Los Angeles | 2010
Bradley's POV
We were alright.
That single thought had been a quiet, steadying presence in my mind all week, more comforting than any victory. Alex and I sorted things out, and in the aftermath of the fight, something had shifted between us. The fragile, tentative connection of a new couple had been tested, and what had emerged was something stronger, more honest.
On Saturday, we went out on our date. I had a plan. My mom's words about needing to have a life outside of basketball had stuck with me. So, no court, no gym. I took her cycling early in the morning, renting a pair of bikes at a shop near the beach. We rode along the winding coastal path, the salty air cool against our faces, the rising sun painting the ocean in shades of orange and pink. We didn't talk much. We didn't need to. There was an easy, comfortable silence between us, a joy in the simple act of being together.
That evening, the celebration continued. The entire Naird family, along with the Pritchetts, were invited to an evening at the beach for a belated birthday bonfire. I eagerly agreed to go.
The beach was a beautiful, serene and enjoyable place. The sun was setting, a brilliant explosion of color over the Pacific. Phil and Luke were attempting to fly a kite that looked more like a wounded pterodactyl. Claire was meticulously arranging a potluck spread on a checkered blanket, while Jay and my dad, surprisingly, were deep in what looked like a serious conversation by the water's edge.
I found Alex sitting a little away from the main group, a book in her lap, watching the waves roll in. I sat down next to her, and for a while, we just watched the fire, the crackle of the wood a pleasant counterpoint to the rhythmic crash of the surf. It was a perfect, simple evening, a world away from the drama and the pressure of the court. And sitting there, with her by my side and the warmth of the fire on my face, I felt a deep, uncomplicated sense of peace. This was a different kind of victory.
We sat close, our shoulders touching, and watched the world go by in a comfortable silence.
"What are you reading?" I asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.
"It's a book I found recently, 'The Spectacular Now,'" she said, her tone radiant with emotion. "It explores the relationship of two high schoolers as they explore their own emotions and circumstances."
"You really resonate with it, huh?" I said, seeing the look on her face.
"Yeah. The girl, Aimee, really resonates with me. Many of her internal monologues and circumstances match mine," she said with a small, knowing smile.
"What about the boy? Is he like me, then?" I asked, curious.
She chuckled at that. "No, he is nothing like you. He's irresponsible, chaotic, and self-indulgent." She paused, flipping a page. "At least, for now, he is. Maybe he will grow as the story progresses."
"I'd love to find out. Will you let me read it after you've read it?" I asked.
"Of course," she affirmed, her eyes returning to the page.
I took a moment as I looked at the sun flashing its final embers as the horizon turned redder by the moment. I took a deep breath and then exhaled. This was it. The perfect moment. I moved my hand to my pocket and pulled out the small box I had been carrying all day. I cradled it in my lap, then nudged Alex and moved closer to her.
"Happy Birthday, Lexi," I whispered, then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
She blushed as she finally kept the book down and looked at me. "Stop, you've been saying that all day…" Her words got stuck when she saw me holding out the small, velvet box for her. I watched as a myriad of emotions displayed on her face: confusion, then shock, then a dawning, wondrous disbelief.
"Brad, you didn't," she said, her voice a breathless whisper.
"Oh, but I did," I said cheerfully. "I wanted to give these to you on your birthday, but then we had the whole fight, and I kept it." She winced when I mentioned the fight.
I reached out and gently placed a hand on her cheek. "And then I wanted to give it to you today in the morning when we went cycling, but I just couldn't find the perfect moment. So I delayed it again."
I then moved to open the box to reveal two delicate, white rose earrings, carved from mother-of-pearl, encased in a circlet of black velvet.
"Finally, I found this perfect moment," I said, my voice soft. "And I wasn't going to let it pass again."
Her breath hitched when she saw them. "They're… beautiful," she whispered.
"When you wear them, they will be gorgeous," I added, my eyes locked on hers.
"Thank you, I didn't expect this at all," she said, a smile blooming on her face, bright and beautiful.
"Well, if I let you find out, I wouldn't be any good at surprises, then would I?" I said cheekily.
She punched me meekly on my shoulder. "One day, I will figure it all out," she declared, a playful challenge in her eyes.
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't wait for the day you have me all figured out." I saw the effect it had on her; she was as red as the setting sun.
Just as I leaned in a little closer, a voice cut through our private moment. "Hey, lovebirds! Dinner's ready!"
We both jumped, startled. Claire was standing a few feet away, a warm, amused smile on her face. "Come on, before your dad and Luke eat all the hot dogs. We need to head back home before it gets chilly."
Both Alex and I then got up and packed our things to follow her.
The dinner on the beach was hearty and chaotic in the best way. Phil told a terrible joke that made Luke laugh so hard he snorted soda out of his nose. My dad and Jay were still talking by the water, two old soldiers silhouetted against the fading light. Erin fell asleep in Mom's lap.
It was a perfect end to a perfect day. All the families eventually packed up their blankets and heaters, and we all boarded our cars and headed back home, the stars beginning to appear in the dark, endless sky.
…
The weekend with Alex had been perfect. I had fixed things with Alex. Now it was time to address the other casualty of my carelessness.
On Monday, after morning classes, I walked into the cafeteria with a clear mission. I was looking for Jenna during lunch, alone. I found her at her usual table, surrounded by her friends far fewer than usual I noticed, but a tight-knit circle of laughter and gossip nonetheless. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and walked over.
The laughter died down as I approached. A few of the girls looked up at me with open curiosity, but Jenna just looked at me and grimaced.
"Hey, Jenna," I said, keeping my voice low and even. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?"
Her friends all exchanged looks. Jenna just stared at me, her expression a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. "What do you want, Bradley?" she asked, her voice cold.
"Just to talk," I repeated. "Please. It's important."
She seemed to weigh her options, the silent audience of her friends making the moment even more tense. I could see the internal debate in her eyes. Finally, with a put-upon sigh, she slid out of the booth. "Fine. But make it quick."
She followed me as we moved out of the noisy cafeteria, the silence between us heavy and awkward. We walked past the gym and out toward the athletic fields, finally finding an empty bench under the shade of a large oak tree. The distant sounds of the school day still lingering in the background. We sat down, a careful foot of space between us.
"So?" she said, not looking at me. "What's so important?"
"I sighed. 'I wanted to apologize…'"
"Oh, like last time? No, thank you," she interrupted, her voice sharp and brittle.
"I deserved that," I said placatingly. "But no. I made a mistake taking things too lightly last time, Jenna. I did not care for your feelings, and I'm sorry. In my ignorance, I have hurt you more than I could ever imagine. You were my friend, and I neglected our friendship in the face of my relationship."
When I looked at her, I saw the seething anger beneath her eyes. "Yes, you did, Bradley. It was cruel, but that's all done now. I don't want your apology, nor do I want anything else. Just leave me alone," she said, her voice tight with frustration.
"I know you're angry. You have every right to be, but please, take it out on me, not on the people around me," I said, pleading.
A bitter, knowing gleam entered her eyes. "So this is all about Alex," she scoffed. "Of course, why wouldn't it be? If you must know, I didn't do anything to her, Bradley. Ever since you iced me out, I have stayed away from her. Yes, I am angry for how things happened, but I never targeted her. I told my friends what I went through, they felt sympathy for me, and they chose to be with me rather than 'holier-than-thou' Alex. And after all that, she has the gall to ask me to her birthday party? If she wanted to be friends, then why didn't she say anything for the past five months? Only when she needs people for her party does she step up. No. Just no. You can take your message and your apology right back to hell with you."
She said it all with a defiant, wounded pride. She was right. From her perspective, Alex's invitation must have seemed like a slap in the face.
"Jenna, Alex didn't send me," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I came by myself because I wanted to mend the issues between us. The relationship you and Alex have from this point is yours to decide. I am here to apologize for what I did and to tell you that I still want you as a friend. I may not have done my best to show you that I am worthy of it, but I do want to, from this point on."
She looked at me for a long, silent moment, and I saw a sliver of her anger calming down. She let out a long, weary sigh. "Fine," she exhaled. "But I will be very cautious of your bullshit this time, Brad. And it will be on my terms. If you can't agree to this, then you can simply walk away."
"I accept," I said truthfully. "And I hope I can have your trust again in the future."
"We shall see," she said, standing up and walking away without another word.
After that she and I parted ways as I headed back to the classroom. I slid back into my seat next to Alex, the bell for the next period not having rung yet. The empty space of the bench by the field was replaced by the low hum of classroom chatter, but my mind was still back there, replaying the tense, fragile truce I had just negotiated.
"How did it go?" Alex asked, her voice a low, concerned whisper, her eyes searching mine.
I let out a long, slow breath. "It's stitched back together," I said, trying to find the right words. "But it's brittle. It's going to need time and a lot of work to get better."
"I hope you get to fix things," Alex said, her own voice full of a weary empathy. "My own conversation with her will be difficult as well."
"I'll be with you every step of the way," I assured her, giving her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze under the desk. "And if we can't fix it completely, then we'll make the best with whatever we have."
She gave me a small, grateful smile. The class then carried on, a blur of lectures and notes that I barely registered. When the final bell of the day rang, a wave of relief washed over me.
I bid Alex bye at her locker, promising to call her later. The moment we separated, my focus shifted, my mind zeroing in on a single, clear objective. I headed for practice with the boys.
After the emotional turmoil of the past few days, I was really looking forward to playing. I needed the clarity, the simplicity of the court. The game is so simple when you break it down: you work hard, you score, so you win. There are rules. There are lines. The ball goes in or it doesn't. The simplicity of it appeals to me more than anything right now. It was a world I could control, and after a day of navigating the messy, unpredictable world of human emotions, I needed that control more than ever.