The Comedown: A Rockstar Romance by A. Marie

Author:A. Marie [Marie, A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novel
Publisher: Booktickets By AM
Published: 2022-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Collette

The basketball bounces off the backboard, landing in Holter’s waiting palms under the net.

“Damn,” he mumbles to himself, and I grimace, both at the curse and his inability to make a single basket.

Right after this morning’s parade, Julian and I bought beignets and chicory-flavored coffee for everyone, and after making sure I ate two myself, Julian left, saying he needed to go shopping.

Holter and I decided to utilize the hotel’s full-size indoor court so he could get some actual practice in, and it’s…not going so well. Holter wants to try out for his school’s team, but there’s been very little time, or space, for him to practice real drills on the tour so far. Sometimes during dance rehearsals, he’ll dribble a ball around, but without a hoop, he hasn’t been able to work on his jump shot. Or free throw. Or whatever it’s called.

I hold my hands out in front of me. “Want to work on passing instead?”

“I almost got it,” he says with a headshake, sweat dripping from his hair on to his forehead.

A couple years ago I would’ve wiped it away myself, then stole the ball from him. I’d run down the court and he’d chase me, laughing, forgetting all about the technical rules of the game, and we’d just have fun.

Now though, he wants to shoot a three, holding his hand smugly in the air as the ball meets nothing but net—or something like that—while I sit here being impressed but not too impressed. Enough to raise my eyebrows but not enough to clap, because that’d just be humiliating. And if I even tried to wipe the sweat threatening to fall into his eyes, he’d jerk away and stare at me in disbelief like I’m some sort of alien trying to snatch his brain from his head.

How I long to play a made-up game with non-existent rules with my little boy again.

Holter tosses the orange ball, missing the hoop altogether, and it ricochets off the backboard, boomeranging right back at us.

I manage to duck my head out of the way just in time, turning to watch as it sails past our to-go cups from breakfast.

“I should probably throw those out before they spill,” I say before returning the ball to him and grabbing the cups off the shiny hardwood floor. Holter’s is empty but mine still has some inside, so I sip the now-tepid chicory coffee on my way to the door. I swirl it around my mouth and let the milky, slightly nutty flavor tease my taste buds. Mechanically, I spit it back out, then push into the bathroom just outside of the gym in search of a garbage can.

After throwing them away and washing my hands, I’m just returning when I hear two voices echoing into the hallway—Holter’s and…Julian’s?

Slowing my approach, I linger at the door, watching from the threshold.

“What’s your why?”

“My why?” Holter asks as Julian easily sinks the ball in the net from the free-throw line.

“Yeah. Everyone needs a why. What’s yours for basketball? Why do you wanna play?”

“That’s what my school’s known for.

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