Page 65 of Full Court Love
Thankfully, my mom is observant. She picked up on the pattern and started questioning me. Eventually I started therapy and worked my way to a healthier place.
A place where I came to terms with the absence of my dad.
A place where basketball could be fun again.
But even when it wasn’t fun, basketball was always there.It was my constant through every stage–the misery, the heartache, the joy, and everything in between. I always had this game.
It doesn’t abandon me.
It doesn’t break my heart–okay, well, sometimes it kind of does, but it’s not quite as bad as when a person does it.
It doesn’t make me dream of what life could be.
I never should’ve let myself forget what my top priority has been since I got to college.
The walls I had built up were there for a reason. The risk of someone leaving has always been enough to keep me guarded–daddy issues and all. Life is full of enough unavoidable hurt as it is. Why allow one more person to have that kind of power over you?
I couldn’t prevent my dad from getting cancer and leaving me too soon.
Icanprevent someone else from getting that close.
I’ve never been able to trust that people have the right intentions. Or like me for the right reasons. I’ve tied my identity to basketball for so long that other people do too. How do I know that if things go south, they’ll want to stick around?
Case in point: Jordan. The myriad reasons why things had to end were tied in many ways to basketball. And success. And money. These things complicate what should be simple.
Love should be simple.
I let out a sob. A rather loud one. Britt is beating down my door so fast, I wonder if she had her ear to my door.
“Hey, you’d better be getting ready, gimp!”
I’m really loving the new nickname. So cute and endearing.
“Yeah, uh, I’m absolutely not coming. For a million reasons, I have no desire to go out tonight.”
She storms in. “For a million reasons, you are coming anyway. Don’t worry, we aren’t expecting you to drink or sing or do basically anything. But you need to get out of thishermit hole. It’ll do you some good to take your mind off–well, everything you’ve got going on at the moment–and do something fun.”
I hate that she’s making sense.
Sighing, I hold my hands up in submission. “Fine. But if I’m coming, I’m looking like this. I have no one to impress.”
Britt gives me a once-over. “Oh, honey. No, no, no. Have you looked in a mirror recently?”
I shrug. “I’m sure I look like a homeless goat, but I don’t have the energy or the desire to get myself cute.”
Checking her watch, she steps out and yells for AJ and Kya to come in.
“All right, ladies, we need to work aPrincess Diaries-level transformation, and we have approximately thirty minutes to do so.”
All three of them look perfect–gorgeous hair and makeup, outfits showing off just how much work athletes do to keep their bodies finely tuned. I’d happily be their foil for the evening, but apparently that’s not in the cards.
Britt continues like she’s hosting a game show. “AJ, hit the music and raid the closets. Kya, you’re on hair duty. As for me, I’m about to make those bags under your eyes wish they’d never been born.”
“I’m starting to wishI’dnever been born,” I grumble, though I’m secretly grateful for them. I’m also suspicious. Why do they care so much about getting me out of the house? And my appearance? We’ve had many nights when we went out in sweatpants and our hair in messy buns.
Something’s up.
But I don’t argue because this feels like a free spa. While I’m primped and polished, they fill me in on the drama brewing within each of their respective teams. Two hitters on the volleyball team found out they were being played by the same guy, one of the soccer players left a flirty comment on Tyler’s last post–a fact Britt was the most bothered by–andthe track team is a mess of intersquad dating and breaking up.