Long Shot

“August told me all about you long ago.”

“Long ago?” I shake my head and laugh as lightly as I can with a boulder sitting on my chest. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, he didn’t give me all the details,” she says hastily, her blue eyes teasing. “But he did say he thought he had found the right girl. This was when he stayed home for rehab.”

It would have been around the time we saw each other that week at the community center.

August and I didn’t see each other much until I moved to San Diego. What was it about me that struck him so powerfully? That made him think I might be the one after only a few encounters? Probably the same thing that urged my thoughts back to that first night we met time and time again—the thought of that night as the fork in the road, and of him as the path I should have chosen.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally respond, my cheeks hot.

“I’m just glad it worked out. I’m glad to meet the girl who stole my son’s heart.” Mrs. Foster says. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Neither could I.

The moment I’ve been dreading lands on me with crushing force. When Caleb’s team takes the floor for the pre-game shootaround, every nerve in my body screams for me to run. My internal alarm system warns me of danger. My muscles tense to the point of pain. I’m braced for a confrontation of wills, but when Caleb looks up into the stands and sees me, he smiles. He’s at the opposite end of the floor. There’s so much distance between us—I should feel safe. But I could never feel safe with him in the same building. Some days I don’t feel safe knowing he’s on the same planet.

All of his teammates go through the pre-game warm-up, but he just stands and stares. His smile grows wider the longer I stare back. He shifts his glance to Sarai in my lap, and the smile falls away. His eyes, when they return to me, promise retribution. That one day, he’ll make me pay.

“Iris!” August calls from just beyond the bench, down on the floor.

As soon as I see him, my body relaxes. The tension dissipates. At the other end of the court is my dark past—a nightmare I barely survived. My future stands in front of me. And it’s so bright. August is so bright. We share a smile before he starts his pre-game shootaround and joins his team.

He asked if I was sure I wanted to come today. He doesn’t know everything that happened with Caleb. In the grand scheme of things, he knows almost nothing, but he knew today would be difficult for me. I’m so damn tired of running, though. For a long time, I was Caleb’s marionette, but he doesn’t pull the strings anymore. My boyfriend’s mother wanted to meet me; wanted to meet my daughter; wanted to sit beside her son’s girlfriend and watch him play on Thanksgiving. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’m glad that at least I tried.

At halftime, the game is tied. If the Waves don’t win any other game this season, I pray they win this one. The speculation has been rampant leading up to this rematch between the two teams, specifically between August and Caleb. It resurrected talk of Caleb’s dirty play.

Everyone knows Caleb and I have a child together—that I lived with him during his rookie season. And anyone who didn’t know I was with August will figure it out now. I’m sitting with his mother. I know some of his teammates have wondered about it, and I’m sure some of them have talked. There’s already some nasty speculation. People will say I’m out to trap August the way I “trapped” Caleb.

God, if only they knew what a trap Caleb set for me.

“Would you have preferred we sit in a box?” Mrs. Foster asks, her eyes astute.

“It’s just . . .” I laugh, a false sound if I ever heard one. “This may fuel more talk about me being with August after Caleb. Some have said it’s August’s revenge for Caleb’s dirty play. They say I’m a . . .”

I don’t even want to voice the things people say about me.

Whore. Opportunist. Gold-digger. Trick. Groupie. Thirsty. Trap chick.

Don’t google yourself if you don’t want to know what people actually think. They freely express it from the anonymity of their laptops and behind the mask of their avatars.

“You know the truth,” Mrs. Foster says, patting my hand. “And so does August. He doesn’t care what they say, and neither should you.”

I force myself to relax, running my hands up and down Sarai’s arms. She’s playing the piano on her iPad and wearing her headphones. She’s gotten so big and probably wouldn’t even recognize her father if she saw him.

“Gus!” Sarai screams, jarring me back to the action.

August is on the free-throw line, and I’m so afraid Sarai’s scream might break his concentration, I cover her mouth.

“Shhhh,” I say in her ear. “August needs to focus, baby.”

She puts her index finger to her mouth, her eyes wide, and looks up at me.

“Fo-cus,” she whispers.

I laugh and tap her nose. When I look up, August is peering over the time-out huddle observing us. He smiles, and of course, Sarai chooses that moment to scream “Gus” again. She blows him a kiss, and he flashes a quick grin at her, pressing his palm to his lips to blow a kiss back. His eyes, though, fix on me, and contentment, pleasure, and the closest thing to joy I can imagine all flow through me like the Mississippi, wide and powerful. My eyes water and my nose burns. The emotion grows so dense between us, even separated by half an arena.

“I love you,” he mouths, the look in his eyes warm and so certain.

I nod, press a hand to my lips, and discreetly return his blown kiss. He crooks a smile and returns his attention to the huddle.

I experience a sharp sensation, like a needle pricking my flesh. When I glance over at the Stingers’ bench, I meet Caleb’s barbed stare. Malevolence festers in his eyes, and his hands tighten into fists at his side. Menace surrounds him, as much a constant companion as Ramone had ever been.

It’s a dark déjà vu of the last time we found ourselves in this place, but the tables have been turned. There’s always been an inescapable awareness between August and me. Caleb saw it then, and he sees it now. The day I met August, I stepped into a force field, setting something into motion that was in some ways my fault, and in other ways, out of my control. That defiance rises up in me, and I don’t care if Caleb sees it. He can’t do anything to me now without taking himself down, too. In a mockery of the special moment I just shared with August, he blows me a kiss.

“Is he going to be a problem, Iris?” Mrs. Foster asks from beside me.

Startled, I give her my full attention. She’s still looking in Caleb’s direction but waits for my response.

“No. I . . .” I’ve only ever talked openly with Lo about the details of what happened to me, but I wish I could share everything with August’s mother and her kind eyes. “He was a problem, but it’s been handled.”

“August loves you very much,” she says, looking at me and smiling at Sarai. “And your daughter, too. He talks about you both all the time now.”

“He does?”

“I’m sure you know you’re the most important thing in his life.”

I’d play you at the five.

I don’t answer, but wait for her to go on, because I know there is more.

“That man broke my son’s leg over you,” she says, holding up her hand when I start to apologize. “It’s not your fault. It’s only his fault, but even knowing how complicated your situation was, August still wanted you. He’d hate me butting in, but he is my important thing, and I want to know your intentions.”

“My intentions?” A laugh, rich and full, escapes my lips. “You want to know my intentions toward August?”

She yields a small smile and caresses Sarai’s hair.

“I have no illusions about my son. I know he’s been a bit of a player, on court and off.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “But I know he’s deeply in love with you and has been for some time.” Our humor fades, but the kindness in her eyes remains. “So yes, I’m asking you, not if you love him, because it’s obvious you do. I’m wondering if you’ll be able to marry him when he asks you.”

Marry.

For most girls, it means June weddings and flowers—hopes and dreams fulfilled.

It doesn’t mean that to me anymore. It means a trap. It means a man has access to my life, to my daughter, that he could, at his discretion, abuse.

“I haven’t asked August about it,” she says softly. “And I know he is probably just so glad to finally have you that he isn’t pressing it, but I have to wonder—a man cruel enough to break someone’s leg over the woman he wants, well . . . he could be that cruel to the woman he wants, too. Am I right?”

Irrationally, I glance up at the jumbotron. I’ve been taken by surprise more than once, finding myself, unsuspecting, onscreen. If my face were onscreen now, I fear everyone would know what had happened with Caleb and me—a vignette playing out in vivid black-and-blue-bruised technicolor for everyone to see. They’d know what I’d survived. And as much as I know it wasn’t my fault, shame spreads, leaving no part of me clean. I’m sullied by Caleb’s touch, my heart and soul covered in invisible smudges.

“Legally, I can’t talk about most of the things I experienced with Sarai’s father,” I tell her, my voice hushed and conscious of any perked-up ears around me. “But I’ll say that getting away from him is the best thing that could have happened for us.”

“And August knows this?”

“August knows that I love him and only him.” This should be awkward, but after so many things I haven’t been able to say, to tell anyone anything feels good.

“Can I tell you something?”

When I nod, she goes on with a smile.

“My son is the most competitive person I’ve ever met, second only to his father. He doesn’t know how to give up. Eventually, the Waves, if he stays with them, will win a championship because August will have to. He doesn’t know how to settle, and he won’t settle with you.”     PrevNextTip: You can use left and right keyboard keys to browse between pages.

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