Page 71 of Hard to Break

As we break the huddle, our hands joined in a unity circle, I push away the doubts and worries. This is where I belong. This is what I was meant to do.

We take the court to the roar of the crowd, adrenaline surging through my veins. Hawkins is there, his smirk already in place.

The ball goes up, and the game begins. It's time.

Boston’snot here to fuck around.

They come out strong, their offense clicking with precision.

Hawkins is everywhere, his footwork impeccable as he weaves through our defense.

I’m playing great, but so is he. I grit my teeth, pushing myself harder with every play.

“Keep your head up, Garrett!” Coach barks from the sidelines. “Trust your teammates!”

I nod, forcing myself to take a deep breath. As we transition into offense, I see an opening. With a quick head fake, I drive toward the basket, drawing two defenders. At the last second, I dish the ball to Clay, who's wide open in the corner. He sinks the three, and the crowd erupts.

I barely have a moment to sneak a look up at the team box. Brooke and Nova are standing in their seats, holding onto one another as they watch intently.

The second quarter is when fatigue sets in. Am I pushing too hard? Not hard enough? Hawkins seems to sense my inner turmoil.

“Heard you've been having some locker room issues, Garrett,” he sneers during a free throw. “Maybe you should stick to partying in Vegas.”

I clench my jaw, willing myself not to react, but the words fuel my fire. “Maybe you should worry more about basketball.”

At halftime, we're down by seven. The locker room is tense, frustration palpable in the air. Coach's words wash over me, but I'm lost in my head, replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity.

“Miles?” Jay's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I look around at my teammates, seeing the trust in their eyes. They believe in me, even when I'm struggling to believe in myself.

The third quarter is a battle of wills. We claw our way back, point by point. A steal here, a clutch shot there. Rookie surprises everyone with a monstrous block on Hawkins, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

But Boston isn't going down without a fight. They match us shot for shot, their defense tightening like a vise. With every possession, the pressure mounts.

As we enter the fourth quarter, the score is tied. My muscles ache, sweat stinging my eyes, but I've never felt more alive. This is what it's all about. The challenge, the struggle, the chance to prove ourselves.

With three minutes left, Hawkins sinks a deep three, putting Boston up by two. The crowd goes silent, the tension almost unbearable.

Coach calls a timeout, gathering us close. “This is it, boys,” he says, his voice steady. “Everything we've worked for comes down to these last few minutes.”

His words settle over me, determination coursing through my veins.

As we retake the court, I catch Hawkins's eye. He's smirking, confident in his team's lead, but there's something else there too—a glimmer of respect, maybe even fear.

The ball is in my hands, the seconds ticking down on the clock.

Hawkins's taunts ring in my ears, his words like venom trying to seep into my veins. “Heard you're more interested in off-court drama these days, Garrett. How's that investigation going?”

I try to block him out, to focus on the game, but his jabs are relentless.

I feel my grip slipping, my feet stumbling.

But then, in the midst of the chaos, a voice cuts through. “Hey, Hawkins!” It's Jay, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. “Fans want to listen to you gabbing, they can tune into one of your podcasts instead of paying five hundred bucks for a ticket.”

Hawkins sneers, but Jay isn't done. He turns to me, his hand firm on my shoulder. “Don't let this asshole get in your head.”

His words hit me like a jolt of electricity. I look around, seeing the faces of my teammates, my brothers. They're nodding, their eyes filled with the same trust, the same belief.

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