I clapped with enthusiasm. “There we go! That’s Shamrocks basketball!”

  Once we shook off those initial playoff nerves, we settled into our game plan. We pushed the pace, made the unselfish extra pass, and found the open player. Dez got into a rhythm and scored a game-high thirty points. Briana recorded a double-double in points and rebounds, and my defense frustrated Connecticut’s point guard, leading to a season-high number of turnovers.

  When no time was left on the scoreboard, we’d made up the point deferential and had made one of our own, outscoring Connecticut by five. One more win in the best-of-three series and we’d be on our way to the second round of the playoffs.

  Still feeling the high of a solid team victory, I stayed on the court to sign autographs for Shamrocks fans who’d made the commute down to Connecticut. I focused on each individual, signing homemade posters, t-shirts, and basketballs, and thanked them for coming out to the game. My attention eventually strayed, however, beyond their exuberant faces to the diminutive figure of a woman who lingered a few rows up the stands.

  “Mrs. Montgomery?”

  I capped the final sharpie marker and distractedly handed it back to a fan.

  The Honorable Virginia Montgomery carefully navigated the steps that led down to the hardwood court. She wasn’t dressed for a basketball game. She looked like she’d come directly from work, or at least what a federal judge might wear under her official robes.

  “Hello, Alexandra.”

  I blinked a few times as I tried to make sense of her presence. “Hi. What an unexpected surprise. A nice surprise though,” I acknowledged.

  She clutched her designer purse a little tighter. “I thought it might be appropriate to support my daughter’s partner. You played well tonight. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  I was humbled, obviously, but also confused. Why had it taken so long for her to come to a game, and why had she waited until after Eva had been traded?

  The unspoken question shimmered between us.

  “Every parent wants better for their children. You’ll understand when you have some of your own.” She flashed me a steely look. I saw Eva in that look. “You do want children, Alexandra, don’t you?”

  I tried not to choke on my response. “I’m still pretty young to be thinking about building a family, but I haven’t ruled it out, ma’am.”

  She hummed, looking me up and down. “Well, I suppose that wasn’t a no.”

  Back at the hotel in Connecticut’s casino complex, I video chatted with Eva. Because Connecticut had finished the regular season with a better record than ours, they were playing host to Games One and Two. If a third game was necessary, the game would shift to Boston.

  Eva called from her team-issued apartment in Chicago. A midnight-blue sky filled the screen behind her. They’d played the previous night, handing their Phoenix opponents a twelve-point loss. As the top seed in the entire league, Chicago was positioned to have home court advantage throughout the playoffs.

  “Dez is taking way too many shots,” she critiqued.

  “She made a lot of them though,” I defended. “Thirty points is a pretty good night.”

  “She had a hot hand,” she conceded, “but you’re gonna be in trouble if those shots stop falling.”

  I was happy to talk strategy with her, but I had something else on my mind.

  “Your mom came to the game today.”

  Eva didn’t immediately respond, and I expected the worst.

  “I didn’t know if I should tell you,” I admitted. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Briefly,” I acknowledged. “She said she wanted to support her daughter’s partner.”

  I heard Eva’s heavy exhale. “Well, that’s something.”

  “It was a nice gesture, right?” I fished.

  “It was,” she agreed. “That woman is so unpredictable, though. You’d think having a queer daughter would be more upsetting to her than me playing ball. But she’s strangely always been supportive of whomever I’ve dated. My dad, too.”

  “Maybe I’ll ask her to bring those infamous prom photos to our next game.”

  I kept my tone light, hopeful she wouldn’t dwell too much on the fact that her parents still had yet to go to one of her games.

  Eva snorted. “Maybe I’ll just put you in contact with Kate directly and the two of you can compare notes.”

  “Kate?”

  “My prom date,” she explained. “Kate Gillespie.”

  “Wait. Your prom date was Kate Gillespie?” I named a highly-recruited high school player whose injuries in college had ended her playing career.

  Kate Gillespie had become a cautionary tale about the dangers of rushing back too quickly after a major injury. People had speculated whether it was pressure from her college basketball program or her own stubborn determination that had led her to return prematurely. The second ACL tear had cut short a promising career that never really got started.

  “We went to the same high school and played together,” she said.

  “Did you actually date or was it only for prom?” I questioned.

  “She was my first girlfriend. But then we went to different schools for college, so we broke up. It was very civil and amicable.”

  “So distance broke you up.”

  Eva frowned. “That was years ago, Lex.” She scolded my not-quite-subtle suggestion. “I wasn’t equipped to handle a long-distance relationship back then.”

  “But you are now?” I pressed.

  “Yes.”

  She offered no additional reassurances. Her curt response hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, leaving me feeling slightly unsettled. I didn’t push her, though. Eva wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, and I knew better than to expect anything different.

  I shifted my weight on the bed. “We haven’t really talked about exes.”

  Eva gave me a look, half-smiling. “Well, I already know about one of your bodies. In fact, she’s my roommate for road games.”

  “You two better not get too chummy,” I feigned concern.

  “We’ve been swapping stories; she’s got some juicy stuff. Jazz had four years with you. I barely had four weeks.”

  She tried to match the joviality of my tone, but the end of her statement was tinged with regret.

  “The season is nearly over,” I tried to reassure her.

  “Nuh uh,” she resisted, voice transforming again. “You play to win, not to see me.”

  “Have you looked at the playoff bracket?”

  If Boston managed to get beyond the first round and then the second, our teams were on a crash course to compete against each other in the Finals.

  “Yes,” she said sharply. “And I’m not thinking about that possibility. We don’t look ahead. We play one game at a time, right?”

  An uncomfortable feeling took residency in my stomach. “Right.”

  When Eva had been traded to Chicago, I knew it was inevitable that we would play against each other. But I hadn’t considered that we might meet again to compete for a championship. I was coming down with a bad case of deja vu.

  “Just focus on the next game,” she urged. “You’ve got Connecticut to worry about. I’ll deal with Phoenix. We’ll cross whatever bridge we have to when we get there.”

  I nodded, knowing she was right. The truth was, I didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like to go up against her again when a championship was on the line. I knew that if that moment came, neither of us would hold back.

  “Good luck tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll be watching.”

  “Good luck to you, too,” she smiled. “But not too much luck.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Four

  The lights in Briana’s hotel room were dimmed for maximum viewing ability. Our team had arrived in Las Vegas earlier that day. The coaching staff had us on lockdown in the team hotel, not that any of us would actually be irresponsible enough to go out. Everyone was locked in. Everyone was taking this next challenge seriously.

  Over the past few days, the original eight playoff teams had been whittled down to four. After sweeping Phoenix, Chicago was hosting Game One of the second round versus New York while we would be playing Las Vegas in our own Game One the following evening. Our trip to the second round had taken a little longer than Chicago’s. While they’d breezed through their first two games, it had taken us all three to eliminate a Connecticut team that wasn’t used to losing.

  All ten members of the team had gathered in Briana’s room to watch the first Chicago-New York matchup. I sat in the room’s office chair while most everyone else was sprawled out on one of the room’s two queen-sized beds. Mya was the other exception, having claimed the cushioned high-backed chair for herself. I would have wanted to watch Eva’s game anyway to support her, but it was also practical, knowing either Chicago or New York could potentially be someone we saw in the Finals if we made it past the second round.

  The first round against Connecticut had been a best of three series. The second round and potentially the Finals expanded to five games. Las Vegas had the better regular season record, meaning they would play host to Games One and Two. Game Three and a possible Four would be back in Boston. If a Game Five became necessary, the higher seeded Vegas would get home court advantage in the final game.

  Attentions strayed during the first quarter with my teammates on their phones or eating snacks. I caught myself sitting forward in my chair, much like I was sitting on the sidelines, too nervous on Eva’s behalf to truly relax. New York had jumped ahead with a strong 8-0 start while Chicago, despite having the best record in the league, looked sluggish.

  Chicago’s point guard, a savvy vet, passed to Jazz in the wing. Eva stepped forward to set a pick and rolled towards the basket. Two New York defenders crowded Jazz who smartly lofted the ball to a wide open Eva. New York’s center tried to slide to the open shooter, but she was too late. Eva lowered her shoulder before exploding towards the basket for the easy baseline shot.

  I hopped up from my seat. “Nice step-through!”

  I could feel my teammates’ eyes on me. I cleared my throat. “What? It was a good move!”

  An involuntary blush warmed my cheeks. I’d nearly forgotten where I was—not an anonymous fan in the stands or even at home watching my girlfriend on TV.

  “What?” I continued to defend myself. “Can’t I appreciate a good play?”

  I ducked and dodged errant pieces of microwave popcorn tossed in my direction.

  “Down in front, Bennet,” Briana playfully complained.

  At the game’s conclusion, we scattered to our respective rooms. It was technically still early on the West Coast, but we needed to adjust to the different time zone and avoid giving Vegas such an obvious advantage.

  I was eager to return to my room not to sleep, but to call or text Eva and congratulate her on a good game. Chicago had started slow, but as the game played on, they’d managed to pull ahead and away from their New York competition. Everyone expected Chicago to take down New York, just like they’d handled their first round sweep of Phoenix.

  My teammates walked along the corridor, joking and lighthearted, but mindful to not be too rowdy. One by one each player peeled away to their assigned room until only Mya Brown and myself remained. We walked, in step with one another, down the hallway.

  I chewed on my lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to come up with something smart or funny to say. It still made me nervous, all these months later, being around her. Luckily, Mya broke the silence when I failed to produce any conversation.

  “Chicago looked good tonight,” she observed.

  I made a sound in the affirmative. “They do,” I confirmed. “I don’t think anyone wants to play them right now.”

  “Better New York than us though,” Mya noted. “We’ll have our hands full enough with Las Vegas.”

  I nodded, agreeing.

  “Speaking of which, how is Eva managing in Chicago?” she asked.

  I froze mid-step, but then recovered. “Oh, I don’t … I don’t know about that.”

  Mya tilted her head slightly. “I thought the two of you were … close.”

  My chest constricted. “We, uh. The trade happened, and now it’s the playoffs, so …” I verbally fumbled, feeling the words slip out awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what to say or how much to say.

  Mya’s gaze softened. “It’s hard with distance.”

  I swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

  “My wife and I met when we were both playing overseas,” Mya noted. “We played together in Turkey, and those were some of the best years of my life. But then I came back to the States to play, and she stayed over there.”

  I nodded, already knowing the story. I’d admired Mya for years—not just for her game, but for how she and her wife navigated their relationship. She’d been my idol, on and off the court.

  “She decided to retire early so we could start a family,” Mya continued. “I’ll always be grateful to her for that. She sacrificed her playing career so we could be together.”

  I looked down, not trusting myself to speak.

  Mya touched my shoulder. “But hey, I wouldn’t stress about that. You two have plenty of playing years ahead.”

  Her words were meant to reassure me, but they only made my stomach turn. I forced a small smile, but my thoughts were already spinning, wondering what the future held for Eva and me, now that we were in different cities, on different teams, and leading different lives.

  “I think Mya Brown knows about us.”

  “That Old Head must have some pretty strong gaydar,” Eva remarked. She didn’t sound worried or surprised.

  Upon returning to my room, I’d texted Eva to call me when she had time. I hadn’t put a timetable on the call knowing she would have post-game media obligations and might want to celebrate her Game One victory with her new team. I was happily surprised when she called not long after my initial text message.

  “She suggested that you and I had gotten close,” I recounted, “and then started talking about how she and her wife had had to do long distance for a while.”

  Eva chuckled. “Yep. Sounds like she knows.”

  “Is that alright?” There was nothing I could realistically do except request she keep that knowledge to herself, much like we’d asked of Mathilde.

  “Nothing we can really do about it now,” Eva mirrored my own thoughts. “But something tells me Ms. Mya Brown isn’t going directly to the paparazzi.”

  “What do you …” I hesitated, “want to do once the season is over?”

  “You mean, like, go to Cancun?”

  “Sure, yeah. Vacation.” I tried to not get distracted by the idea of seeing Eva in a bathing suit. “But I mean after that.”

  God, why couldn’t I just ask her? Why was I struggling to find the words?

  “Like, do you want to be with me?” I asked.

  I heard her quiet laugh over the phone. “Your head is spinning,” she accused.

  “It is not,” I stubbornly denied.

  In truth, I was sweating. What if she didn’t care about living in the same city during the off-season? I wanted to live together—to share a physical space with her again—but what if she thought it was too soon to live together and was enjoying the distance?

  “Is Boston letting you stay at the apartments once the season is over?” she asked.

  “Shit. I don’t know. I didn’t think about that.”

  I’d been so focused on the day-to-day grind that I hadn’t stopped to think about what my life would look like once October and November rolled around. Would I have to move back in with my parents?

  “My housing in Chicago is only temporary,” she said. “You should talk to Spirit about the Boston apartment. Since there’s only you and Mathilde living there right now you might get reshuffled again once next season starts and they bring in a new draft class and free agents.”

  The more she spoke, the more anxious I became. Everything had been so easy and automatic in college. I’d wrongly assumed playing in the league would be more of the same, only I’d no longer have homework or classes to go to.

  “Don’t stress out, Lex,” she gently directed. “You’ve got this.”

  “Do I?”

  “Do you want to stay in Boston during the off-season?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Her family was just in Brookline. It wasn’t the healthiest of familial relationships, but maybe she considered Boston to be her home.

  “Well, what do you think about Chicago?” she proposed. “I’m considering looking at condos here. Since the team basically mortgaged their future to snatch me from the Shamrocks, I’m feeling pretty optimistic that this is going to be home for a while.”

  “Chicago,” I echoed. “The Windy City.”

  She laughed again. “Let’s put a pin in this conversation until you’re in the right headspace.”

  “I’m sorry,” I was quick to apologize. “I don’t know why I’m unraveling.”

  “It’s really okay, Lex,” she reassured me. “It’s a lot to consider, and you’ve got a massively important game tomorrow.”

  I exhaled. “Right. Las Vegas.”

  “What are you doing to prepare?” she asked.

  “I watched a ton of film on the plane ride.”

  “Good girl,” she said warmly.

  I’d never dated another basketball player before. Eva understood my world. It was easy—refreshing—not having to argue about priorities or why I cared so much about a silly game.

  “I’ve never been very good at expressing my emotions,” I admitted with a deep breath. “I do better at showing them, but that’s kind of hard when you’re there and I’m here.”

  “I know what you mean,” Eva said. “I’m the same way. But we’ll figure it out.”

  The thought of making big decisions about the future—where we’d live, how we’d make things work—was overwhelming. But when I heard her voice, it felt a little less terrifying, like maybe we really could figure it out, like it wasn’t just empty promises.