Previously known as Secrets // Kyrie Irving.
In honor of my thirteen-year-old self, I have kept the book as I first wrote it. No edits, no changes, no adaptations. So, if you so please, come join the adventures of Kyrie Irving and company as they t...
I set my alarm for 5:30 so I could be on the road by 6. Steve is still sleeping, wiped out from yesterdays game. It only take me a couple of minutes to brush and braid my hair into a side fishtail and pull it apart gently. I've always loved doing hair, ever since I was little and the only thing I could do was a horribly bumpy ponytail. Then, I throw on my makeup- light eye shadow, mascara, concealer, and chap stick. On goes the Nike shirt, leggings, and Jordans and I'm on my way to work.
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"Let me get this straight," Danielle says, pretty much the instant I walked in the door. "You met Kyrie Irving, only your favorite basketball player ever, and didn't even give him your name?"
"Correct," I walk through the store, checking on the stock, before I head back to my office.
"Why? The least you could have done was found a way to have him give Kev my number."
"I'm sorry," I say sarcastically. "It just so happens he had a season ending injury, it wasn't really the most opportune time. Beside, you know I'm not like that. Not since Ryan. I may sincerely fangirl over Kyrie Irving, but I don't need a relationship right now. And!" I emphasize every word of my next phrase so she gets my point. "I am not going to throw your number at Kevin." She huffs, but says no more.
Danielle has been one of my very best friends since I moved out to Sacramento. One of my bosses introduced us and we just clicked. We are total, complete opposites, though. She is boy crazy. I've always been more blasé. She loves to party, and I need my quiet days at home. I'm can be a workaholic, she doesn't really care. In some of the most strangest ways, we compliment each other.
She can also be extremely caring. Something I desperately needed when I worked up the courage to break up with my then boyfriend, Ryan. I don't like moving in and out of relationships, but it needed to be done. He was a class A jerk. On numerous occasions I caught him cheating with some other girl and Danielle looked me square in the face and told me I needed to let him go.
So I did.
He wasn't too bummed about it. Now he could sleep with whoever he wanted without a care.
Kyrie-
"Bye, yes I know, I love you too," I sigh as I hang up the phone with my mom, who called to check up on me. Currently, I'm sitting at my hotel room, leg propped up with pillows, with my roommate Tristan at practice. In a way, today is worse than yesterday. My leg hurts more- the last of the adrenaline rush having past - and there is absolutely nothing to do. Kev called me earlier to apologize and tell me he can sympathize with me. Which is true. Out of all of them, he knows best, having dislocated his shoulder before the Finals.
Today has been made up entirely of phone calls, replying to messages, and sending out thank you tweets. It still blows my mind how many people actually take time to send me well wishes. Like, I'm just a guy living his dream.
With everyone at practice, there isn't a whole ton to do today. The medical staff has asked me to stay off my leg as much as possible, but I couldn't do anything strenuous anyway. We don't fly out to Cleveland for another three days, game two of the finals being the day after tomorrow. And I can't leave by myself, nor would I want to. The limit of any excursion right now is the fourteen step trip to the bathroom. Besides, I'm resting so I can go to the game. That's something I can't miss.
I try not to think about how much our chances went down with both Kevin and me out. The logical part of me has lost some hope for bringing the title back to Cleveland, but the other side... The other side knows what 'Bron can do. I didn't doubt for a second we could beat out GS before Kev's injury. But when you lose two of your starters going against the Splash Bros, it can't be pretty. Everything rests on LeBron and the bench now.
If it was anyone else, all hope would be gone.
My phone rings again, Ty Lue. I pick up after staring at the screen for a few second and listen to another speech of positive thoughts and good luck words. As of yet, not one person, aside from Kev, has said I'm sorry to me. The fans are frustrated, slowly losing hope for the Finals trophy. My teammates tell me to hurry up and get better.
It feels like no one really understands how much I'm going through right now. I just got the worst injury of my life. How do you think I feel?
