Page 25

Chapter 24

Brooks

“Is this payback because I skipped the bar last week?”

Jalen laughs. “No! The wife is making dinner, and I want to spend time at home. Nothing more than that.” He shuts the door of a car. “Why don’t you ask Lia?”

“Maybe I will. Tell Steph I said hi.” I end the call and put the phone on the side table as I sink into the couch.

Lia is working with Megan tonight. Since our schedule gets wild with travel and away games, sometimes they work nights, like tonight. I go through the list of people I typically hang out with and come up empty. Clay is working a private event at Oasis, Zack is gone for an away game, and my mom is still traveling with her girlfriends.

For a second I think about calling my dad, but I don’t have it in me tonight. It’s not that I’m disappointed with where we’re at—to be honest, I’m thankful they want anything to do with me. But I’m tired, and sometimes it’s a little like walking on eggshells. He and Zack invited me to a golf simulator next week, so we’ll spend time together then.

Putting my head back on the couch, I take a few deep breaths. The silence hangs heavy in these rooms and it makes my stomach pinch. Some days, this doesn’t feel like home. I think having a roommate could help, but I don’t have it in me to ask and be turned down by anyone. Since I’m an NBA player, the list is short of who I’d be comfortable letting into my space.

Striking out for plans, I grab my phone as a text message come in.

Unknown

hey you, it’s been a while

it’s Rebecca – new phone

Even if she didn’t get a new phone, her old number didn’t make the cut after the breakup. I didn’t trust myself with it. She doesn’t know that, though.

you’ve looked great this season

meant to text you sooner

Rebecca never watched me play. If she came to a game, it was about what she was wearing and spending time with the WAGs. She viewed it as a chore until she found a way to make it work for her—something she’d always been good at.

I meant to text you sooner. She didn’t.

I thought I’d hear from her when my season-ending injury was announced. Or when I had surgery.

But I didn’t.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting—of course it fucking did. She’d been part of my life for a long time. Rebecca and I shared years together; we loved each other at one point, yet she couldn’t even send a text message.

What is she doing reaching out now?

I scoff, even though I’m the only one to hear it, and close her messages. I’m not responding. Not tonight, at least. I don’t even know what I’d say.

Instead, I open social media to waste some time. The first post I see is from the Jags—it’s a series of photos of the team and the rescue dogs Lia brought in. The first few are of Jalen and some other teammates making Megan sweat by running the animals outside of the prepared area. Next is a picture of me and the English bulldog I sat with. I’m surprised when I see the smile on my face while I hold out a hand in front of his snout, giving him the space to warm up to me.

The last picture is Lia and the same dog. She has tears in her eyes as she’s petting him, her hands touching his head and ears. Using my fingers to zoom in, I catalog every detail: the dog’s tongue almost hanging out of his mouth, his eyes closed like he’s the happiest he’s been in who knows how long, and Lia’s bright and captivating face.

The number to the shelter is in the caption of the post. Smart . Before I think too hard about it, I tap it and someone answers after the first ring.

“This is Brooks Pittman, and I’m wondering about a dog that was at the Jags event this week.”

Surely I didn’t see this in the realm of possibilities for tonight. I’m in the back room of the shelter, about to sign the final paperwork to bring Rocky home with me. The relief I felt when they said he was still here was like a drink of cool water on a hot summer day, and excitement bubbled in my chest.

I’ve never had a dog and barely know what I’m doing. But when I asked questions, the volunteers gave me everything I needed, as well as some recommendations for dog walkers and sitters for when I’m going to be traveling.

I was ridiculously nervous looking at the list—that’s not something I knew was even a thing—that the volunteer brought out her own resume, showing me the athletes who she has dog sat for. I hired her on the spot for my next road trip .

“Alright, there’s a small adoption fee of $150,” she explains, pushing the paperwork in front of me with sticky notes where I need to sign.

Her excitement when I said I wanted to take Rocky home with me was something that will stick with me a while. She lit up with true and honest enthusiasm. It was in that moment that I knew I’d donate to the shelter, and there’s no way it’d be the last one.

I sign the paperwork and bring out a checkbook—thankful I could even find it from when I moved. Since my financial adviser takes care of large purchases, there aren’t many times when I need a check. I write one for the adoption fee, then another for $10,000. I hand them both to her and watch her eyes fill with tears when she sees the donation check.

“Are you sure? This isn’t necessary, like, wow. Are you sure?” She looks at me with glassy eyes and I offer a nod.

“One hundred percent,” I reinforce.

“Is this for anything specific?” She scrunches her eyebrows, almost like she’s making sure she’s taking in the number correctly.

“Use it for whatever you need.” I put my hands up. “I know it must be hard to take in new animals. I’ll want to arrange a monthly donation, if that’s allowed?”

She quickly nods her head. “Yes. We can do whatever you need.” She holds out a card, her hand shaking. “Here’s my supervisor’s email. You can contact her, and she’ll start that process for you.”

Before I can say anything else, the other volunteer swings the door open and brings Rocky out on a leash. Gone is the sleepy, scared dog I first met on the basketball court. It’s almost like he knows his time is over here.

The volunteer drops the leash and I kneel. “Hey, Rocky! You want to go home?” The dog’s ears perk up and then he sort of hops over to me—a mix between a run and a skip—closing the short distance. He puts his head right where my hands are. I pet him a few times and then he circles around, sitting between my legs and tipping his head to look at me.

“Look at that. He remembers you,” they croon.

For fuck’s sake. I’m about to cry in this shelter.

The volunteer text me a shopping list of his food preferences and the types of toys he’s been drawn to. “There’s a locally owned pet shop about five minutes from here. They’re about to close, but I’ll call them and let them know you’re coming,” she explains.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, petting Rocky’s sides

“Oh, it’s not a problem. You have perfect timing, really. This way, no one will be trying to get pictures of you or freaking out. The store should be empty. Would you mind if we take your photo for the adoption wall at the front? If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Absolutely. You can post it to your socials in a few weeks if you want. I have some people I want to tell before they see it on social media.”

Well, it’s just one person, but still.

I stay kneeling, Rocky leaning into my hands on his rib cage, and the volunteers get to our level and take the photo. At first, I thought I was being impulsive. On the drive over, I kept doubting myself, the questions turning to knots in my stomach. But I was wrong.

Right now, I know this is one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time.