‘Thanks – um, thank you.’ I step aside and usher her in, closing the door behind her. I try my best to slap an expression of upset onto my face. I mean, I should be pissed. We absolutely have to strike this dumb relationship balance unless we want to be found out, and that’s not even accounting for the fact that May’s anger at practice started prodding at some of the reasons for coming home that I haven’t been so keen on sharing. Instead, I find myself leading May to the kitchen, where we’re at least somewhat secluded from the hubbub of the dining room.

‘We’re not actin’ much like a couple, are we? Going out there and starting arguments in front of the team?’ May sets the tiramisu on the island and leans against the counter, crossing her arms. Guarded. ‘But forget the relationship end of things for a moment, actually. We wouldn’t even be worrying about that if you’d been a fair coach out there. I’m not asking for special treatment, Colt. I’m asking for fair coaching.’

‘May, I …’ I’m keeping my voice way more hush-hush than she is. The May I know well, with the relentless affinity for red-card games, is starting to creep in. ‘I swear, that wasn’t my intention at all. I know last season wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t fair of me to—’

‘To put me in a situation where I had to make the sort of shot I missed a million times over last year?’ she finishes, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘Really, Colt? It’s not just about learning how to move. It’s about learning how to think. You have to teach that. You can’t expect me to just know. Does it make sense for me to say that?’

It’s about learning how to think. I kind of wish she weren’t right all the time.

‘Trust me, I get that.’ I train my eyes directly on hers. It’s the only way I can find to steel myself for the confession I’m about to make. I’ve hurt her and hid enough from her, and if I keep doing it, I’ll burn the last bridge I have with May Velasco for good. ‘That’s why—’

‘Oh my word, May!’