One Last Shot

chapter eighteen: confession

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y'all miss me? i missed you :)

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Noah

     I'd like to say I was a kid who loved Christmas Eve when I was younger. I'm not sure what exactly makes this time so fucking 'magical' to people. The religious make it a time of celebration of life, but growing up my dad would much rather be celebrating a win on the court than sitting in a pew with dress pants on.

     Maybe they like it because it's a time to be with family, but when your dad doesn't talk to any  of his siblings, I'd say it's pretty damn difficult sharing a meal together. Christmas could be a fun time because of the gift giving. All gathered around, laughing at the gag gifts, crying at the ones you wanted forever, even jealous of a candy bar your niece got. Dad's idea of a gift is new exercises for my throwing arm.

     The holidays are supposed to be filled with a shit ton of joy. Where you are all under one roof with the people you love, watching sappy ass Christmas movies and drinking hot coco. The kids outside shitting around in the perfect white fluffy snow and the adults huddled around the log fire. It's just being thankful that you are all together... the most wonderful time of the year.

     For me; Christmas Eve has never been any of that.

     The NBA teams don't even remotely have the same schedules, but Christmas Eve is one of those few days we all got off. The team typically does a charity event in the morning, it varies between going to some soup kitchen or helping out the homeless, but still we like to help them out on our time off. Afterwards, a few guys like to hit the training facility for a couple hours, but they never stay long. Why would they when they got families at home waiting to spend their precious time off with them?

     I stayed there all day. Just like last Christmas Eve and the one before and the one before and the one before that. I don't mind it. It's honestly fucking nice to not have to hear the teams loud ass music, or Trev's annoying gum smacking, or Everett's rambling about who he wants to fuck for the night. It's just me and the court and silence. Just like how it used to be those late nights on my driveway. You can almost find peace with it.

     After almost seven hours of studying plays, shooting around, and lifting, it's 11:00 pm when I finally find myself getting into my car. Although Christmas might not be my thing, Chicago sure does love it. The streets are flooded tonight with mainly tourists. I guess seeing that big ass tree all lit up is more special on the actual day itself.

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     After a short drive, through many many many tourists and snowy roads, I finally made it. Rounding the corner, I squint to see through the snow covering the road and finally spot the  parking lines and pull my car right through them. I take a deep breath and slump my head onto the steering wheel. Before I start to repeatedly bang my skull against the horn, I grab what I came to drop off and make my way into the building.

     Tayla's building.

     The open lobby tries to greet me with holiday spirit as soon as I enter it. There is a decent sized tree planted in the center of it. Although it most definitely is fake, I'd definitely say I've seen worse decorated trees. The walls are all lined with tinsel and even the couch pillows are replaced with red and green ones.

     "Merry Christmas Eve! What can I help you with?" I turn to notice the doorman greeting me from behind the desk. I pick up my wet sneakers and walk closer towards the man, and I try my best not to roll my eyes at the sight of the bright red Santa hat on top of his head.