The guys file out of the locker room, but I hang back. Maverick turns to look at me and gives me a nod. It’s his subtle way of telling me to take my time. When I’m alone, I touch the tattoo on my thigh, the one hidden by layers of gear and clothes, and I smile up at the ceiling. “For you, Mom,” I say to the empty room. “Always for you.” One of the overhead lights flickers, and I laugh. “Yeah. I know you’re here. You wouldn’t miss this. Sometimes I can still hear you yelling at me to get the rebound.” I pause, my shoulders heavy and my eyes wet with tears. “Fuck. I miss you, Mama.”
Oh Hudson☹️💔
