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I shrug. “Again, you’d have to ask him. I don’t know what the problem is. I’ve been doing my best to get along with everybody, but he’s been on my ass since the day I arrived.”
“You’re not the easiest to get along with yourself, Ben,” Holman says. “I was in Dallas, remember? Eric isn’t the first teammate you’ve had beef with.”
“That’s true. But I haven’t done shit to him,” I reply.
“Eric? Do you have a specific problem with Ben?”
Eric turns and stares at me for a moment, a nasty little smirk on his face. Then he turns to Coach and shrugs.
“Just trying to make things competitive on the court. No big deal, Coach,” he offers.
“It's a big deal when the bullshit you two are playing at is infecting the rest of the team,” he says. “Like I told you, I hear a lot of things, and your teammates aren't real impressed with you two as leaders. The most common comment I've heard is that you're both acting like fucking children.”
“Who?” Eric snaps. “Who the fuck said that?”
“It doesn’t matter who said it,” Coach says evenly. “All that matters is that it has been said. And from what I’ve seen, I have to agree. So, I ask again, what is this bullshit beef you two have?”
I shake my head. “Again, you’d have to ask him. I have no specific beef with him. If there’s beef, it’s on his end.”
Eric shrugs. “No beef, Coach.”
“We all know that’s bullshit,” Holman replies. “But that’s fine. Not all teammates are best friends off the court. What I need to know is, can you two quash this beef while you’re on the court? Can you find a way to get past your differences for forty-eight minutes a night and work together for the benefit of the team? Or are you going to let your petty, selfish, bullshit drama infect this team and drag us down?”
I'm never going to like Eric. That much is clear to me. I don't care that he's Bailey's brother. Even if they somehow hammer out their differences and build a relationship, he and I are never going to be good. But one thing I know how to do is compartmentalize for the good of the team.
Down in Dallas, even during our pair of championship runs, I didn’t get along with everybody on the squad. Shit, I downright despised some of them. Still do. Some of them are just assholes I have nothing in common with and even less of a desire to associate with.
But I didn’t let it affect my game. I didn’t let it affect the team. We put our shit away at tip-off and never let it touch the court.
Knowing how to put the team first is something that’s in my DNA because all I truly care about is winning. And some of those guys I hated were fantastically talented. I didn’t have to like them to be able to use their talents in my single-minded pursuit of greatness. I can put the bullshit away and focus on the task at hand, which is winning titles and building my legacy. I have serious doubts that Eric can do it, though.
“You know I can do that, Coach,” I say. “You’ve seen it firsthand.”
“Eric? Can you do that? Can you can the bullshit the minute you set foot on the floor?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can do that, Coach.”
“Are you both sure you can put the team first?”
We both nod.
“Good,” Coach says, “because if I have to call you both in here to have this same fucking conversation, we’re going to have to make some very difficult decisions about our roster moving forward. Do you both understand me?”
“I do,” I say.
“Yeah. Sure,” Eric says.
“Good. Get out of here and go to practice. I’ll be down soon.”
We both stand and walk out of the office and make our way downstairs to the practice gym. As we walk down the tunnel that leads to the floor, Eric turns to me and grins.
“Gonna hate to see you go.” He tips me a wink and jogs off.
“And I’ll be glad to see you go, motherfucker.”
12
BAILEY
