Driven_589066

Cat was a woman who didn’t like to lose. And she had never, ever lost a championship game she’d ever been a part of, from the Bridgeport Girl’s Club Rec

League all the way through her final year at UConn. When it counted, she always found a way to win.

Always.

“Except today,” she mumbled, looking at the scuffed and dirty floor as it passed beneath her scuffed and dirty sneakers. “Fuck.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

As Cat looked up, Dylan detached herself from the shadows, crossed over to her, and enveloped her in her long, strong arms. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Cat snuggled into the warm embrace, tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” she murmured against the fabric of her lover’s warm-up jacket.

Dylan pulled away just enough to reach a hand under Cat’s chin and tilt it up so that their eyes met. “Sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for? You did

great!”

“But we lost!”

“Hon, that wasn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“Cat, listen to me. You did everything you could. How many times does the point guard, one with four fouls against her, by the way, get to be the high

scorer of the game? Thirty two points, Cat! Seven steals! Nineteen assists! Those are All-Star numbers! Hell, they’re Hall of Fame numbers! You need to be

proud of that! I sure as Hell am!”

Cat shook her head, looking away from her lover’s blazing eyes. “It doesn’t matter. We still lost.”

“No, Cat. Remember what I said before. We didn’t win because Horace fixed it. But we’re not losers. Listen to that crowd out there. They know who won.

And it wasn’t the Monarch, no matter what the scoreboard says.” She chuckled. “And it certainly wasn’t Horace Johnson, either.”

Cat’s eyes went round. “What? But how can you— But you said—”

“Yeah, he bet against us, that’s true enough. But, he also bet against the spread, and with your last second bucket, you brought us inside that spread and

he lost himself a bundle of cash.” The wan smile she received wasn’t enough, and Dylan took her lover back into her arms again. “Sweetheart, within a

week, probably less, your phone is going to start ringing off the hook with calls from owners, coaches and scouts who want to wine and dine you into

accepting a huge dollar contract from them. The same with sponsors. Your agent’s gonna think she died and went to Agent Heaven. With how you

performed out there today, despite all the obstacles thrown in your path, you can write your own ticket. You won, Cat. You won it all.”

“But…what about the contract I already have? With the Badgers?”

“If it isn’t dissolved yet, it soon will be. Easy split, no nasty words, you’re just left free and clear to follow your heart.”

Cat looked up at Dylan, her eyes showing her puzzlement. “But…how?”

“Horace and I…came to an understanding.” That shark’s grin came again. “In exchange for keeping some rather nasty information to myself, you get cut

loose with no strings, anyone else who wants to leave gets the same ticket and, for the piece de resistance….” She twirled an imaginary moustache,

“...he’s selling the team.”

“Oh my God,” Cat breathed. “What the hell do you have on him?”

Dylan shook her head. “The less you know about that, the better off you’re gonna be, love. Let’s just say that Mac was able to dig up a couple of things

that could have put our ex-owner in the pokey for a very long time. In exchange for my silence in the matter, he’s accepted my terms.”

“But that’s blackmail!”

Dylan’s grin was unrepentant. “You bet it is, darlin’. Blackmail for a blackmailer. He got hoist up by his own ass, and I’m the one holding the scissors. And

he knows it. He’s through, Cat. Finished. And it couldn’t have happened to a bigger scum sucker.”

“And what about you?”

“He can do what he wants with me,” she replied, shrugging. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“He could ruin you, Dylan! He could spread things about you all over the place! Horrible things!”

“As long as your name and face is kept out of those ‘things’, Cat, then I’m not worried. My reputation will either speak for me, or it won’t. And either way,”

she shrugged again, “it doesn’t matter.”

“But basketball is your life!”

“I’ve come to find that I’ve got other priorities now, my love.” So saying, she bent down to give Cat a soft kiss. “Something much more important to me than

basketball could ever be.” She pulled away. “You, however….”

Cat frowned. Dylan looked alarmed. “Cat? What is it?”

“What would you think if I told you that…maybe…basketball isn’t what I want anymore, either?”

“Cat, you can’t mean that! You’re just starting out! You’ll be the star this league is looking for, love! You deserve that!”

“Dylan,” Cat said, sighing, “if tonight proved anything to me, it proved that this is not the basketball I fell in love with. It’s not a game anymore. It’s politics,

it’s bullshit, and, tonight, it’s a joke. Why would I want to be the star of something that I detest? What does a whole room full of money mean when I can’t

stand to do my job anymore?”

“Oh, Cat….”