Hard to break, p.4
Hard to Break, page 4
Slamming the hatchback isn’t an option, so I stab the power close button. “Anything except that.”
I’d started to think the disagreement had passed, that she was going to accept my decision and move on.
I shoulder my bag and start for the door, frustration edging into my anticipation. Security holds the door, nodding to me. I nod back.
Brooke catches up partway down the hall. We pass a camera crew that’s got a sports network’s name on it.
“I talked to Chloe,” Brooke says at my side. “It’s important.”
Her heels click along, taking two strides for every one of mine.
“And what will they do?” I shove a hand through my hair and slow down a bit. “We stalled—thanks to you—and it’ll blow over.”
“It’s not over,” she says with certainty. “They could fine you, trade you—fire you.”
Her words make me pull up.
She’s standing in the middle of the hall, breathing heavily. I drop the bag at my side and close the distance between us. I take her arms in my hands.
“You’re the one who stands up for what’s right,” I remind her, my gut knotting tightly. “Who tells the bad guys to fuck off, usually in public.”
She looks past me, brows drawn. “This affects other people. Your team needs you. Your grandmother needs you.”
My throat tightens. Brooke’s not wrong, and the reminder makes it all hurt more.
I have pride, but more than that, I’m not about to lie down in front of a piece of shit who treated her like she was worse than replaceable—who used her and lied to her, then dared to act like she was his property when she never was.
Not when they were dating, and sure as hell not now.
“You want me to do it for them?”
A nod.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then do it for me.” Her eyes shine.
The trouble I caught him in, the pact we made, plays back in my mind. I don’t owe him anything. Back then, he tried to hurt Brooke—succeeded, come to that—and all he got from it was a black eye.
Brooke doesn’t move, almost as if she knows what’s going through my mind.
“Princess,” I say under my breath. “You’re the reason I can’t.”
I turn and head for the locker room, smacking my fist into the wall on the way.
We’re running hard drills, sweat sticking my jersey to my back, when Coach calls for a break.
I’ve tossed back half a Powerade when Atlas shoves my shoulder and nods behind me.
James and Harlan are standing at the edge of the court, Chloe at their side.
Is he here to tell me to apologize too?
I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Clay grunts at my side.
“No love lost between me and that man, but what did happen with that fight last week?”
I debate how much to say. “Back in college, I roughed up Kevin pretty bad. He deserved it for the way he treated Brooke.”
“You get in shit for it?”
I shake my head. “Nah, because I got photos of him. He wanted to know if I still had them.”
He blinks. “And you said…?”
“I said, who the fuck knows what I have stored away?”
Clay grabs a towel and scrubs it across his face and the tattoos covering his shoulders and arms. “Why does he have a problem with you now?”
“Probably doesn’t like seeing me with the woman he thought was his. If he has an ounce of brain in his douchebag head, he realizes what he let get away.”
“I get it, but we need this. Sometimes the biggest plays you make happen off the court.”
James finally steps forward.
“In a moment, we’re going to turn on the broadcast. The all-star committee is going to announce their next selections: Miles Garrett from the Denver Kodiaks.”
A roar goes up from the guys that rivals anything from a full stadium.
My grin splits my face.
“And Clayton Wade will be repeating for his fifth performance? Sixth? Who the hell knows how many,” Harlan says with a grin, and the guys laugh.
I turn to Clay and clap him on the back in congratulations.
“You deserve it, man,” I laugh.
“You do too.”
But it’s the words Clay says before I release him that stick with me long after practice.
GARRETT ISSUES STATEMENT ON EVE OF ALL-STAR GAME:
“Fighting is not the answer, but I will always stand up for the people I care about.”
5
BROOKE
Jay: Give Hawkins a message: we’re coming for Boston after all-star break
Damon: Sign it with a kiss
Miles: Should the kiss be from me or Clay?
Atlas: Both
Damon: You better check with the girls first
Brooke: Nova and I approve this use of lips
“I never thought this would end with us on opposite sides,” I say as I fold my arms.
Nova blinks up at me with eyes rimmed with glittery gold liner. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
In a cream outfit with gold boots, her hair in expert waves for TV, she could be some kind of WAG fairy.
“Oh, I think it does. You see this name?” I call over the murmur of the capacity Vegas crowd, pointing at the back of my jersey. “That’s my loyalty tonight.”
The all-star jerseys are blue for the Western Conference and gold for the East. It’s nearly impossible to get them ahead of the game, but I used my contacts to not only score one but have it altered into a shift dress that shows off my legs.
Underneath, I’m wearing over-the-knee dark-blue suede boots. My hair is smoothed back in a glossy high ponytail.
I arch a brow and inspect my manicure—not Kodiaks’ purple but blue, part of the outfit I’ve been putting together all week.
Nova leans in. “Too bad we’re besties and I know all your secrets, Brooke Ellis.”
I can’t help grinning in response.
Tonight, Miles and Clay are on opposite sides.
Nova, Chloe, Mari, and I are all here to cheer on Miles and Clay. But the battle lines have been redrawn tonight, with players from the same regular season team split up based on the captains’ picks.
“You’d better, because you really don’t want to make her your enemy.” We both turn to see Jay make his way into the seats at the end with Rookie.
Surprise nearly has me dropping my beer. I didn’t figure my brother would come, but maybe he did it out of solidarity with his teammates.
“She holds a grudge. This one time when I was fourteen and she was twelve, she wanted to come to an event with me, and I said no. She was still in that tagalong phase. She snuck out and followed me anyway, made friends with the organizers, and got in on her own. Little sis had a crush on one of the players.”
“That was over in a second. His twin had the most amazing hair, and I needed to ask her how she did it,” I counter.
His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but I’m secretly pleased to see it anyway.
Jay’s gaze falls to my jersey, but if it bothers him to see me wearing something with Miles’s name on it, he doesn’t comment on it.
Progress, I decide.
“In that case”—Nova holds out a hand to me—“may the best all-star win.”
On the court, the players are announced one at a time. The crowd erupts with each new name. One player after another steps out onto the court to acknowledge the applause and give the cameramen time for a closeup for the millions watching on TV.
I clap for Clay when he rises and waves to the crowd. I’m not a total monster.
But when they say Miles’s name, I scream my lungs out.
He looks fantastic in the all-star uniform as he steps onto the court, his dark hair falling over his face. I told him it was getting long and to cut it before the game, but he said he needed the luck.
Nova hollers as loudly for Miles as she does for her husband.
Miles’s gaze finds mine, and his grin widens.
Damn, he’s hot.
I’ve never been that affected by basketball players, but this one is the exception. Turns out all the banter and teasing for the past few years made for wicked foreplay.
I think back to our conversation before the game.
“What do I get if I win?” Miles asked.
“A massage.”
“With what?” Dark eyebrows wiggled.
I laughed, but before I could relax too much, he came right back at me.
“Tell you what, Princess. We win tonight, I want you on my cock the second we get back to the hotel room. Until you can’t feel anything but me, everywhere. Until you can’t remember what it’s like without me inside you. Until the only name you know is mine.”
“What about my name?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be saying it enough for both of us.”
“That statement he issued is causing a lot of ripples.” Jay’s voice brings me back.
The words issued by Miles’s agent replay in my mind. They’re burned behind my eyes. Since the moment I read them, I’ve been holding my breath.
“I told him to apologize.”
“We both know that was hardly an apology.”
Nova leans over. “You’re supposed to cheer equally for both your teammates,” she says to Jay.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, can’t cheer too loud. Hawkins is on the same team.” Jay straightens in his seat, frowning.
The energy is off the wall for tip-off.
Clay’s starting on one end, Miles on the other.
The atmosphere on the court should be lighter than a real game because they’re playing for charity. But it’s an exhibition of the best basketball talent on the planet and the players who eat, sleep, and breathe competition. The guys on the floor are the gods of basketball, and the crowd has come to worship.
The first couple of plays are each team feeling out themselves and the other side.
Each time the ball goes in and the other team jogs back, there are some jokes and light trash talking on the floor. We can’t hear what’s said from here, but we can witness the exchanges.
Miles gets his first shot attempt and misses. I groan.
A few plays later, the ball finds him in the corner. Another miss.
The coach for the evening sits him on the bench.
It’s not just Miles. The West team is a step slow out of the gate, already behind by six.
“Miles and Hawkins are going down,” Jay observes. “The East is locked in.”
“Care to make a little wager?” I turn toward him, folding my arms.
“How much?” Jay asks.
“Five hundred?”
“That’s a lot for you to lose.”
“I’m not going to lose.” I nod to Miles, doing a fist pump. Let’s go, I mouth.
The next time they put him in, he locks it down. One of his teammates finds him near half court, and he takes it all the way down into the key for a dunk.
I’m out of my seat hollering. He must hear me, because his gaze finds me as he’s running back on defense. I turn to show Miles the back of my jersey.
He flashes a heated grin in my direction.
Miles’s team gets up by halftime.
“If you Venmo me tonight, I might even buy you a drink at the club later,” I inform my brother.
“Can I have one?” Nova asks.
“You’re my friend. You can have two,” I say generously.
At halftime, Rookie and Jay float around the crowd to talk to other players and friends from the league who are watching. Nova and I grab food. On the way back, I find myself in my seat next to Jay.
“Where’s Rookie?” I ask.
“Bathroom. Nova?”
“Same.” I nod.
We’re quiet a minute.
“Popcorn?” He holds it out.
“Only if there are M&Ms in it.”
“Obviously.”
It’s a peace offering. I reach in and pop a few pieces of popcorn and candy into my mouth. The sweet and salty flavors collide on my tongue. It reminds me of summer nights in high school, watching movies with friends or tagging along to my brother’s games.
“I like these nights,” I say. They’re a reminder of what’s fun in the league.
“They don’t change anything. It’s for the fans, the owners, the guys who make money. Next week, we’re back in the gym and playing for the same stakes we’ve been going after all year.”
“That’s what makes this matter more,” I decide.
As the game resumes in the second half, the crowd flows back into their seats. On the far side behind the bench, I catch sight of a man who makes me do a double take. But the moment I think I’ve seen him, he’s gone.
The game resumes, and once again, we’re focused on the court.
By the time the final whistle blows and the confetti descends from the rafters—Miles’s team wins by five, and the crowd goes crazy—I’ve nearly convinced myself it was just my imagination.
6
MILES
You’ve never partied if you’ve never been out after a Vegas all-star game.
Dozens of clubs and bars on the Strip are ready to welcome fans and players, and we have an invite to the best of the best.
ICE nightclub, owned by Harrison King, is the place to be this year. His wife is one of the biggest producers and DJs in the world, but despite their public personas, they’ve managed to keep the story of how their relationship started mostly private.
Brooke, Clay, Nova, and I have barely gotten inside ICE when a woman cuts through the crowd to us. She’s about our age with strong features and dark hair. At first, I wonder if she’s a hostess—she’s definitely beautiful enough—but she’s too familiar and too relaxed for that. Nova holds her arms wide to the woman, who lets herself be drawn into a light hug.
“Didn’t see your name on the marquee,” Brooke calls over the music.
Raegan Madani, whom I recognize now that she’s up close, mouths something that looks as if it includes the word “vacation.” Her mouth curves, a tiny lift at one corner that barely registers in the darkness.
Brooke introduces me, and Raegan throws me a half nod. Her attention, even for a second, isn’t careless. Her gaze is the kind of intense that makes you feel as if she sees everything you’ve ever been or wanted to be.
“Well played, gentlemen.” The man who sweeps in wearing a dark suit has a British accent that’s obvious even over the pulsing beat. His hair is light. Everything else about him dark.
Clay and I shake Harrison’s hand in greeting. He’s giving Daniel Craig-era Bond even before he shifts an arm around Raegan’s shoulders, her fingers lacing casually through his. Brooke’s gaze flicks up and down him.
“You better be eyeing the suit,” I murmur in her ear.
She laughs, eyes warming with appreciation. “You worried?”
“Nah. I know exactly how to make you scream my name.”
Brooke looks next level tonight in a sparkly silver dress and heels. I like her hair every way, but tonight, she’s straightened it so that it falls down her back in a curtain.
I want to soak up every moment of this experience, but I also want to drag Brooke somewhere private and show her exactly how much it means to me that she’s here.
“Harry and Rae”—as Harrison insists we call them—show us to the best VIP booth in the place and inform us that each of the six booths by the dance floor have been reserved for players and guests. Ours is the most private, but each booth has black leather seats tall enough to shield all but the tallest VIPs.
Over the back of our booth, I spot other players from the game, including Hawkins in the next booth over with a couple other players and a few vaguely familiar faces—a couple of actors, I think, and a musician.
Our first round goes down fast. It’s a celebration, and after the long day of activity, I can feel the alcohol in my system.
Harry doesn’t linger, but Rae stays for a drink, chatting with Nova and Brooke.
“To your first of many games.” Clay holds up his glass.
The guy doesn’t drink alcohol during the season. For a moment, I imagine doing the same, but the next drink washes away any reluctance.
“Where did Jay and Chloe go?” Nova calls.
Brooke shrugs.
We’re distracted when Rookie and Atlas come by the booth for a round. One song blends into another. The vibe is practically giddy—we’re young and rich and have a week off, so what the fuck is there not to love?
I grab Brooke. “Dance with me.”
She tilts her head. “Are you any good?”
I grin. “I’m an all-star, baby.”
Brooke’s eyes roll, but she lets me tug her onto the floor.
I’ve got moves, but the second we’re out there, it’s all about her. She’s unselfconscious, moving to the music, both hands in the air. Her curvy hips sway, the shimmery fabric of the dress clinging to her body.
She lifts the phone in the air and snaps a sexy pic. Then changes the angle so it’s just our faces and texts both to me.
“What’s that one for?” I tease her.
“Grams! Figured she could do with less side boob and more of you.” She winks.
I love you.
I’ve never said that to a woman, but the words are there, not even waiting for me to come looking for them. They’re in the living room of my mind, in the foyer, busting out the front door and parading down the street with a ten-piece band.
I love Grams. I love basketball. I love Waffles because he loves me so much it’s impossible not to reciprocate. I love my friends, but in that collective way where if one of them drifted away, I’d find others and it would be cool.
Loving Brooke is another thing entirely.
Doing it from a distance was safer. I could care all I wanted when she was in school and I got drafted. Then later, when she was hanging out with someone else, or I was—when she was my best friend’s little sister and I was the guy who looked out for her because it was the right thing to do.
