“She absorbed me,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d never felt that way about anyone else. When she told me she had a boyfriend, I felt like she was reading from the wrong script. Like that’s not how this is supposed to go. How can it possibly go that way when I feel like this already?”

I roll my eyes, playing my words back in my own ears. “I sound like a chick.”

“And what’s wrong with sounding like a woman?” Mom’s offended words chastise me.

“You know what I mean. Like all in my feelings. Desperate.” I catch her sharp look. “Not saying that all women are desperate. I just mean I sound like I would do anything to be with her.”

“Based on what you told me about her family history, maybe she needs someone who’s willing to take an outrageous chance on her. It sounds like she hasn’t had the easiest life and has seen a lot of bad in men.”

“I don’t get why she’s still with that asshole.” I run an agitated hand through the hair dipping over my eyes. “If you could have felt what was between us that night at the game. Neither one of us could look away. It’s still there for me, and I know it’s still there for her. I know how it sounds, but I’m not making this up.”

“She has a child with this man, August. You said she was on bed rest and couldn’t work. She probably has very little of her own. You never know what a mother has to do to do what’s best for her child.”

She grins.

“Even knowing I loved Matt, it was a long time before I let him fully into my life. I wanted to protect you. It hadn’t been long since your father died, and you were so impressionable. I had to be careful about who I brought around you. I had to be careful about everything. It seems to me circumstances have made your Iris more vulnerable than she ever wanted to be.”

My Iris.

It feels like all the stars and planets and the moon itself will have to align for her to be my Iris.

“I know you don’t like the comparisons with your father,” Mom interrupts my thoughts. “But there is one thing you inherited from him for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“Timing.” Her smile turns fond, her eyes distant. “He’d hold the ball ’til the last possible second. I’m screaming from the bleachers for him to take the shot, but he’d just dribble and watch the clock, and at just the right moment, he’d take the shot.”

“You’re right.” I laugh, because I remember watching tape of him when I was younger and thinking the same thing.

“As immature and impetuous as your father sometimes was off the court,” Mom says, “on the court, he was a study in patience and vision. Seeing the right opportunity and taking the shot when it was time. He used to call it ‘letting the game come to him.’ Try that approach with Iris. Let the game come to you, and at the right time, take the shot.”

My phone rings, startling us both. I grimace when I see Lloyd’s name onscreen. I’m a grown-ass man. I need to take care of my career the same way I’m taking care of this leg, and that means talking to Lloyd. “I need to take this. I’ve been dodging my agent.”

“Alright.” She stands and dusts off her jeans. She drops a kiss on my unruly curls. “And at some point, you will get a haircut, right?”

“Rehab hair. This is why I don’t let it grow.” I sift my fingers through the thick curls flopping everywhere and answer Lloyd’s call.

Lloyd takes forty-five minutes to tell me ten minutes’ worth of information, so I’m chomping at the bit to get off the phone by the time he’s bringing the conversation to a close.

“I’ll email those contracts over for you to look at and sign,” he says. “We need to get that commercial in the can. I suggested we not do it in your San Diego jersey, just to be safe.”

“It’s like that?” I ask, not sure if I’m excited or insulted that San Diego may be seriously considering trading me. At the start of the season it would have been what I wanted, but I had just started to feel like we were building something special.

“We’ll see.” Lloyd’s voice is diplomatic and dissembling. “I like to have contingencies. No telling when that commercial will air or where you’ll be by then. Oh, and did you speak to that Sylvia lady?”

“What Sylvia lady?” I’m only half listening, re-opening my dad’s box and picking through it to make sure I didn’t overlook anything significant.

“She called me this morning saying she’s left several voicemails for you. Something about NBA charity stuff and you wanting to volunteer in Baltimore.”

“Oh, yeah. I do. I have a ton of missed calls. I’ll call her back.”

“You start physical therapy next week, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been doing some upper-body stuff but wasn’t cleared for weight on the leg before. Now I am, so we’ll go into beast mode next week.”

“Bleacher Report approached me about documenting your road to recovery.” I hear Lloyd’s lips smacking in anticipation over the phone. “Like a web series or a special.”

“Nah. I don’t want to do the circus act, sympathy, look-at-him-go thing.”

“It’s a good idea to stay in the public eye. That next contract is mostly about how you do on the court, but it doesn’t hurt if they know you can put butts in seats. And let’s not forget you were Rookie of the Year, despite missing the last games of the regular season.”

“That was probably a consolation prize,” I say, resentment festering in my words. “They knew Caleb’s play was dirty and didn’t want to give it to him. Giving me the award was their silent protest since his daddy always finds a way to protect him.”

“Well, it’s certainly added to the public’s interest in the two of you. It’s turning into a Magic Johnson–Larry Bird kind of rivalry. Theirs started in college, too.”

“Yeah, but they became friends, and Caleb and I never will.”

“They really played it up. Did commercials together and everything.”

I’m choking on my answer before it even comes out of my mouth. “The hell I’m doing a commercial with that motherfucker.”

Total silence.

“So . . . I guess that’s a definite no,” he says.

“That’s ‘if you ever put me in the same room as that dude again, I’m firing your ass.’ We legit don’t like each other, Lloyd. It’s not for the cameras or to hike ratings. The guy’s a shitbag who jeopardized my career. Don’t ask me to grin like a buffoon and drink Pepsi with him.”

More total silence.

“Duly noted,” Lloyd finally says. “Will you at least call Sylvia back?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it right now.”

I’m just eager to get off the phone with him. There are so many things Lloyd and I don’t see eye to eye on. The more I think about it, the more I’m ready to turn things over to Jared. With us getting Elevation off the ground, it’s the perfect time and ideal scenario: him managing my career as he convinces other athletes he can manage theirs.

I listen to the message Sylvia left. She invites me to do some talks for a week at the community center right outside of Baltimore where I played all the time growing up. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d hoped to do while I was rehabbing on this side of the country.

“Thank you for returning my call, Mr. West,” Sylvia says when I dial her back.

“Please. Call me August. I’m sorry it took a minute. I’ve just started hitting the gym again and guess I hadn’t paid attention to messages for a few days.”

“No problem. Did you hear the opportunity I have in mind?”

“It’s perfect,” I say, thinking of all the times I got my ass handed to me at that community center. “I cut my teeth playing ball there. It’s not far from my mom’s, where I’m staying while I rehab. We’re right outside of the city.”

“Oh, good.” Sylvia’s warm voice comes from the other end. “I’ll email you details, but basically it’s a summer program, and we bring in someone different each week to inspire and encourage the kids. You’ll talk for maybe thirty minutes or so.”

“Sounds great.” I pause for a second, hesitant to broach my awkward question. “Um, obviously I play for the Waves out in San Diego, not the Stingers, but this is my hometown, and I really want to contribute here, too. Will any other Stingers be involved?”

“Actually—”

“I’m fine working with anyone from the team,” I cut in. “But Caleb Bradley and I aren’t—”

“I’m familiar with the, shall we say, difficulties between the two of you.”

“Good.” I blow out a breath, relieved that I don’t have to go into more detail to make my point.

“However,” Sylvia says, “his fiancée, er, sorry . . . girlfriend will be one of the volunteers. Several of the players’ partners are working at the center that week, but they—”

“Iris?” I stomp over whatever she was about to say, gripping the phone practically to the point of cracking. “Are you saying Iris DuPree will be there the same week?”

Crickets from the other line. Too eager?

“I mean, if that’s what you’re saying,” I continue, deliberately dialing it down, “let’s not mention it to Iris.”

“Um . . . what?” Confusion and reluctance pile up in Sylvia’s pause. “I won’t lie—”

“Lie?” I laugh a little to put her at ease. “Who said anything about lying, Sylvia? I was thinking just so she doesn’t feel awkward or maybe like she shouldn’t come, considering how things have been between Caleb and me. I think it’s great she’s volunteering.”

“If she asks, I’ll have to tell her,” she says a little stiffly.