Page 37 of ClickBack

“I wanted to hear how excited you sounded.”

“Deeply excited.”

“You could put some effort into it.”

Behind him, somebody asks whether he’s ready to leave. He tells them two minutes.

“You at the facility?” I ask.

“Just finished.”

“Go home.”

“See, that’s the voice. I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re coming, and now I’m about to get instructions.”

I lean back in the chair. He is right often enough to make talking to him a problem.

“I’m glad I’m coming, too,” I say.

He gets quiet. I can hear a door closing on his end.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“For real, Jay.”

He knows about the rumors. There is no way he doesn’t. He has a game tomorrow that could give him a second championship, and he has found room in his head to wonder whether I am taking care of myself. I would like to let that feel good without immediately trying to get the responsibility off him.

“I’m figuring it out,” I tell him. “You don’t have to help me with it tonight.”

“All right. Just don’t show up pretending you’re doing me a favor.”

“You want me loud?”

“I want you there. Loud is Mom’s department.”

That gets a laugh out of both of us. He says he’ll have the tickets sent over and asks whether I’m staying at his place.

“Hotel with Graves.”

“Dad’s here.”

“I heard.”

There is a question he could ask. I am grateful when he doesn’t. We say goodbye, and I sit there holding the phone after the call ends, wishing it had been that easy to make the decision yesterday.

Later, I carry my overnight bag into the bedroom. The television is showing a preview of tomorrow’s game. I stop with a shirt in my hand to watch Von wait out a defender and make the pass everyone discussing the clip has decided he should have kept.

Then the picture changes. My name appears beneath a discussion of possible moves ahead of the draft.

I turn it off and fold the shirt. Javon has spent all season getting to tomorrow. I can give him a day without asking the television what it might mean for me.

Chapter 7

Giselle

Rae is sitting on my front step when I pull into the driveway. She has changed out of yesterday’s scrubs into leggings and a shirt from her graduate nursing program, her hair tied beneath a scarf. A notebook lies open on her lap. Even from the car, I can tell she has not come here to study.