Rex interlocks his fingers with mine, presses his palms into mine, and brings our hands up to frame our faces.

I press back, hard, even harder, and he takes a step back. Ha! He wasn’t ready for that.

“Oh, so first you want to ignore me and now you want to push me around,” he says, grinning.

I keep pushing, and he keeps stepping backward until he’s up against my bed and then lying back with his feet on the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t have the best day,” I say, standing between his legs.

“Yeah, I figured the doctor didn’t give you the okay for the playoffs. I’m so sorry.”

I wish. But sadly, that’s not it. How can I tell him that I’m pissed about having to play? That I would be absolutely fine with never touching another basketball the rest of my life. It seems impossible.

And it’s not exactly going to be easy telling him that Daddy is trying to use him to bribe me and Cole to leave our mother, either. I’m glad he’s occupying himself with looking around at my walls while I come up with the right words.

He looks back up at me and says, “It’s okay. You have next year. Senior year is what really counts.”

“The doctor actually gave me the okay today,” I blurt out, and all my secrets dart off to dark corners inside me, hoping they’re not next. I lie down next to Rex on my bed and look at the ceiling, the only blank space in my room.

“Yeah?” he asks, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head toward me.

I stare straight ahead. I can’t have this conversation looking into his eyes when all my secrets are being so shy. I grab his hand, trying to let my secrets know that Rex is okay. Then I take a deep breath and say, “Basketball is not why I had a bad day. I know I said that my parents were just taking a break, but they’re not. They’re getting a divorce. Like, there’s no hope. It’s really happening.”

“So you can play?” Rex asks.

Not, Sorry about your parents.

Not, Sorry about your family breaking apart.

Not, Are you okay?

Not even, So what’s all this stuff on your walls?

So you can play? That’s all he has to say.

REX

Carli snatches her hand away from mine and places it on her belly. “Can I play? Is that all you care about? I swear, everything with you is always about basketball.”

Wait! What? Hand aching with abandonment, I answer, “No, of course not.”

“Well, I sure as hell can’t tell.”