wouldn’t do it without a nudge from me.

My phone buzzes with a notification and I’m surprised when it’s not a response from my mom.

Lia

so, does your dinner invite still stand?

or was there an expiration date

This fucking grin would be embarrassing if anyone else could see me. I’ve left the next move to Lia—not wanting to pressure her or have her do anything that makes her uncomfortable. We haven’t seen each other in two days, but it feels longer than that. Before I can text her back, she sends another message.

is this now old milk?

Me

no expiration

pretend I didn’t mention old dairy

i know you already read it, otherwise I’d unsend

consider it forgotte n

I laugh as my fingers fly over the keyboard. Only Lia would find a way to work in expired milk when it comes to me asking her out. A true talent.

i’m cooking now if you want to come over

When I send the message, three little dots appear and then stop. Appear. Stop. I take a picture of the fresh pasta and send it to her.

might be a bold invite

you cook?

yes

thought you’d have a chef

not yet

not full time at least...

looks good

there’s more than enough for you

Again, the three dots appear and disappear. I can almost see Lia squeezing her phone too tight, pulling it close to her face like she does when she’s thinking about something.

what’s your address? And any secrets to getting in?

I send my address and the code to open the gate. I look around my place and panic. Is everything clean? Is there something I should be doing besides making sure I don’t burn what I’m cooking? Luckily, I like a clean space and everything is put away, except for laundry that’s currently washing. That should be fine, right? She’s not going to, like, snoop in my laundry room?

Wow. The way I need to get a grip. It’s clear I've not done this in a very long time.

After Rebecca, I poured myself into basketball even more than I already was. If I wasn’t at the facility, I was volunteering or finding events to help with—anything connected to the Jags. Keeping myself busy was key. The sad part was I didn’t even miss her that much once she finally put me out of my misery. She left and it was like this fog had lifted and I could think more clearly. I was always trying to be enough for her, doing my best to make her want to stay. I lost more and more of myself each day that I went out of my way to do things for her which she either never noticed or cared about.

When she finally left, it was intense how much of my mental space was finally free. I was no longer agonizing about what she’d like for dinner, what place she’d be surprised by if I got a reservation for, or what location I could take her for an impromptu getaway. It fucking stung. Like I never knew how much she was stealing from me until it was three years gone.

I turn down the burner to let the food simmer and go to the living room, one of my favorite spots because it’s so comfortable, to turn on my diffuser—a gift from Riley. When she, Zack, and my dad came over to the new place, they each brought housewarming gifts. Zack had my wine fridge stocked and Riley brought over a few diffusers with essential oils. She said she picked out the oil blends based on my aura—whatever the hell that means—and others she thought smelled good.

From what I’ve read, the jury is out on the benefits of essential oils, but Riley gave me a two-minute lecture on the harm of candles. I thought she didn’t want me to burn the new place down, but she quickly gave me the run down on the dangers of fragrance and “carcinogens hiding in plain sight.” Now, I'm the proud owner of essential oils and diffusers placed throughout the new house. Plus, every time I see Riley, she brings me a bottle of a new blend or something she thinks would be a perfect fit for me. It’s nice that she thinks of me.

My dad and Mack came over a week after with a grill in tow. I’ve never had a grill, so he was excited to show me how to use and take care of it.

Lavender and peppermint oil are filled in each of the diffusers, which I add water to, and turn all of them on. I jog back to the kitchen, not wanting to burn dinner.

I don’t think we need to eat in the dining room; that seems way too formal. Instead, I set the bar—the place I eat whenever I'm home. Music plays through the house, a habit I've gotten into. The quiet is something that itches my brain in the wrong way. It jumpstarts all the ‘what if’ questions and I usually end on a dark path, marked with worry and hypothetical concerns.

Standing in front of the wine fridge, I don’t know if I should bring out a bottle for dinner. To be honest, the only bottle I've had from here was the one Zack picked out after he had the company stock it. The wine was good, but I wasn’t tasting all the notes that Zack was; apparently it was a rare Chablis, and he liked it because of the ‘dusting of citrus and apple.’

I’m Googling the best wine to pair with carbonara when I get a notification that someone has entered the code at my gate. I go to the front door and peek out the peephole.

Lia is getting out of her car, looking around as she walks the path to the front door. There’s not much to see, considering the house is tucked back. The press hasn’t ever been an issue for me. Besides when the news came out about me and Zack being related, and the time some trashy tabloid found out about Rebecca’s bad behavior, things are mostly quiet .

A wave of nervousness hits me, wondering how weird it will be when she knocks and I'm awkwardly standing at the door. I practically run to a chair in the living room, jumping into it and waiting for her to knock. I don’t think this is much better.

This is ridiculous.

I’m ridiculous.

My head falls into my hands and I run my fingers through my hair as Lia knocks on the door. I jump like I wasn’t standing there thirty seconds ago, and pause before I open the door, taking in a slow breath.

There she is, all smiles in black leggings and a worn-in, retro Jags crewneck which falls off one of her shoulders, holding a plastic container.

“I brought dessert.”