Get You Good (8 page)

“You put yourself over the edge,” Sydney said unsympathetically. “You're going to kill yourself, and kill me with all that secondhand smoke.”

“Everybody's gotta die sometime,” said Lissandra as she fished gum out of her purse. “Where is Saint Judith? Does she know it's one fifteen?”

“The service just ended,” Sydney said, leaning back against the car. “You know she's got to talk to everybody.”

“Like your boy?” Lissandra asked, squinting toward the church building. “Isn't that him?”

Sydney followed Lissandra's line of sight to the tall, suit-wearing man standing near the steps with JJ and the rest of her sisters. Hayden in church? This was interesting. She watched him hug her mother and chat with the people around him. Then someone pointed over to the car where Sydney was watching, and he turned around and met her eyes. Sydney thought she saw him grin from where she was standing, but as he walked over to the car, she was sure.

“So is this a publicity stunt?” Sydney asked as she craned her neck up to keep her eyes on his face. “Toronto Raptors reaching out to the church folk in the city?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Nini,” he said, pulling her into a hug that immediately improved her mood.

“I didn't see you inside,” Sydney said, as he released her from his embrace.

“I came late,” he said, playing with her fingers absently. “I like to keep a low profile. What's your excuse?”

“I don't need one,” Sydney said. “I was here on time.”

“But you weren't here last week,” he said knowingly. “I saw your mom and sisters, but not you.”

“They didn't mention seeing you,” Sydney said.

“Stop avoiding my question.”

“Sydney's not really big on church with the family,” Lissandra said. “She's more of a solo act.” Sydney glared at her sister.

Hayden raised an eyebrow. “Is that true?”

“I go to another church,” Sydney said. She pulled her hand out of his and folded her arms. “You have a problem with that?”

“I have a problem with you not going to any of my games,” he said, gently unfolding her arms and stringing her fingers through his again. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Sydney was set to say “working,” but the way he was looking at her, and the feel of his thumb running circles on the back of her hand, made her hesitate.

“I don't know yet,” she said with a sigh.

He smiled, and they both knew he had won. “Game tomorrow night. Eight p.m. I'll call you later with details . . .”

“. . . and with tickets for her and her sister, right?” Lissandra asked.

Hayden laughed. “Right.”

“Hey, what about me?” JJ asked, finally appearing at the car.

“You don't even like basketball,” Lissandra said, getting into the backseat as JJ unlocked the doors.

“Yeah, but maybe a girl just wants to have the option of going,” JJ said, opening the driver's side.

Hayden shook his head. “OK. JJ, would you like me to send a ticket for you to go to the game?”

“Nah. I don't really like basketball,” JJ said with a grin before slipping into the car.

“So I'll call you later?” Hayden said to Sydney.

Sydney smiled. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” He kissed the back of her hand quickly and opened the passenger door for her.

“See you later, ladies,” he said as he helped her in and closed the door.

Sydney rolled her eyes as her sisters singsonged, “Bye, Hayden.”

“That man is sprung over you,” JJ said with a laugh as they exited the parking lot. “You make sure you keep him around.”

“Yeah,” Lissandra added. “At least until the play-offs.”

The three of them laughed and Sydney realized that maybe the morning hadn't been so bad after all.

“D
e-fense! De-fense!”

The floor shook beneath Sydney's feet as hundreds of fans stomped and cheered for the Raptors. Her own throat was hoarse from screaming, and she hadn't sat down in her fourth-row seat for at least twenty minutes as she watched her city's NBA team battle it out against the Boston Celtics. The energy from the crowd electrified the air, and she understood what Hayden meant when he said it was different watching the game live. From where she stood, she could see the back of his head and catch the movements of his shoulders as he paced the sidelines of the court near the coach and the GM. They were all rooting for the players. But tonight it wasn't enough. The Celtics were wiping the floor with them.

“Come on! Block that shot!”

A groan of disappointment ran through their side of the stands as the Celtics sunk another basket, lifting their score to 79 against the Raptors' 71.

“Dang, these brothers got no defense,” Lissandra said with disgust from Sydney's side. In the same breath she shouted at the court. “Come on, Bargnani! Do something!”

“Well, they've got five minutes left,” Sydney said. “They could turn it around.”

Lissandra glanced at her sister. “Please, even the coach knows that's not going to happen.” And when the final whistle blew for the end of the match five minutes later, Sydney admitted that her sister had been right. The Celtics had beat the Raptors 80–75 on the Raptors' own home court. The stands emptied quickly and quietly.

“Well, that's that,” said Lissandra, gathering her things and preparing to follow the crowd toward the exit. “You ready?”

“Actually I'm gonna hang back and wait for him,” Sydney said. “See if he's OK.”

“Want me to stick around?” Lissandra asked.

Sydney shook her head. “No. I'll be fine.”

“All right,” Lissandra said shouldering her purse. “But if he's not too depressed, can you ask him if he can hook a sister up with Chris Bosh?”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Even I know that Chris Bosh doesn't play for the Raptors anymore. And you're already seeing someone! Remember Mario?”

“Yeah yeah,” Lissandra said. “Just because Chris doesn't play for Toronto anymore doesn't mean your boy doesn't know him. A sister has to be on the lookout for an upgrade, you know?”

“Lissa, you need Jesus,” Sydney said, shaking her head.

“So is that a yes?”

“Bye, Lissandra!”

Lissandra grinned and waved as she walked away, and Sydney couldn't help but smile. She loved her sister, but Lissandra was a mess.

It didn't take long before the stands were empty. The court had cleared almost immediately after the game, but Sydney knew that Hayden would have some last-minute things to do before he went home. The team didn't play again until next week, so she knew he would have the night off to rest. He was probably tired, but she wanted to check in with him before she left. His old team had just beaten his new team, and she knew that he would be taking it hard.

She took her time exiting the stands and making her way to the parking lot where she knew he was parked. The night air was cool in the almost-empty lot. Most people had already left, but in the distance she could see the lights from the traffic on the expressway nearby. Getting out of the downtown area, especially after a sporting event, was always a pain. She knew it would probably take her sister about an hour to get home.

Sydney felt like she spent about an hour sitting on the bonnet of Hayden's car before she saw him exit the building in sweats and Nikes. She watched him as, with his sports bag flung over his shoulder, he nodded to a couple of guys who had come out with him, before splitting off and heading toward her.

Sliding off the car, she came around to the driver's side. She saw a small smile break the gloom on his face when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he came closer. “Glad you made it. Sorry it couldn't have been for a better game.”

She smiled. “They played hard. It was a good game,” she said. “How are you doing?”

He shrugged casually, but Sydney saw the disappointment cloud his features once more. She stepped forward and slipped her arms around his tall frame, holding him close.

“Sorry it didn't turn out the way you wanted,” she said against his chest.

She felt his arms go around her and his head rest against the top of hers.

“Thanks,” he said quietly against her hair.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, pulling back to look up at him.

“Not really,” he said, letting his hands slide down her arms to catch her fingers. “But I am hungry. Eat with me?”

It took them twenty minutes to get to a Gabby's, where there wouldn't be too many basketball fans talking about the game. To Sydney it was worth it if it would mean Hayden relaxed even a little.

“OK, so I generally am a healthy eater,” Hayden said, leading Sydney to a booth in the back. “But bar food is my craving when I'm trying to fight off a bad mood.”

Sydney grinned. “Hey, you don't have to justify it to me. I haven't had bar food in so long that I'm actually excited.”

He handed her the menu. “Then pick your poison, Nini.”

Between the two of them they ordered a bit of almost everything off the late-night menu, from chicken and fries, to nachos and cheese, to salad. When the waitress finally brought the last serving plate, she read back their order to make sure they had everything, then glanced at the both of them before shaking her head and leaving.

Sydney let out a laugh. “Oh my goodness, did you see the look she gave us?”

“Yeah, I caught it,” Hayden said with a grin. “But she was a good sport. She'll get her twenty percent.”

As Hayden blessed their food, Sydney closed her eyes. When he was done, she opened them and glanced around at the several plates on the table.

She shook her head. “Why does it always look like this when we go out to eat?”

“'Cause you have a big appetite.” He grabbed a nacho chip covered in cheese and salsa.

“Me? You're the one trying to make me fat.” She popped a sweet potato fry into her mouth.

“This from the woman with a dessert shop called ‘Decadent,' ” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, Nini; I'll watch your figure for you.”

She tossed a fry at him. “I'm sure you will.”

“So tell me something to take my mind off the horrible game I just had,” he said, focusing his eyes on her.

She bit her lip as she served some salad into a small plate for herself. “What do you want to know?”

“How many siblings do you have exactly?” he asked, reminding Sydney that even though they had known each other for a while, some important details had slipped through the cracks.

“Five.”

The chicken wing Hayden was reaching for fell from his fingers onto the table. “You're kidding, right?”

Sydney grinned. “Nope. Four sisters, one brother.”

Hayden retrieved his chicken wing. “Uncle Leroy sure was busy.”

“Not that busy. Only four of us were Dad's. The rest had different fathers, but same mother.” She looked away and stuck her fork in some lettuce. “It's a long story.”

“I can imagine,” he said, finally going back to his food. “You know me and Christian have the same dad. But I have a sister on my mother's side, so I know what that's like.”

“Two bedrooms, two birthday parties . . .”

“Awkward graduations, split summers . . .”

Sydney shook her head. “It definitely was a unique experience.”

“Do you wish Uncle Leroy and your mom had stayed together?” Hayden asked after a moment.

Sydney chewed thoughtfully.

“No,” she said finally. “They weren't happy together. They never fought that much, but it was just . . .”

Sydney paused, not quite sure how to say Leroy was a better father than husband, without ruining Hayden's image of him.

“I know what you mean,” Hayden said, nodding. “My parents were never married, but the way they fought, I know it was a relief that they didn't end up together. It sounds terrible, but I think they were better off apart than together. Plus, I see my dad with my stepmom, and they are . . .” He shook his head and smiled. “They're supposed to be together. I can just tell.”

Sydney nodded. “If I remember, you grew up mostly with your stepmother, right?”

“Yes,” Hayden said. “She's an amazing woman. She and Dad pretty much raised me on their own. I wish I had gotten to know my mother better . . . but she wasn't always stable. . . .”

Sydney saw pain flicker through Hayden's eyes at the mention of his mother. He was already dealing with enough disappointment for one night. She changed the subject.

“So,” Sydney said, grabbing a chicken wing. “Leroy's daughters would all like to know where exactly you've been over the last twelve years and what skeletons you have in your closet.”

Hayden laughed. “Everything I've been doing has been well documented. Did the basketball thing with the Celtics for almost ten years until I tore my ACL. They said I could come back, but . . .”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

“But it was time.” He smiled.

She squinted at him. “There's more to that story, isn't there.”

“Isn't there always?” he asked. “But we don't have enough chicken wings for that tonight. Let's just say, it was God's answer to my questions.”

She shook her head. “You're really different. I never heard you talk about God like this before—not unless you were whining about your dad making you miss practice to go to church.”

Hayden laughed. “You're right. But I find that God has a way of getting your attention when he wants to. My dad is a great dad, but no one can love like the Father. And I've learned that we can't really understand that love, or love like he loves, until we know him.”

Sydney shifted in her seat. “So you're saying you know him now?”

Hayden sat back, a content look on his face. “I'm getting there.”

“I told you he would be here. . . .”

“Shhh, baby, keep your voice down.”

A stylishly dressed black woman, with hair that Kim Kardashian would envy, slid into the booth beside Sydney, while a tall man in gray sweats, with the hood pulled over a baseball cap, slid in beside Hayden.

Before Sydney could open her mouth to protest, however, Hayden burst into laughter.

“Dog, it's not that bad,” Hayden said between laughs.

“It
is
Dub,” the woman said, helping herself to nachos and chips. “We had to leave his car at the arena.”

Sydney leaned forward and peered into the face of the man sitting beside Hayden.

“Sean?

“Shhh . . . no names,” he said, looking around.

“Baby, no one recognizes you.” The woman signalled for the waitress and a handful of gold bangles jingled as they slid down her arm. “No one recognizes anyone here. Why do you think Dub comes here all the time?”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you usually eat healthy.”

The woman let out a laugh.

“I usually get salad,” Hayden said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, right,” Sydney said, pursing her lips.

Hayden cleared his throat. “Uh, Sydney, this is Maritza, Sean's wife. Maritza, this is my . . . uh . . . Sydney.”

“Hello, Dub's Sydney,” Maritza said with a mischievous grin as she reached over to shake Sydney's hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Sydney smiled. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“What can I get you, ma'am?” the waitress said, arriving with a notepad and with another waitress, who immediately began clearing the table.

“We'll have everything they just had,” Sean said, motioning to the plates that were fast disappearing.

“And two ginger ales,” Maritza added. “And the quicker you can bring it all out, the bigger the tip.”

Sydney tilted her head to get a better look at Maritza, and Hayden chuckled.

The waitress gave a shrug that said ‘good enough for me' before turning and heading back to the kitchen.

“So it's like that?” Sydney asked, taking a sip from her drink.

“Listen,” Maritza said, with a wave of her long, neon pink fingernail. “I've been here, and if you don't let them know what's up they will have you here for hours. These girls ain't getting nothing but minimum wage. All it takes is a little green to light a fire on their size-two behinds.”

Sean sighed. “Sydney, meet my wife.”

Sydney laughed. “I guess I know who gets things done in your house.”

“Yes,” Sean said. “And I feel no shame about it. That's why I married a financial adviser. I play ball. She handles the money. Sounded like a good plan to me.”

“You guys seem too young to be married,” Sydney said.

“Don't let the gym clothes fool you,” Hayden said, leaning back in the booth comfortably. “Sean's almost as ancient as I am.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Thirty-one is not ancient.”

“Thank you,” Maritza said. “I'm thirty, and I, for one, never felt better.”

“That's 'cause you don't play ball, baby,” Sean said. “I can barely keep up with those little eighteen-year-olds. Yo, Dub, did you catch the center for the Celtics first half. You know they drafted him right out of high school, right?”