“Big fish, small pond, whatever. I’ll take it. It just felt good to come back for the clinic and work on something that was mine. Seeing the faces of those people that watched me in the beginning… well, damn. It meant something more than even doing what I do with the Hawks.”
Cox elbows Bennett for drinking his beer, but then slings an arm around his friend’s shoulders anyway and shrugs. “This conversation has got me feeling some kind of way, y’all. I need to get back home to Irving and run another summer camp. Give back, right? Those kids might not grow up to be eight feet tall, but it’s still fun to watch them—”
Reed smirks. “Wait, you were the one who ran the summer camp that one time where the two four-foot-nothing boys swore up and down they could dunk, right?”
Cox grins back and nods. “One of ‘em tried to swear on their mama’s grave. She ain’t even dead yet. I told him not to bring God into matters of sport, because we all know he already favors the Clippers, anyway.”
All of us groan in unison, remembering more than a few embarrassing losses at the hands of those Californians.
“We should do, like, a tour,” Bennett muses. “Schedule a few weekend clinics in each of our hometowns or something.”
“God, I’d like to come back home some time,” Reed says, looking thoughtful. “I haven’t been back since my parents split and my mama moved. Got me wondering if Rhonda Sizemore ever grew into them titties…”
Bennett smacks Reed on the back of his head, but Reed just grins.
“Seriously,” he continues. “Let me think it over. I’d have a hard time coming back to the city if I went home. The only pull back to NYC is all those lady fans… the same ones begging to go on the yacht these days.”
He grins again, and my stomach gives another strange flip.
Of course, his words have got me thinking about my own number one fan. The hometown girl who welcomed me right back into the thick of things like I’d never skipped a beat.
Damn, Molly could have had anyone. That body, her drive in running her own business, the smile that leaves a man feeling like his heart has turned to liquid… I’m sure she had no shortage of prospects over the years. She probably still has no shortage of prospects now that I’ve exited the scene.
But still, she chose me when I came back. The brother’s best friend. The guy she never thought she had a chance with before. She was still my number one fan. She still wanted me when I was ready.
Far more than passing over the Little Haven town borders—maybe even more than seeing my sister or my mother or my new niece—Molly Moore had felt like home.
At some point, my breathing has picked up. My knuckles have tensed as I grip the stool under my ass.
There’s a flash in the periphery of my vision. I hold up a hand to block my face as Cox stands.
“Really, man? We’re just tryna have a drink here.” He and Bennett are already stepping after the paparazzo. The guy is just some dude with a mullet and an iPhone. Probably thought he could make a quick buck if he sold a picture but he didn’t remember to turn his flash off.
“I’m going back to the South Pacific,” Reed mumbles beside me. “Our boat is no shoes, no shirts, no selfies… er, pictures, in this case.”
I blink, the white light still curling at the edges of my vision. It’s been a minute since I’ve had someone try to take my picture. After all, I guess I did come to Little Haven to escape the press and keep my head down. Seems I was successful in my endeavor.
“Reed…” I didn’t realize I was turning to talk to him until I was already looking at the tall player beside me, shifting in my seat so I can really assess him. “You’d really go back home? If the money, the women, the notoriety—”
He shrugs and crosses his arms. “Obviously, you can take some things with you. I’ll keep the yacht. It’s a big perk.” He grins, turning to glance over at Cox and Bennett as they talk to the would-be photographer. “But if I was starting over from scratch… I don’t know. Bennett is right—when you come home, it just feels like what you’ve done matters more to those people. You don’t have to hope you hear about your legacy from some sports announcer or some angry dude on Twitter. You can reach out and touch it. Kids want to come to your clinics and neighbors tell your parents how proud they are and when you donate money or time or even a gym or whatever, you can actuallyseethe effect you’ve had. That’s entirely cool.”
I picture the boys running around the Little Haven High School gym, Coach Bates at the sideline hollering for them to clean up their suicides or watch their backs. And… and I think if I try hard enough, I can picture Molly sitting in the bleachers behind them. Watching what I’ve built. Watching me. Cheering me on.
My heart beats hard against my sternum, and I stand back suddenly, surprising myself with the sound of the stool screeching across the bar floor.
“God, am I really about to take the word of someone who can look back on their tiny hometown through the lens of rose-colored binoculars from their private yacht?”
Reed turns back to me. “What?”
“You really wanna give back to small towns more?”
He shrugs and props his elbows on the counter. “Sure.”
“Ugh, this might be the rashest decision I’ve ever made.” I scrub at my eyes, giving myself one last shot to talk myself down.
“What is it?” Reed asks.
“What are you doing this evening?”