Page 81 of Playing Dirty
Coffee in Rowan’s hand.
Her not stepping away.
That was the part that stuck.
Not him.
Not even the conversation.
Just her not moving.
Like it didn’t matter.
“Reed,” Coach said sharply.
I snapped back. “Yeah.”
“You with us?”
“Yes.”
He studied me for a second too long.
Then nodded once like he didn’t fully believe me but didn’t care enough to stop everything.
Film started.
Lights dimmed slightly.
Footage rolled.
Normally I’d lock in immediately.
Today everything blurred at the edges.
“Your off-ball reads are late here,” Coach said, pausing the screen.
I leaned forward. “I know.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t. You’re reacting, not anticipating.”
Jace muttered beside me. “He’s doing the thing again.”
I shot him a look.
He smiled like it meant nothing.
It meant everything.
After film, I didn’t leave immediately.
I stayed behind longer than usual, tying my shoes slower than necessary, pretending I had something to fix.
I didn’t.
The arena was mostly empty now.
That quiet after practice that feels heavier than noise.
