Page 88 of Hard to Take

Over the first quarter, Clay gets a dunk.

Rookie gets a pair of threes.

I get another four points in the paint, two of them assisted by Jay.

Clay nods at me as we run back on defense. Keep going, he’s saying.

There’s no better feeling than being what your team needs on any given night, especially a high-stakes one like this. But they need more.

At the end of the first quarter, we’ve managed to stay up by two.

“… keep working in the paint. Miles, keep grinding against their defense. Wear them down.”

We go back out to play the next quarter.

Jay gets called for a foul on Hawkins, and we line up for Boston to shoot two.

The first goes in. Swish.

As he puts up the second shot, I look past the net, my eyes landing on the box. Brooke’s there with Chloe and Nova and Mari. Brooke waves, and my breathing comes a little easier as my lips twitch. I feel better knowing she’s here.

Swish.

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

My attention cuts to Jay standing opposite, staring at me as the ref’s whistle shrills.

“Technical foul, Jayden Ellis.”

The crowd starts to buzz, confused over Jay’s outburst.

“We’re playing the most important fucking game of the year and that’s what you’re thinking about?” he goes on.

There are nine guys ready to play.

Thousands of fans.

Plus a team of refs with all the power.

“Come on, we’re going to get a delay of game,” I say flatly. I nod to the ref, who’s keeping a close eye.

Jay stabs a finger in my chest. “You want everyone to get along, but you don’t get to be a selfish prick and still have that happen. You were supposed to be protecting her.”

The whistle sounds, the ref teeing us up for delay of game. Groans fill the stadium.

My teeth grind together. “I’ve been protecting her since the second you asked me to.”

“You have no fucking family of your own so you’re taking mine.”

Jay comes at me, knocking me over. The team descends, pulling us apart.

I try to protect myself. My fist rises to stop Jay from hitting me, but he moves, and my fist lands in his jaw with a sickening crack.

The ref blows his whistle again, then keeps blowing, a shrill call competing with the crowd.

“You’re out of the game, both of you!”

Every man on the Kodiaks bench rises, throwing up their hands. Coach covers his face with his clipboard. The assistants look shocked, their expressions grim.

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