Lucky Number Eleven

Chapter 27

Branch

I slam my locker shut, the sound barely heard over my teammates catching up after practice. It's so loud I've considered bringing noise-cancelling headphones with me just so I can hear myself think.

Despite my workout efforts over the summer, my body still aches like a motherfucker. Every part of me contests every movement I make, each muscle fiber begging me to stop. Although we've practiced every day for the last week, the soreness just gets worse.

I kind of love it.

It reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm doing what I love, that my body, while not a young stud anymore, is still capable of competing with them. Six years in the league is long enough to take a beating that makes every penny I make fully earned.

"What'd you do this offseason, Best?" Chauncey slips on his shirt and grins. "You always have the craziest stories, man."

"I just played it cool, you know? Did a little of this, a little of that . . ." Knocked up Finn's sister . . .

"Look at you being all discreet," he says, closing his locker. "Nah, I got you. You're keeping a low profile."

"You could say that. What were you up to?"

"Hangin' around the house, painting the baby's bedroom, doing some fishin'. Just basic shit, ya know?"

"Life with a wife," I kid.

"Hell, no," he says, bursting out laughing. "My girlfriend had me painting. My wife don't give a shit about paint. She'd just hire someone to come in and do it. Ain't her money, you know?"

I try to smile, to come up with a joke like I'd usually do, about his girlfriend and his wife taking all his damn money if he doesn't watch it, but I come up empty. There just doesn't seem to be a lot funny about it.

I instantly think of Layla and what color she'd choose for our baby's room and if this is something she's even thought about.

"You okay, Lucky?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I grab my bag and heave it up on my shoulder as we head towards the door.

"What do you think Coach's surprise is on Monday? 'Bring your best selves,'" Chauncey says, mimicking Coach. "If he fucking brings out that Godzilla drill, I might feign a pulled hamstring and sit it out."

"I bet it is. That or Hammer Time. He hasn't killed us with that yet."

"Don't even talk about that," he laughs. "I hate that thing. Fucking Miller beat everyone last year. Remember that?" He looks around the locker room. "Speaking of, where's Finn?"

"I don't know."

"I wanted to say hey, get back into the flow of things, but he disappears every day as soon as the reporters leave." We stand at the bank of elevators, Chauncey needing to take the right one, me the left. "Tell Miller to find me tomorrow."

"I will."

The ding is my opening and I nod to my teammate. Getting into the elevator, I hit the "close" button before anyone can join me.

The ride down to the parking garage is quick, and I'm in my car before I have to talk to anyone else. Practice was good, but the high is over and I feel antsy.

Sitting at the gate, waiting for security to let me through, I play a game of chicken with myself.

I can go home and call Layla, or I can do what I really want to do: see her.