The Long Shot

“Wes doesn’t have to know.” And if Vic didn’t shut up about it pretty quick, Deacon was going to hit him.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk, D, but you’re making a mistake. When he was younger, just out of foster care, he needed you to be the adult. I respect the hell out of you for what you did, and you know it. But he’s an adult now, or as good as. Might be nice to lean on him for some of this stuff.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to help me out?”

“Don’t be a jackass. I’m just saying maybe he’d like to know you’ve struggled with stuff.”

Deacon felt sick at the thought of telling Wes. He couldn’t bear to see the look on his brother’s face if he found out he couldn’t read. “He’s so damn smart, Vic. He reads all the time. I know he’s in college, but I’m still the only person he’s got to steer him straight. If I tell him I was passed through school with fewer skills than an eight-year-old, he might stop listening to me altogether. How would he ever respect me again?”

“I respect you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“You don’t depend on me.”

“Maybe it’s time for Wes to quit depending on you. You’ve been carrying him a long while. He might be glad to know he can do something for you.”

“I don’t think that would be helpful, Vic. But thank you for the suggestion.”

Victor shrugged. “No need to go all Ms. Manners on me, Deacon. I knew you wouldn’t want to hear it, but I had to say it. Honesty, that’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

Deacon nodded. “Well, honesty is annoying.”

“So is stubbornness,” Victor said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

They walked together to the side door.

Deacon said, “Honesty isn’t annoying, Vic. I just can’t tell him about this.”

“You can tell him. You don’t want to.”

“And now we’re back to annoying.”

They shook hands. Deacon locked the door behind Victor, then picked up the ball. He spun it on his index finger, then gave it a bounce and spun it on his middle finger before tossing it in front of him and then in one smooth move scooping it up, passing it behind his back and tossing it into the basket. Two points. No sweat. There wasn’t a thing in the world he couldn’t do. Except order off a menu, pick out a birthday card or read the freaking letter when his brother got suspended from college.

* * *

WHEN THE PHONE rang an hour or so later, he was in his room, trying unsuccessfully to nap. He rolled off the bed to grab it, desperate for a distraction.

“May I speak to Deacon Fallon?”

“This is Deacon.”

The pause that followed went on a little too long. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to answer the phone.”

Must be a reporter. He didn’t get as many calls as he used to, but when basketball season started, he usually received a few requests for information. Draft season never passed without a half-dozen calls from reporters looking for a quote.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk about basketball and he almost hung up. But this woman’s caller ID had a Milton area code and he was curious. He grabbed his glasses before he plugged in the earpiece for his phone, then tucked the phone in his pocket. He walked out of the bedroom and down the long hallway to the great room.

“Deacon, this is Julia Bradley,” she said as if she thought he’d recognize her name.

“Uh, hi,” he said, stalling for time and hoping she’d give him some clue about how he knew her. The remote was stuffed between two cushions on the couch and he fished it out to flick ESPN on.

“I was your guidance counselor at Milton High School. Ms. Bradley?”

Ms. Bradley. He wouldn’t have put that together—he’d never called her Julia in his life. She’d been serious, he remembered. Tried like hell to get him to stay in school. She’d jabbed her finger at his coach’s chest during one tense conversation. He’d been half afraid his coach would slap her. He hadn’t thought about that in years, but the scene was still vivid in his memory.

She’d been new to Milton and hadn’t understood how things worked there. He’d been terrified someone might listen to her and upset his plan to turn pro. Everything back then had been so touch-and-go—he sometimes thought he’d held his breath his entire senior year.

A scene from shop class came back to him. The guys had spent most of one period debating whether the new guidance counselor was wearing a thong under her dress at the student awards assembly. Just like that, the image of her at the podium, the light from the back of the stage outlining her legs and the curve of her hips under her skirt, returned as fresh as if it had happened that morning, not ten years ago.

“Ms. Bradley,” he choked out. “Good to see you. I mean, hear from you.” He clicked the remote again, shutting off the TV.

“Well, I hope you’ll still feel that way when you find out I’m asking for a favor.”

“What do you need?” Maybe a signed jersey or a ball. People phoned every once in a while asking for stuff to raffle off.

“I need a basketball coach. A reputable, skilled basketball coach who’s willing to work for nothing. The athletic budget has been cut to the bone.”

“A coach for the Tigers?”

“Yes.”

“They let Coach Simon go? That’s…unbelievable.”

“Times are hard. The school board budget proposal didn’t pass with the voters, so we’ve been forced into an austerity budget. The state sets spending levels.” She rattled off the facts, but her voice had lost its warmth. He imagined she was trying to hold back her opinion of this financial state of affairs.

“Anyway, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. The reason I called is that even though I realize you don’t get back here very much, I’d hoped you might know someone who would be interested in helping out as coach, or maybe you wouldn’t mind sending a donation to help me pay someone.”

Things must have changed in Milton since he’d been there, because no way the town he remembered would have let the team go. Man.

His mouth went dry. Milton needed a volunteer coach.

When he’d told Victor he didn’t want Wes to do easy community service, he’d meant it. He wanted Wes to see what his life could have been like and could still be if he didn’t start to focus. Where better to bring that lesson home than in Milton? He and Wes would both be there still if not for basketball.

On a selfish level, if Wes worked out with the Tigers, that might give him an extra bump when it came time for the university to review his case. If he’d put the time in to stay in shape, would that show his coach he was serious about playing ball?

“You need a coach now?”

“Practice starts in two days.”

“Say I can find someone. Would you be willing to write a letter of recommendation afterward?”

“For a coaching job?”

“For college.”

“Guidance counselors love to write recommendations. If you know someone who’d be willing to help, I’d be more than happy to write a letter.”

He didn’t need to tell anyone about the suspension right away. He’d be able to keep the details quiet while Wes did his work—he could tell Ms. Bradley what she needed to know when they were done.

“Okay. I know someone.”

“Thanks so much, Deacon. I mean, I’m phoning you out of the blue, and it’s just so generous of you to help me out. Would it be out of line for me to ask who you have in mind?”

“Me. Well, me and my brother.”

“You hate Milton.” He heard what sounded like a muffled curse, and she quickly added, “Well, not hate, but you don’t come home and I’ve heard—”

“My business is flexible, so I can work from Milton.” He made the next part sound like an afterthought. “I’ll bring my brother. He’s the one who can use the college letter.”

“So your brother is thinking about college? Good for him!”

Her tone of voice set him on edge. It was that fake-supportive thing teachers always did when they were giving an order but wanted you to believe you were making a choice. Did she think that just because he didn’t go to college he wouldn’t send his brother?

He’d worked hard to get where he was—no shiny green suits hanging in his closet now. He wasn’t that kid with no options anymore, and high school guidance counselors certainly didn’t intimidate him anymore. Not even if they were drop-dead sexy standing at the podium during assembly in a thong. He snapped out, “Of course he’s going to college. Why wouldn’t he?”

“No reason,” she said. “I’ll look forward to meeting him.”

“Why are you helping out the basketball team, anyway? You weren’t too supportive of the Tigers when I was playing.”

“The details are different in this case,” she said. “You never answered why you said yes to this, either.”

Her words held a challenge, but he didn’t owe her anything. He wasn’t about to be baited into spilling his guts about Wes.

“Times change,” he said.

“Well, even though it doesn’t seem like enough, you have my gratitude.”

“Go, Tigers,” he said.

“Go, Tigers,” she echoed.

* * *

HE FINALLY TRACKED Wes down in the gym. His brother was leaning against the wall, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on the conversation he was having on the phone.

“Call me as soon as you hear,” he said. “The minute you find out.” He listened for a few more seconds and then hung up.

“Hey,” he said to Deacon.

“You want to shoot around?”

Wes shrugged. “I guess.”

Deacon tossed a ball onto the floor. “Want the music on?”

Wes caught the ball, but held it. “No.” He jogged a few feet toward the foul line, then turned and bounced the ball back to Deacon. “We’ll play to twenty. Win by two?”

Deacon didn’t play against Wes. He used to when Wes was much younger. They’d played a lot. But Deacon had always held back, making sure his brother won. With ten years between them, there’d been no way to make the contest even close to fair. When Wes was about eight, he realized Deacon was letting him win. He’d pitched a fit, and when Deacon wouldn’t agree to play him “like a man” in Wes’s words, the boy had stormed off the court. After that, they’d shoot around, run drills, mess with tricks, but they didn’t play games.

“I’m not playing you, Wes.”

“Why not? I thought you’d be happy I’m trying to stay in shape so I’ll be fighting fit when they decide I’ve learned my lesson and can be allowed back on campus.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Oliver.”

He’d met Oliver during the move-in weekend. At first he’d assumed he was on the team because he was rooming with Wes, plus he was tall and well built. He looked like the other guys on the floor, but then the kid opened his mouth. Oliver was brilliant, no doubt about it, but he was pretty far off the beaten path, maybe far off the planet. At one point he’d spoken what Deacon assumed was Arabic because it sounded exactly that complicated and hard to learn, but Wes told him later it was Elvish.

There’d been a mix-up in the housing office, and somehow Oliver had been assigned to Wes’s room even though he wasn’t on the team and shouldn’t have been on the basketball floor at the dorm.

“He has to have a second hearing. They decided there’s enough evidence he was involved to suspend him, too.”

“He cheated and he helped you steal a car.”

“The cheating thing was a joke. Nobody would have cared about any of it if we hadn’t moved that car. Coach got pissed off because we embarrassed him. He’s been on me since— He’s just been on me. If we hadn’t touched his car, they’d have ignored everything, even the bar thing.”

Deacon felt his skin go cold. Wes really didn’t see why people were mad about what he’d done.

His brother went on. “Maybe I’ll just drop out. I don’t need college. You never went. I should skip the whole thing and get a job.”

“Where? In the fast-food industry?”

“Bill Gates dropped out. Mark Zuckerberg dropped out.”

“So what? You invented some new Internet technology and you’ve been keeping it quiet until you can drop out of school and start minting money in the stock market?”

“No, Deacon. You don’t have to be a jerk,” Wes said. “College is pointless. Like I said, you didn’t go.”

He heard Victor’s voice in his mind. Tell him. Tell Wes. He’ll never know how much his education means if you don’t let him see all the problems you have without it. He told Vic to shut it.

“I couldn’t go. There’s a difference. Unless, that is, you’re actually living in poverty and supporting your kid brother and have interest from NBA scouts, to boot.”

His brother scowled at him.

“I lined up your community service. You’re going to have an immersion course in real life for real people.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look around, Wes.” Deacon swept his arms out to encompass the indoor basketball court, the climate control, the sound system, the entire existence he’d built for them. “You have a sweet life. This is special and you treat it like it’s nothing. Like you’re owed this life. I’m done watching you screw around with this, when it’s a gift.”

“So you’re sending me to some developing country where I can see how hard life is without indoor plumbing?”

“It’s taking indoor basketball courts for granted that’s the problem. We’re going to Milton.”

“Milton? Like our hometown Milton?”

“Exactly.”

“Milton where you said you never wanted to put your foot again? Milton where you’ve never visited since the day we moved away? Milton where the boosters club sends you letters every year to attend the sports banquet to hand out the trophy named for you and you throw the letters in the garbage every time?”

“For Pete’s sake, Wes. Yes. That Milton.”

“Well, don’t act like I’m crazy for asking. You never… Why? Why now?”

“We’re going to coach basketball.”

“What?”

“The Tigers need a coach—some budget crisis or something. My old guidance counselor offered us the job.”

“You and I are going to coach? Together? Why?” Wes asked, sounding genuinely shocked.

This was the closest Deacon had come to getting his brother to pay attention to him since the whole suspension issue had started. Maybe, for the first time in his life, Milton would be the solution instead of the problem.

“Because you, my brother, need three hundred hours of community service.” Deacon tossed the ball through the hoop, admiring the perfect swish. “And Ms. Julia Bradley needs a coach. It’s a perfect fit.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHE CALLED A team meeting after school. She was expecting Deacon later that day, but wasn’t going to tell the girls about him yet. For one thing, she still couldn’t quite believe he’d agreed to her proposal. The way he said yes so quickly was odd because she knew he’d been asked to help before and he’d always refused. Second, there was the little matter of her allowing him to believe he was coaching the boys. When he found out about the girls, would he even stay? She felt queasy when she let herself imagine that he might leave—once again, she’d painted herself into a corner with her tendency toward brinksmanship.

The most important reason she hadn’t told the team was that she didn’t want to risk having Ty find out the Basketball Brothers were coming and then doing something to either sabotage their work for her team or co-opt them for the boys’ team. She slipped the Fallons’ district paperwork through under the catchall bucket for volunteers in the mentoring program. They weren’t getting paid, so there was no requirement for her to consult with Ty about hiring them.

In the couple days since she and the brothers had spoken on the phone, the two Fallons had taken on a superhero-duo mystique in her mind. She would do her best not to refer to them out loud as the Basketball Brothers, and in return, they would rescue her program, save her sanity and help her put Ty Chambers and the boosters in their place.

Good thing Deacon Fallon was used to living up to high expectations.

Once the girls were gathered on the bleachers, she updated them about the budget cuts and then she told them about the bet. They were utterly silent for a few seconds. The only sound in the gym was the rhythmic pounding of a basketball; Max Wright was shooting alone at the other end of the court. He’d been cut from the boys’ team and she’d invited him to practice with her girls, where the team philosophy didn’t allow cuts. So far he hadn’t joined them. He showed up in the gym every afternoon, but kept to himself.

Before she finished outlining the terms of the bet, Iris and Tali were off the bleachers and heading for the door, Tali’s little brothers, Trey and Shawn, trailing after her.

“Stop,” Julia said. “Where are you going?”

Tali tightened her thumbs on the cords of the gym bag she had over her shoulders. “Look, Ms. Bradley, we suck. We lost every game last year. Doing this bet? It’s like we’re asking everyone to laugh at us.”

Iris nodded. “We appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s useless. Nobody at this school cares about anything except the boys’ team.”

“As I told you, I have no intention of letting them disband our team. You girls focus on having a fantastic year. I’ll manage the rest.”

“Fantastic? How? We don’t have one thing you need for a basketball team, including a coach who knows how to coach.” That was Miri. A senior, she’d been on the team since her freshman year. “Sorry, Coach.”

Julia would have to consult her records to be sure, but even without looking, she wouldn’t hesitate to bet Miri hadn’t scored a single point in any of her three previous years. Julia didn’t mention this.

“I’m more than aware of my deficiencies as a coach.”

Cora Turner snorted and Miri smiled at her knowingly.

“I believe I have found an assistant who is more than qualified to handle the basketball-specific parts of the job.” If he shows up, that is. If he stays.

“What parts of being a basketball coach aren’t basketball-specific?” Tali’s posture was challenging.

If Julia hadn’t been certain it would lead to more wrangling, she would have made a list, starting with letting Tali’s little brothers hang around practice every day after the elementary school got out so they weren’t home watching TV. Setting up movie night. Choosing the audio books they listened to on the bus. Making sure the uniforms arrived on time and fit, even if some of the girls weren’t exactly built for speed. Talking to the players. Giving structure to their days. Being there in case they wanted an adult to consult with—during her time at Milton more than one basketball player had come to her about things that mattered. She was necessary. The team was necessary. The only thing that had changed this year was that winning, God help them, was also necessary.

“You understand what our team is about, Tali. Responsibility, partnership, setting goals and meeting them. We’re just adding a resource with a basketball background to round things out.”

“You know a basketball coach?” Cora asked.

Tali snorted. “We don’t need a coach—we need a wizard.”

“You think Coach knows Harry Potter?”

“Maybe if you all practiced for real and didn’t spend so much time doing your nails and babysitting, you could actually get better without a wizard,” Max said. “You don’t entirely suck all the time.”

She hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped practicing and drifted over to listen. His blond hair was caught back in a ponytail and a few strands lay plastered against his neck with sweat.

“How would you know, Max?” Tali said. “Last I looked, you got cut from your tryouts.”

“I know more about basketball than any of you.”

“Too bad you’re not on our team, then. On account of you being a boy and all,” Tali retorted.

“Ms. Bradley said I can practice with you if I want to. I’m considering taking her up on it.”

Tali rolled her eyes. “Between you and our new wizard coaches, we’ll be all kinds of gifted this year.”

Julia walked the few steps across the gym so she was next to the girl. Tali, tall and slender, with deep brown eyes, had long, thick hair she refused to put into a ponytail for games. She’d come close to flunking remedial math during her first season on the team, but because she was rostered for a sport, her record was red-flagged early in the marking period and Julia had been able to get her into tutoring to prop her up. Now, starting her junior year, she was firmly in the middle of her grade-level math class. None of that was “basketball-specific,” either, but it was all important.

“You don’t take anything lying down and I respect that. If you hold on to your anger, then you can put it on the court. Can we stick with each other for one more season, all in, no matter what?”

She held her breath while hoping they would respond. Instead Cora nudged Miri, who dropped her backpack and promptly turned red with embarrassment. Tali straightened up and whispered, “Please tell me that’s my new basketball coach.”

Julia looked toward the door and there they were, the Basketball Brothers, tall and handsome and… She did a double take. Which one was Deacon?

The younger one on the left, with his skinny neck and rail-thin body, resembled the kid she remembered. Except that young guy wasn’t Deacon. She knew because his thick, inky hair was styled in an expensive, professionally messy mop that was certainly not done at home with clippers, and she knew for sure because he smiled at her and his grin was cocky and charming in a way Deacon’s never had been. When Deacon had been at Milton, he’d been wound so tight and been so focused on his sport she didn’t think he’d ever smiled. This kid, the younger brother, had obviously grown up in different circumstances.

So Deacon was the other one. The slightly shorter, but sweet-mother-of-grown-up-hotness-what-a-good-looking-guy one. His acne had disappeared; instead a shadow of dark beard roughened his chin. Dark blond layers of silky hair hit the back of his neck, scissoring out at the sides, and shorter layers lay in golden-brown lines across his forehead—completely erasing her memories of his clippered high school haircut. He wore glasses, which was a surprise, but the smart dark frames had a sexy edge and set off his deep blue eyes beautifully.

“Give me one minute,” she said to the girls as she hurried to meet her new assistants where they stood a few feet into the gym.

Because she was a bit breathless and trying to let her brain catch up with her eyes, she engaged the less intimidating one, Wes, first. “You don’t much resemble your brother.”

“Thank God for that,” he said. “I can’t afford plastic surgery at the moment.”

Reading nonverbal clues was an essential part of navigating the tense parent-child meetings she often facilitated. The expression Deacon shot Wes was clearly a command to shut the hell up and quit screwing around. She gave him credit for saying it silently.

“Ms. Bradley,” Deacon said, “this is my brother, Wes Fallon.”

Wes stuck out his hand and she shook it. When she half turned, Deacon had his hand out, too. She took it, and his handshake was warm and firm. Behind his glasses, his dark blue eyes were hard to read. Did he remember her? How did she look to him after all these years?

“We’re honored you asked us back to help with the team,” Deacon said.

“Well.” She was acutely aware of the girls waiting behind her. “We’re honored to have you.”

And wouldn’t the boosters love to be the ones doing the honoring here? she thought. When Ty and the rest of them found out, she would be in a world of trouble.

She couldn’t wait.

She’d been anticipating the Basketball Brothers, but clearly, she hadn’t taken into account their being ten years older than when she’d last seen them. Their entire lives had changed in that time. The orphans from the wrong side of the tracks in a town where the right side wasn’t very prosperous had grown into a pair of poised, well dressed, frankly impressive men.