Darkest Fear

Chapter 28

Greg and Myron met up on the court. Myron strapped on his knee brace. Greg averted his eyes. The two men shot for half an hour, barely speaking, lost in the pure strokes. People ducked in and pointed at Greg. Several kids came up to him and asked him for autographs. Greg acquiesced, glancing at Myron as he took pen in hand, clearly uncomfortable getting all this attention in front of the man whose career he had ended.

Myron stared back at him, offering no solace.

After some time, Myron said, "There a reason you wanted me here, Greg?"

Greg kept shooting.

"Because I have to get back to the office," Myron said.

Greg grabbed the ball, dribbled twice, took a turnaround jumper. "I saw you and Emily that night. You know that?"

"I know that," Myron said.

Greg grabbed the rebound, took a lazy hook, let the ball hit the floor and slowly bounce toward Myron. "We were getting married the next day. You know that?"

"Know that too."

"And there you were," Greg said, "her old boyfriend, screwing her brains out."

Myron picked up the ball.

"I'm trying to explain here," Greg said.

"I slept with Emily," Myron said. "You saw us. You wanted revenge. You told Big Burt Wesson to hurt me during a preseason game. He did. End of story."

"I wanted him to hurt you, yes. I didn't mean for him to end your career."

"You say tomato, I say tomahto."

"It wasn't intentional."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Myron said in a voice that sounded awfully calm in his own ears, "but I don't give two shits about your intentions. You fired a weapon at me. You might have aimed for a flesh wound, but that didn't happen. You think that makes you blameless?"

"You fucked my fiancee."

"And she fucked me. I didn't owe you anything. She did."

"Are you telling me you don't understand?"

"I understand. It just doesn't absolve you."

"I'm not looking for absolution."

"Then what do you want, Greg? You want us to clasp hands and sing 'Kumbaya'? Do you know what you did to me? Do you know what the one moment cost me?"

"I think maybe I do," Greg said. He swallowed, put out a pleading hand as though he wanted to explain more, and then he let the hand drop to the side. "I'm so sorry."

Myron started shooting but he felt his throat swell.

"You don't know how sorry I am."

Myron said nothing. Greg tried to wait him out. It didn't work.

"What else do you want me to say here, Myron?"

Myron kept shooting.

"How do I tell you I'm sorry?"

"You've already done it," Myron said.

"But you won't accept it."

"No, Greg. I won't. I live without playing pro ball. You live without my accepting your apology. Pretty good deal for you, you ask me."

Myron's cell phone rang. He ran over, picked it up, said hello.

A whisper asked, "Did you do as I instructed?"

His bones turned to solid ice. He swallowed away something thick and said, "As you instructed?"

"The boy," the voice whispered.

The stale air pressed against him, weighed down his lungs. "What about him?"

"Did you say one last good-bye?"

Something inside of Myron withered up and blew away. His knees buckled as the realization seeped into his chest. And the voice came on again:

"Did you say one last good-bye to the boy?"