Page 67 of Dark and Dangerous

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

Dad looks behind us at the arena, then back at me. “You want me to hold your hand when we walk in there?”

I laugh under my breath. “Maybe.”

The volume inside the arena compared to the outside is insane, and the games haven’t even started yet. I release Dad’s hand to check my phone for the text Jace had sent me, letting me know which court to go to for his first game. Before I can find the text, Dad nudges my side. “Are they your friends?”

I look up to see where he’s pointing and smile when I find Sammy and Jeannie waving at me. I wave back, and they point to the empty seats beside them. “They saved us some seats,” I tell Dad, walking over to them.

“You don’t have to sit with me, Harlow. I understand if it’s embarrassing. Go sit with your friends.”

I stop in my tracks, turn to him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re here to watchmyboyfriend play. Iwantto sit with you.”

“So he’s your boyfriend now?” he teases, and I roll my eyes at him. He responds by throwing his hands up in surrender. “Just asking a question.”

I introduce Dad to my friends, who saved us front-row seats right at half-court. Sammy doesn’t hide how smitten she is with him, which isgross, but also completely Sammy.

I’d love to say that being with them eases the tension coiling inside me,but it doesn’t. I’m on edge. My knee bounces uncontrollably, and I struggle for every inhale. Every exhale. At one point, I can physically feel the blood simmering beneath my flesh and have to remove my sweater, use it to wipe the sweat off my brow. My dad’s the only one who notices, and he places a gentle hand on my back, whispering in my ear, “Do you want to go?”

I almost tell himyes, that it’s too much, but then cheers erupt from beside me, and I look up to see the team walking to the sideline with Jace front and center. He strips off his team jacket, revealing his tanned, muscular arms, and it’s not as if I hadn’t seen him like this before, but it’s somehow different now. And I don’t know if it’s the lights, or the buzz surrounding me, or even if it’s because I know I’m only minutes away from watching himactuallyplay.

The team forms a huddle, their heads bowed to the center—everyone but Jace. His head pops up, looking around while his coach speaks, and beside me, Dad cups his hand around his mouth and yells, “Let’s go, Jace!”

Jace’s eyes dart to Dad, then to me, and hesmiles.The tiniest of smiles… with the largest of meanings.

Itmeanssomething to him—to have me here.

Just likehemeans something to me—to be able to watch him like this.

Maybe we could mean something to each other.

The ref blows his whistle, and it’s game time.

Jace is steadfast, focused from the moment the ball’s thrown in the air for the first time. He moves on the court the same way he does in my yard—fast, intentional, and effortless. Every step, every play, every move of his muscles is timed to perfection. He doesn’t take a break. Neither does Jonah. All while the rest of their teammates rotate on and off the bench. It’s clear that the two boys carry their team, and the opposition knows it too. Their defense strategy is proof. Jace never has less than two people on him, always, and yet, we win the first game with Jace as leading scorer, and all that anxiety I felt before the game started? All those nerves that were crawling inside me? Completely gone by the time the final buzzer sounds.

“Holy shit,” Dad huffs as soon as it’s over. “I knew the kid was good, Harlow, butman…”

“I know, right?”

There’s a fifteen-minute break between games, but the teams spend that time in the locker rooms, so I don’t have a chance to see Jace again until game two. We move to the next court to wait for it to start, and I relay the information Jace gave me to my dad. “He said that most kids in his caliber move to more populated areas or higher-ranking schools, so he doesn’t have a lot of competition in the region.” I lower my voice so others around me don’t hear. “He predicts they’ll make it to the final game against Fremont and lose by ten to fifteen. Not because they have anyone better than him, but because they have more above-average players.”

“He told you all this?” Dad asks, pulling back an inch.

I nod. “He studies each and every team. Not just the team as a whole, but each individual player. Game tape. Stats. All of it.”

“When does he have time for all that, between work, school, and basketball?”

“Usually at work, when it’s quiet.” He’s asked me to quiz him on things, and I swear, the boy’s mind is asponge. “He told me he can practice as much as he wants, but he can’t do shit with it if he doesn’t know the defense.”

“It’s true,” Dad agrees with him. “But usually, at high school level, you’re just looking to show off, make the best plays, and then celebrate after. Jace doesn’t even do that.”

I recall all the times he scored in the previous games, and Dad’s right. His supporters cheer. His teammates celebrate. Jace—he just goes back to where he’s needed and waits for the next play.

Over and over.

Again and again.

The Vikings breeze through the next two rounds, and just as Jace predicted, they take on Fremont in the fourth and final game. Sammyand Jeannie have a solid strategy on how to always get us seats, front and center, for every game.

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