Page 82 of ClickBack

“And next week?”

Cam takes a breath. “I’m not going to give you a date I can’t keep.”

“You had one twenty minutes ago.”

“I had a possible physical on Friday. I told you what had to clear.”

He did. I heard him and started leaving anyway.

“Keep working it,” I say.

“Already am.”

I put the phone down after he hangs up. Giselle has come as far as the kitchen entrance.

“It fell through,” I tell her. “Somebody else’s knee.”

“Oh, Jarrett.”

“I need a minute.”

I go out to the terrace. The city looks exactly as it did before the call. I grip the rail and look across the river, furious with a man I’ve barely played against, a scan I haven’t seen, and myself for letting a bag half packed in my head count as leaving.

My phone vibrates. Graves, who has been getting updates from Cam.

Graves: Want me to come up?

Me: No. Zel’s here.

Graves: Call if that changes.

A few minutes later, Cole’s name appears. We came up on opposite sides of a college rivalry, and I have spent years arguing with him about basketball without once wondering whether he respects mine. He knows what it costs to give a team everything and still be moved.

Cole: Heard they couldn’t get it through. That’s on the deal. Your game didn’t change tonight. Call me tomorrow.

Me: I will. Preciate you.

I stay outside until I can go back in without taking my anger out on the only person here. Giselle has covered the food. She is rinsing a pan when I come into the kitchen.

“You can leave that,” I tell her.

“I’m nearly done.”

I sit on the floor with my back against the cabinets. She shuts off the faucet and dries her hands. I don’t have an explanation for being down here. I wanted to stop moving, and this is where I stopped.

“Company?” she asks.

I hold out my hand. She takes it and lowers herself between my knees, then shifts until she can sit comfortably with her shoulder against me.

“You have an entire sectional,” she says.

“I remember.”

“Just checking.”

I put my face against her neck. She wraps an arm around me, and I let more of my weight go forward than I intend to. Her other hand settles at the back of my head. She doesn’t tell me it will work out. I don’t have to tell her I’m sick of hearing that.

After a while, she says, “I was scared when you said Friday.”