“I hate playing lousy,” Lucas said. “Usually going up against somebody like Jake brings out the best in me. Not today.”

“You never play lousy,” Ryan said. “Sometimes you just don’t play great.”

“But I want to, every single time.”

“Even LeBron has bad games,” Ryan said. “Heck, his first year with the Lakers, he had a bad season.”

Lucas managed a grin.

“So you’re admitting I played bad,” he said.

“I give up,” Ryan said. “Sometimes I can’t win with you.”

In the car on the way home Lucas’s mom said, “We’ll have to find a way to fix this. With you and Gramps, I mean.”

“I’m not sure it can be fixed,” Lucas said. “I know he says he’s sorry. But aren’t you the one who says that sorry doesn’t fix the lamp?”

“The love between the two of you just didn’t go away because you found that picture and that letter your dad wrote,” she said.

“Not saying I’m gonna stop loving him,” Lucas said. “But I can’t help it if I don’t trust him anymore.”

They were at a light. She turned to look at him.

“Honey,” she said. “He made a bad mistake. But people make mistakes, especially when they’re young. That doesn’t define who they are. From everything I know, your grandfather made a conscious decision not to let his mistake define who he is. He got knocked down and picked himself back up and tried to make something of himself. And by the way? He became someone I know you admire as much as anybody you’ve ever met.”

“Used to admire,” Lucas said.

The light changed. They were just a couple blocks from home.

“Eventually you’re not going to be as angry as you are now,” she said.

“Can I hold you to that?” Lucas said.

Now his mom was making the turn on to their street.

“This whole thing has hurt him enough,” Julia said. “You don’t want to be the one who hurts him more.”

“What about the way I’m hurting?” Lucas said.

“It will get better,” she said.

“I hold you to that, too,” Lucas said to his mom.

He just knew it wasn’t getting better today. He tried to remember a time when he’d ever felt anything like this after winning a game.

But he couldn’t.

TWENTY-THREE

Lucas didn’t call Ryan and ask him to hang out. He actually did do some schoolwork on a Saturday. He wanted to finish his English paper before the deadline. There was enough going on his life right now. He didn’t need one more distraction.

So he stayed at it until it was time for dinner. When it was just him and his mom at the table, he talked about his writing. Not basketball. Not today’s game.

Not Gramps.

For a change.

The next morning, after Lucas’s mom had treated him to a pancake breakfast at the Claremont Diner, Gramps was waiting for them when they got home, sitting on the front porch.