Prologue: Instant Replay

“Instant replay would be triggered automatically in the following situations:

1)      A field goal made with no time remaining on the clock (0:00) at the end of the fourth period or any overtime period that, if scored, would affect or potentially could affect, the outcome of the game.

2)      A field goal made with no time remaining on the clock (0:00) at the end of the first, second and third periods.

3)      A foul called with no time remaining on the clock (0:00) at the end of the fourth period or any overtime period, provided that it could affect the outcome of the game.

4)      A foul called with no time remaining on the clock (0:00) at the end of the first, second or third periods.”

–          Rule No. 13, Section I

National Basketball Association (NBA) Official Rule Book, 2005-2006

 

Almost one year ago…

“Bree? Can I talk to you?”

I looked up and saw Kim at my office front door, and she looked shy—okay, wary is the more apt term. I nodded. “Enter,” I said, a small smile on my face. Even though I had never liked Kim, I still have to deal with her—and I deal with her in the most civil way that I can. After all, she is the wife of my two-decade-old best friend, business partner, and my sometimes almost-brother (since he and I DID things that are not sibling-friendly), hotshot basketball player Darren Yu.

She entered rather hesitantly, and then sat on the chair across my desk in my day job as a researcher. My night job covers managing my restaurant that I share with Darren, which we had just established a couple of years ago, and we’re now on our way on establishing our second (and hopefully third, if the talks push through) branches. It was his dream, and I had the means of fulfilling that dream. I own 70% of that restaurant.

And yes, I save a lot of money.

Be single at 27 while having a six-figure paycheck and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

“What about?” I asked, closing the folder I was reading before she came in. She breathed deeply and stayed silent. I tapped my pen on the table as I waited for her to speak.

“I know it may sound weird, but I want to ask you something. A big, huge favor,” she said, and my eyebrows raised an inch.

Huge and big are one and the same, but I didn’t say it aloud. Maybe she meant “great” or “giant.”

“Fire away,” I said, curious.

Another deep breath. Kim is taking all the oxygen supply in my office. “I want you to stay away from Darren.”

I gaped.

I seriously did.

My jaw is on my desk.

“WHAT?” I said loudly.

She sniffled, and met my hot gaze. “My husband,” she started slowly, “is in love with you. And I can’t handle that. So please, stay away from him.”

This part here is old news, but I tried to act as if it’s surprising. So I go…

“Darren? In love with me?” I said incredulously. “He’d jump off a building first before that happens.”

What was I saying? Darren told me he loves me a few years back, but I thought that was friendly love (I know. Bull crap. Do you seriously believe me when I say this? This is me in denial.).

“And I know I warned you about him caring about me, this is absurd,” I continued.

Her eyes suddenly turned pleading. “Please, Bree. You don’t know how much he talks about you when he’s home. He even dreams about you and mutters your name in his sleep. His eyes twinkle at the mere mention of your name!”

“Is that the qualification now of falling in love?” I argued. “Kim, he married you. He stood at the altar and proclaimed his love for you. He even said he’ll be with you till death parts you guys,” I spat. “How in the fuck did you come up with this insane idea that my best friend of twenty frigging years suddenly had his heart beating for me?”

I still haven’t gotten over the incredibility of this situation. Okay, more like the ridicule of this favor she’s asking from me. I already managed to not talk to him for two years before, but that was another case. I knew how hard avoiding Darren was, and I wasn’t sure if I can go through that again.

Tears started to fall from her eyes, and she dabbed her eyes with a blue hanky that matches the color of her blouse. She is seriously color-coordinated all the time. I’m betting underneath all the clothes, she has blue bra and blue undies, too.

“For a week now, he mutters your name in his sleep. And every time he plays with Zania, all he says is you, you, and you—how you handle the restaurant—restaurants—pretty well with your day job, how you are staying single despite the numerous suitors lining outside your door, how you are fending for your family in the province but still save so much money, how you are so good to Zania because you actually stop and read books to her…” Her voice broke.

“He and I have been spending so much time together the past months, yeah,” I said slowly, all my anger building up inside me, “but you do know that it’s because we’re building Cirque II, right? It’s paying for all your shopping sprees.” She winced. She is a spender, that I know. You couldn’t leave her inside the mall without getting your credit card scratched so badly.

That’s why Darren had asked for my help when he wanted to build the restaurant. He knew with all the shopping Kim has been doing, his paycheck and his savings account will probably be sucked clean. And he also knew I had the money, and that I knew of his lifelong dream of owning a restaurant. So we built Cirque. And then… bam! Here’s Cirque II. “How would Zania’s future going to be, Bree?” was the line he used to completely snare me in.

“This is… outrageous, Kim,” I said, standing up. “I won’t do this.”

She stood up and walked over to me, her face streaming with tears. She surprised me with her next move: she knelt before me.

“I am asking this from you, Bree, as a mother. I can’t tolerate that Zania…” Her voice broke once more.

I pulled her to her manicured toes. Damn, maybe her Jimmy Choos got scratched because of that kneeling thing she did. “Damn, is this really about Zania, Kim?” She knew I had a soft spot for their lone child. “It’s just you being selfish, Kim. It is so not a secret between you and I that you seriously thought of me as a competition ever since you and Darren started going out.”

She didn’t speak, affirming my statement.

Well, I can seriously give her a run for her wits. Maybe if she and Darren weren’t married—or maybe if Darren didn’t knock her up—

Okay. Hold that thought.

I actually saw her, too, as a competition for Darren’s attention.

“I don’t see this as logical,” I told her. She made a move to kneel before me again, and I didn’t feel like a goddess this time—not even when one of your not-so-favorite people is doing the kneeling. “Don’t stoop to that level, Kim. If you want me out of Darren’s life, stop kneeling before me,” I spat.

“Please, Bree.”

I don’t know how exactly I can avoid Darren. He’s like… with me ever since God-knows-when. We have the same circle of friends, his family is friends with my family, he’s been with me through high school and shared with me the ugliness and awkwardness puberty brought about, and he stuck with me through my tough years in college. He was there for me when I first got dumped, first dumped a guy, first fell in love (okay, this is just a list—don’t expect it to be in chronological order), first got laid (he absolutely knew to whom, how it happened, and all the sexy details—I’d get to that part of the story in a bit), first got offered a marriage (at the tender age of 21 from my boyfriend of three months at that time—of course I declined no matter how romantic his proposal was—damn, was my ex really serious?), and first time I wanted to propose to a guy.

I was there when he first got to play college hoops, first tried out for a basketball team, first had a girlfriend (through the next, and the next, and the next… you get the picture), first played a game when he is officially earning a paycheck for it, first got drafted (he got picked third), first played a professional ball game, first had sex (he didn’t tell me with whom, which is gentlemanly of him, but he just popped at my doorstep one day and said, “I am a man now”), first proposed marriage to a girl (who had the sanity—thank heavens—of turning him down), and first got a girl knocked up (I know the firsthand details to that one—and no, it’s not Kim. She’s the second woman he knocked up.). I also witnessed how shotgun his wedding is to Kim. I held his hand when he told his parents about Kim’s situation, and he was there, holding my hand, when I told my parents that I am getting my own place (I know the gravity of the situation is not the same, but to hell with it).

Point is, he’s been in—or knows about—almost every significant situation in my life, and I’ve been in—or I know about—every single one of his, so…

I don’t know if I can do what Kim’s asking me to do.

God, the things I am willing to do for my best friend.

“For the sake of saving your marriage, Kim, fine,” I said finally. She was so happy she hugged me.

“But please, I seriously want you to think this over: Do you really think Darren’s in love with me? I’ve been with him for the past years—two decades—and our relationship doesn’t go beyond loving each other as best friends,” I said, pushing her away in disgust. She doesn’t need to know about the part that Darren and I actually had slept together, but that was an entire friendship thing, and we don’t sleep together when either of us is in a sane enough relationship. Or is it really? God, I am confusing even myself. Was it not on the day of their wedding that Darren told me—

Shit.

“I want you to trust Darren. He doesn’t deserve this much distrust, Kim. He is anything but unfaithful to you,” I finished. I wanted to sock myself. The things coming out of my mouth are severely half-truths, but I know I can justify them. I told Darren that the he and I thing will be in another lifetime, right?

I turned away, and she stood there, crying hard. “You’ve got serious trust issues,” I wanted to say, but I was so angry at her. I turned my attention to my work and tried to concentrate.

But I couldn’t.

I waited for her to leave.

I threw my glass ashtray—which I don’t use anyway—at the door when she closed it behind her as she made a (happy and) graceful exit.

—

Click here to read Chapter One: Disqualifying Foul.