Page 95 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

I follow him into the packed auditorium and take a seat on the front row reserved for speakers. The crowd, full ofplayers and parents, faculty and staff—past andpresent—cheers when Coach Lipton waves at them from the stage. It is a party—acelebration of a stellar career and a legacy of teaching and service. It’s thesend-off Coach Lipton deserves, and I’m glad I came, even if I do feel Cliff’sanger from a few seats away. I don’t bother looking at him, selfish asshole. When it’s my turn to speak, I keep it simple. If Isay too much about my career or the success I’ve had, even in the context ofthanking Coach for his part in it, it might set Cliff off. I’m already havingto hold myself back after Takira told me how he treated her during their call.No need to provoke him or myself.

“And now we’ll hear from the guy who carried this team whilehe was here,” Myron says, smiling at his old friend. “Our captain, CliffFletcher.”

The applause is thunderous. I’m not sure if it’s for all heaccomplished while he was here or supporting him because of how he fell when heleft, but I join in. Even if I don’t want to, I do for Takira. And because, dammit, though the drugs have aged him and addiction took aheavy toll, denting his good looks, I still can’t see him without seeing her.

“We’re here to honor a great man,” Cliff says at the mic,looking out over the crowd. “Coach Lipton, you taught me a lot. You taught usall a lot.”

His laugh is hollow. His grimace comes and goes. “Some of usnever learned. You instructed us as much off the court as you did on, Coach.Character, you used to say, always trumps stats.”

He pauses, swallowing and glancing down at the floor.

“I had to learn that the hard way, I guess,” he says. “Itdidn’t matter how many records I broke or where they hung my jersey, when I wasselfish and foolish, reckless, no one cared about my stats. I failed incharacter. I failed my team. I failed my coach and my family. I failed myself.”

It’s totally silent as Takira’s brother breaks in front ofeveryone. Not crying or making a scene, but breaking off, piece by pridefulpiece. Humbling himself. Or is it life that’s humbled him?

When I look at him now, it’s through Takira’s eyes. I seethe big brother she adored and would do anything to protect—to shield. I seehim warning the team off his sister because she was too good for all of us.

He was right about that.

They shared a special bond, and for me—because by somemiracle, she loves me—she put her relationship with him at risk.

I had every intention of making a beeline for the door,going straight to my hotel, calling Takira and trying to convince her to meetme somewhere. Anywhere. But when the ceremony ends, I first haveto make my way over to Coach Lipton and thank him personally for all hedid for me.

“Armstrong,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Thank you forcoming. So proud of you, son.”

“Thank you”—I step back and look him in his eyes—“for seeing my potential and recruiting me. For giving me ashot. You had a huge impact on me.”

“Aww. Just…” He blinks, his throat moving with a deepswallow. “Just doing my job. How’s your mother? Your sisters?”

He moves to small talk because I suspect his emotionstonight are hard to keep under control. Having said my piece, I turn to leave,only to come face to face with Cliff.

“Fletcher,” I say, barely sparing him a glance, and move towalk around him.

“Wait.” His hand snakes out and grabs my arm.

I look from the grip he has on me to his face. Is he reallygoing to do this shit on Coach’s big night? I don’tanswer but stare at him, waiting.

“I need to talk to you,” he says, tipping his head towardthe gym exit.

Tension rises around us as people watch our interaction. Ifhe’s gonna show out, the least we can do is gosomewhere everyone won’t see it.

“Sure.” I shrug and head for the exit without checking tosee if he’s following.

Once we’re in the hall, he glances at the glass case, hismouth assuming a bitter twist.

“I, um, I owe you an apology,” he says.

My eyes snap to his face, disbelief freezing me in place andkeeping me silent.

“I’ve talked about you a lot over the years.” He scoffs. “Tomy sponsor, to doctors in rehab, to my family—to anyone who would listen to howyou had ruined my life.”

I wait, wondering what changedsince he talked to Takira last week.

“I had stopped going to group for a while,” he says. “Afterthat last time I relapsed, I couldn’t face them. Felt like such a failure.”

“You went back?” I ask because he’s the one doing all thetalking, and I don’t want him to think I’m not engaged, not really hearing him.

“Last week, yeah.” He glances at me, and his eyes are somuch like Takira’s, but so much older, so much wearier, it makes my chesttighten. I know how much she loves him, and his pain is hers. And now hers ismine.