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The Assist (Smart Jocks Book 1) by Rebecca Jenshak (31)

Wes

I wake up with my cell phone resting on my chest. Technology is awesome . . . until it’s not. Having a way for someone to get a hold of you any time, any day makes it that much more painful when they don’t.

I spent the past two days texting Blair, apologizing every way I could think of. I deserve to be ghosted after how I treated her, I get that, but it doesn’t suck any less.

I give in to the temptation and check for missed texts that I know won’t be there. My pessimism is on point, but I’m disappointed anyway.

“What the hell are you doing up?” I ask Nathan as he steps into the living room and pulls his hair back into a low ponytail.

He startles. “What the hell are you doing sleeping on the couch?”

“I’m not sleeping.”

He drops onto the floor and starts repping out pushups.

“Dude, it’s five in the morning.”

I’m met with silence and the even exhale of his breaths.

“Fifty,” he mutters quietly and jumps up. He moves to the wall and dips down into a wall squat. “You smell awful, man.”

“Yep.” I acknowledge the stench and the disgusting taste in my mouth from falling asleep after a night of drinking without brushing my teeth. “Feel just as awful.”

Rubbing a hand over my forehead, I can practically feel the throbbing through my fingertips. I sit up slowly and grab the water I left on the coffee table, drain it, and then sit back, feeling a little more human.

“Since you’re up, how about helping me with some band work?”

“Here? Now?”

“Nah, I’m meeting Shaw at the gym in five.”

Lean back on the couch. “Pass.”

“Come on, we need a third.” He pushes off the wall. “And you know we could use the extra work. Got a lot of tough games coming up. Z’s gonna need some help down low.”

My better judgment hasn’t had time to wake up or sober up, and he’s played to my weakness—Z. “Yeah, fine. Let me shower quick.”

It isn’t until we’re outside making our way across the street to Ray Fieldhouse that my stomach revolts and the alcohol in my system starts to seep out my pores. Haven’t been back since I was carted out to the hospital with a broken foot. In fact, it’s probably the longest I’ve gone without stepping into a gym since I started playing all those years ago.

To my surprise, Shaw is already here, running drills. His sweat-soaked shirt and wet hair tell me he’s been here a while. I bite back my approval.

“Reynolds, nice to see you.” The shock in Rookie’s eyes combined with the pity dissolve all good feelings.

For the next hour, I basically play ball boy. Shaw and Nathan take turns. One wraps a resistance band around his waist and the other holds the ends of the band tight and pulls backward. When I set the ball on the floor a couple of feet away, they work against each other. The point isn’t to keep the guy in front from getting the ball, it’s to provide just enough resistance that he has to earn it.

My roommate has a good flow with Rookie. There’s an ease to their routine like they’ve done it before.

“When did you two become besties?” I ask Nathan when Shaw takes a piss break.

He lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “He needed someone to see beyond the multi-sport athlete thing. You know I don’t give a shit about that stuff.”

I do know that. Not much except silence during movie night gets Nathan riled up. He’s able to leave the competitive nature and intensity of being a college athlete on the floor. Outside of the gym, he’s just a chill dude looking for fun.

“Taking your spot, trying to do what you do? It isn’t an easy job. If we’re gonna have any type of shot in the tournament, he has to start meshing with the guys. Some of the team resents him for splitting time, some are just frustrated that he isn’t you, but no one feels good about where we are. It’s a shitty place to be this far into the season.”

I pull at my hair, hearing what he’s saying and understanding the things he doesn’t say. I’d been helping the rook until I realized I was done for, and now he has to find his way all on his own. Shitty for him, but I’m not in a mood to compare our tragic tales. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just show up, man. That’s all anyone wants from you.”

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