Page 72 of Hard to Break

A new resolve settles over me. “Let's do this.”

As we start the next play, I feel a shift in the energy. We're moving as one, a united front against anything the world can throw at us.

The game resumes, and I'm seeing the court through new eyes. Every pass is crisp, every shot is true. We're clicking, our trust in each other translating into flawless execution.

Hawkins is getting more and more frustrated, his plays becoming sloppy and aggressive. He's trying to provoke me, to get a rise out of me, but I don't take the bait. I've got more important things to focus on.

The last three minutes tick by, the score climbing. We're neck and neck.

My gaze lifts to the crowd where Brooke’s sitting. Her eyes, full of love and support, lock with mine.

I know I can do this. I can be clutch for my guys, the team, the dreams of everyone who bet on this franchise.

The clock is winding down, mere seconds left. I've got the ball and a clear path to the basket. But out of the corner of my eye, I see Jay, open and ready.

I don't hesitate. With a flick of my wrist, the ball flies from my hands, a perfect arc across the court. Jay catches it, his eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. He jumps, the ball leaving his fingertips as the buzzer sounds.

The whole arena holds its breath. The ball seems to hang in the air for an eternity.

And then, with a satisfying swish, it drops through the net.

The crowd erupts, a deafening roar that shakes the very foundations of the building. My teammates are on Jay in an instant, their voices hoarse.

Over their heads, I catch a glimpse of Hawkins, his face twisted with disbelief and defeat, but he doesn't matter—not anymore.

20

BROOKE

The celebration at Mile High is a small reprieve from the looming playoffs. The team is crowded into booths, and I claimed a spot next to Miles.

“We did it!” Rookie crows.

“Sodas and water on the house,” Sierra proclaims with a flourish, setting a tray on the table to hand out glasses.

“There you are,” I say to Nova when she arrives, but my friend’s expression is grim and at odds with the celebratory atmosphere. “What’s wrong?”

She holds up her phone, and I take it to read the email message.

It’s a note from Coastal Gallery saying they want to postpone the show. The don’t even mention a date, just a statement that they’ll “revisit later in the year.”

My stomach plummets. “They can’t cancel the show without cause. There’s a cancellation fee if they do.”

“But they didn’t say cancel, they said postpone,” she reminds me.

I pull up the agreement and read through. “I still don’t see anything that would let them do that. Unless…” My heart sinks. “They can say we didn’t deliver the pieces that were agreed to.”

“Maybe I pushed too hard with the new pieces,” Nova murmurs.

I can feel the disappointment rolling off my friend in waves.

“You didn’t,” I say quickly.

Ipushed too hard.

What if I was trying to impress Nova, to advocate for her and prove I was capable?

I step outside for some air, my head spinning.

---