I have to get out of here. I run down the stairs and out the main front door, slamming it back so hard that I thought for a moment the door was going to hit the railing and break the glass. It didn’t though, thank fuck. Why am I so mad? She’s right. Every other photog is there doing the same thing. I guess it just hurt because I know her. The others are just faces behind a flash.

They also didn’t boldly tell me their plans for my pics either. I guess I knew her master plan on the surface, but never put any thought to it until it was said aloud. It fucking stings to be used, but if I don’t want to be used, then I can’t play ball. That shits not happening. I’ve prepared my whole life to see my name up in lights. I promised my mom I’d get her out of the hell that she’s in.

Those fucking cheap bastards at her care facility…it’s state run for Medicaid patients. I doubt the medicine they’re giving her is curing her cancer. They’re probably putting water in her veins every few days and calling it chemotherapy. I fucking hate that place. She’s just a number there. It’s no better than a prison with medical services—cold and sterile. Every nurse walks around like a zombie from patient to patient, never smiling.

She was diagnosed back in the spring with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. She called and told me over the phone. I’ll never forget that call; she was so scared and crying. I actually felt my heart hurt. You’d have to know my mom. She’s pretty tough—she had to be to raise five foster kids and me. We weren’t easy, and that’s an understatement. That’s when she made me promise to graduate. So I did what I had to do, and delayed applying for the NBA draft.

A car starts blaring its horn down the street, and I jump. I didn’t even realize I was walking around the neighborhood. I keep on walking a little bit farther, and come across a small park with a skins vs. shirts basketball game going on. There are a few kids, but it’s mostly grown men playing.

“Guys, do you need another?” I ask. They toss me the ball, so I guess that means yes. They introduce themselves and I remove my shirt, tossing it to the bench, joining the skins team.

“Hey. I know that tattoo. You’re Kyle Daniels from the Golden Bears,” one of the kids says from the shirts team.

I just smile, and start dribbling past him. I’ve gotta be two feet taller than he is. I cruise past him and the other guys the entire game. Damn, I miss playing street ball. It certainly clears my head. I tell the guys I’m staying in the area for a while, and they invited me to play anytime. We hang out talking until way after the sun goes down, but my phone says it’s only a little past 8 pm.

It’s nice to be around non-college ball players every now and again. It reminds me of how far I’ve come, but also how far I still have to go. My dreams are big, but they’re closer now than they’ve ever been. I just need to get past this time with Aran and stay on my game. Speaking of, I better get back. She might be on the floor again.

I walk back to her condo feeling better about putting myself out there as a public figure. I’m still uncomfortable with what she’s planning with my pics, but I guess I’ve gotta get used to that. Everyone will be taking my photo in a few short months.

I walk into her place and she’s nowhere in sight. At least she listened this time. I walk quietly back to her bedroom and hear familiar commercials on the TV as I approach the door. Pushing it open with my fingers, I peep my head around the door, and she’s sitting on the bed with a huge stack of pants. She’s cutting them into shorts to accommodate her now bad leg, as she calls it. It looks like she’s been at it a while as one stack is finished and the other stack only has a few remaining uncut pairs.

“Need any help?” I ask. She startles and drops the scissors on the floor. “I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come in.” I scoop them up and hand them back to her.

“No, I’m almost done. I’ve cut a few more pajamas and pants down to make room for my impending cast next week.” She searches my face. “Are you okay from before?” she asks.

“I’m good, but don’t go trying to psycho-analyze me or this situation. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve just gotta get used to it. So, what do you want to do on this messed-up Friday night?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Well, I was just giving myself a pep-talk to take a shower. So, that’s on the agenda. Then I plan on taking my medicine and possibly watching a movie until I fall asleep. Do you want to join me?” she asks.

“I’m here, so I guess I will. I mean, I’ll join you for the movie—not the shower,” I stammer trying to explain. “You’re gonna need a garbage bag to cover that wrapping up. And some tape. Do you have any?”

“Yes, it’s all in the kitchen. Just check the drawers for the tape. It’s moving tape, not scotch tape. That should work,” she clarifies.

I come back into the bedroom and she’s finished making her new shorts. I pick up the pile for her and move them over onto her dresser. She scooches to the edge of the bed and I stand her up again to help her remove her tight pajama shorts. I am more mentally prepared for this task this time. A few hours ago, my dick got rock hard inspecting her hip. I had to keep mentally chanting ‘she’s hurt and in pain’ for it to go down quickly. But my dick and her cherry blossom scent were at war in my brain.

I sit on the floor in front of her leg, ready to wrap it up like a Christmas present. I’ve done this a million times, it seems. Surgeries on my leg are no stranger to me. Basketball is a rough sport. I slide the bag up and over her leg and wrap it around in continuous circles until it’s all tight, tucking and folding every weird piece and taping them all down tight. At least she doesn’t have leg hair like I do. This will come off easier than mine ever did.

We get her all set and moved into the bathroom. She’s ready. Thank god she’s got a walk-in shower. I stand just outside the bathroom door the entire time in case she screams. I made sure not to lock the door when I closed it. Knowing she’s naked just a few feet away is a true test of my will power. I’ve had my hands on her thighs twice today. I’m proud of how steady I held my hands, when all I wanted to do was slide them across her skin.

The shower water turns off and interrupts my daydream. I hear the crutches banging against the shower glass, but I don’t hear a crash or a scream. After a few minutes of unidentifiable shuffling noises, she finally opens the door. A cloud of steam escapes and billows in my face. She hobbles out wrapped up in an emerald green silk robe. I step out of her way and follow her into the bedroom. She makes her way over to the chopped-up pajamas and selects a pair, gathers some other items, and throws it all on the bed.

I finally get a great look at her when she turns to face me. She has the robe tied around her but her legs are in view and the open slit sways with her movements. The green of the robe highlights her eyes, making them brighter. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel, with little tendrils of bronze peeking out. She is gorgeous without any makeup. Her skin is glowing from the steamy heat of the shower. She’s fucking radiant. I catch her eyes and her smile lights up her face. Fuck me, she’s got dimples that stretch to her eyes. How the hell have I not noticed those before? That smile knocks the breath out of me.

I grab the scissors off the dresser from earlier and approach her slowly. She lifts her leg out of the open slit of her robe and just lets it hang there in the air in front of me. I pull at the top piece of tape to loosen it from her leg, and then zip-slide the scissors down the trash bag all the way to her toes in one long move. It falls to the carpet, and I scoop it up and wad it into a large ball. I toss it towards her small garbage can in a wide arc, and miss. It bounces and rolls across the floor. “Damn. That’s why I’m a power forward. I’m a better rebounder,” I laugh.

She laughs with me, but moves toward the bed to get dressed. I know it’s time to leave her alone, and it takes every ounce of my weakening will power to walk away and shut the door behind me. I decide to make some popcorn and gather other snacks for the movie. Gathering her medicines, I sit down at the island waiting for the bedroom door to open again. Instagram is still not enough of a distraction on my phone for even a few minutes. She teeters through the door and enters the bathroom, as my mind wonders back to her legs playing peek-a-boo in that robe.

As I pass by the open door, I quickly peek in and watch her towel-dry her hair and finger comb the naturally curly locks. My dick is fucking hard again, and aches more each time. I can’t keep this up. I either need to fuck her or jerk off, but something’s gotta give. And there is no way I am fucking her. We can’t—I can’t. She’s not in my plan, so I walk on into the bedroom shaking my head to get her reflection out of my mind.

I set the bowl of popcorn down on the bed, put her medicines on the nightstand, and then grab my snacks , plopping down into my usual chair. She settles herself gingerly in the bed and tosses me the remote. “Don’t you want to choose the movie?” I ask.

“Nah, you choose. It’s highly likely that I’m gonna fall asleep,” she confesses. “Aren’t you going to sit over here with me and share the popcorn? C’mon, I don’t bite, but I will hog it all if you don’t get over here.” She tosses the blanket back, and pats her hand on the empty side. My mind tells me this isn’t a smart move, but my body gets up and moves towards the bed anyway.

Settling myself on the bed, I leave a grand canyon-sized space between us, which isn’t easy for a guy my size in a queen-size bed. Netflix search finally pulls up and I ask her, “action/adventure or drama/crime thriller?”

“Ooh, action/adventure,” she responds.

“How about The Expendables?” I ask.

“Your choice, remember?” she states.

I press play, and grab some popcorn out of the bowl that she holds out to me. Twenty minutes into the movie, I look over and she’s sound asleep. I remove the bowl from her lap and adjust her pillows so she’s laying as flat as I can get her without waking her up. Gathering the empty popcorn bowl and other trash, I flip off the TV, place her crutches by her side of the bed, and leave her to rest.