Clay shrugs. “You get to decide where home is.”
I kiss him again because I have to.
But I’m not at all sure I’m doing the right thing.
FIRST ROUND
PHOENIX
27
CLAY
“Shit,” Rookie mutters as he bends over his shoe in the locker room.
I look over. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot my good luck charm. It was attached to my laces. It must have fallen off.”
The playoffs are a big deal. The energy is different on the court and in the buildings.
Our first game has all the guys on edge.
Still, there’s a temptation to treat the road to finals like a sprint instead of the marathon it is.
There are three rounds against other western teams, each time facing a stronger opponent. If we win the west, we go to finals against the top team in the east.
“Take a breath,” I advise. “It’s going to be a long forty-eight minutes if you don’t.”
“Or a quick one. You won’t make it a shift,” Kyle comments from the next locker over.
Rookie shakes his head. “Not like I practiced my entire life for this,” he mutters.
“We don’t need luck. We bled and sweated for this,” Jay says, crossing to the center of the room from his locker opposite.
He puts his hands in the center, and I go to meet him.
“Let’s get a win.”
We take the floor to deafening cheers. The crowd is out in force, hollering from the time the players are announced. Chloe had shirts made up for the occasion, and those in the stands without jerseys are wearing purple #BEARFORCE playoffs shirts. The guys can tell it’s a different vibe from usual.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, princess,” Kyle says as he passes Rookie, grinning.
At least we have the home team advantage. Phoenix, whom we narrowly beat out for our seeding spot, is playing on our turf.
Phoenix gets the tipoff while I watch, leaning into the court every single play.
Still not thrilled I’m coming off the bench, but I’ll get mine later.
Normally, I’d press my recovery hard and fast. But with Coach’s advice and Nova’s presence calming me down, I took it a little slower than usual.
Phoenix can’t beat us with their offense. Our three-point shooting is better, thanks to Miles and Jay. But Phoenix guards hard, screens hard, plus they’ve got a couple of good shot-blockers to keep Atlas and Kyle at bay.
It’s almost the end of the first quarter when I get in. They’re on me in a second, cutting off my lanes, making me pass.
I still manage to outwit their guards for three baskets in as many minutes.
The crowd erupts. It feels right being out here. The adrenaline drowns out any doubt, any questions.
By the second quarter, they’re onto me and my improvisations.
Miles is coming up dry, and Atlas is a step slow.
When I’m back on the bench, I look up into the crowd. There are thousands of faces, but none are the one I’m looking for.
Nova’s not there.
Not wearing my jersey, not cheering my name.
She’s in Paris with her sister.
I told her to go.
But I miss her.
She called earlier to wish me luck, plus sent a text right before warmups.
Now, with the eight-hour time difference, it’s the early hours of the morning in Paris. She’s probably fast asleep.
As my gut tightens, I wish she were here to give me one of those smiles that makes everything seem better. She reminds me how much I love doing this. I take a slow breath and imagine I can hear her voice. “You should try basketball. I bet you’d be good.”
I’m in the fucking playoffs with a group of guys who deserve to be here. We aren’t going down like this.
At half time, we’re up four.
“Just keep one step ahead,” Jay tells the guys in the locker room.
I nod. “They can rotate on us all they want, but they’re going to get tired guarding that hard. Punish them when they do.”
The third is evenly matched. I play half of it, winning our minutes even though my knee is twinging in protest by the end.
The start of the fourth, they pull ahead by a few. I can’t breathe until we get it back to a two-point lead.
But it’s too close. The clock can’t run out fast enough.
“Make ‘em work,” I mutter as I watch Kyle dribble around.
He gets frustrated, settling for an ill-advised three that bounces off the rim and into their hands.
Phoenix takes it to the other end for two points to tie it.
“Come on,” I repeat, my fists clenching at my sides.
It’s as if Kyle hears me. He grabs a pass from Jay and goes hard at the basket. The defender goes up to block him, catching Kyle’s leg with his own. Everyone on the bench rises in numb horror as Kyle goes down hard.
They take him off the court, the scoreboard overhead proclaiming under a minute remaining.
Tie game.
We get two free throws.
When the final buzzer sounds, our fans are ecstatic.
But it’s short-lived.
We got the win, but the loss might be greater.
We sleepwalk through media, everyone thinking about Kyle.
It’s an hour later when we get the update. Jay and I are still sitting in the locker room, processing what happened.
“It’s a sprain. Ankle.” We look up at the sound of the head trainer’s voice.
Shit.
“How bad?” Jay asks.
“Too soon to say.”
Kyle could be back before the end of the series or out for the year.
This is almost worse than a loss. Falling behind sucks, but with a full roster of healthy players, you have a chance.
We just lost one of our best guys.
He might be a prick, but he’s an all-star.
“We’ll get him back,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Keep it going.”
Jay and I exchange a look.
We could lose this series.
It occurs to me for the first time.
All of this could be for nothing.
I’m a champion who came back for a victory lap. I had a chance to live forever, and instead I’ll be forgotten.
NOVA
“Knock knock. Are you still asleep?” a familiar voice calls.
“What time is it?” I crack an eye without lifting my face from the pillow.
“Almost nine.” Mari strides into my room with a tray and a smile.
I rub my eyes against the sun streaming in the window.
The little flat we rented is near the Eiffel Tower. We’ve been here for three days, and it’s been beautiful. Stunning gardens, well-dressed people, and yes, pastries to die for.
“I should be making you coffee,” I say groggily, pushing myself up to sitting as Mari sets the tray on my bed over my lap. “Where’s Emily?”
“Playing on her mat.” She nods to the other room and perches on the edge of my bed. She’s already fitting into the Paris vibe in a white T-shirt and slim black pants.
I pick up the coffee and take a grateful sip.
“How late were you up?” she asks.