Page 84 of Hard to Break

His words echo in my mind as we retake the court. The ball feels alive in my hands. We trade baskets with Boston, the lead changing hands with each possession. The crowd is on its feet, the noise deafening.

With two minutes left in the third, I see an opening. I fake left, go right, and drive hard to the hoop. Hawkins is there to meet me, but I'm ready. I leap, twisting in midair to avoid his block, and somehow manage to kiss the ball off the glass and in. The arena erupts.

The fourth quarter is a battle of wills. Every possession feels as though it could decide the game. With thirty seconds left, we're down by one. Coach calls our final timeout.

“All right, listen up,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension. “We've got one shot at this. Miles, I want the ball in your hands. Everyone else, be ready. This is what we've practiced for. This is our moment.”

As we break the huddle, Clay grabs my arm. “You've got this.”

I nod, my throat too tight for words.

The inbound pass comes to me. I dribble, watching the clock tick down. Twenty seconds. Fifteen. Ten.

Hawkins is guarding me, his eyes burning with determination. I can almost hear his taunts from earlier in the season, but I'm not that Miles anymore.

Five seconds.

I make my move, driving right. Hawkins stays with me step for step. Three seconds. I pull up for the jumper, feeling Hawkins’s hand graze my arm. The ball leaves my fingertips.

Time slows. The arena holds its breath. The ball arcs through the air.

Swish.

The buzzer sounds. For a moment, there's silence. Then the world explodes into noise. My teammates mob me, screaming in joy.

As the chaos swirls around me, I find myself face-to-face with Hawkins. There's no smirk now, just a look of grudging respect.

“Hell of a shot, Garrett,” he says, extending his hand.

I shake it, feeling the last of our rivalry dissolve. “Hell of a game, Hawkins.”

In the locker room, the celebration is wild. Jay's leading a chant, Rookie's dancing on a bench, and Clay's already talking strategy for the playoffs.

Coach quiets us down just long enough to say, “I'm proud of you boys. Now go enjoy this. You've earned it.”

As the team files out, still buzzing with excitement, I linger. I sit on the bench, letting it all sink in. We're going to the playoffs. We have a shot at our second championship.

But more than that, I realize how far we've come, how far I've come. From the joker who didn't take anything seriously to the leader who just hit the biggest shot of his life.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. It's Brooke, her eyes shining.

“That was some game, Garrett,” she says, her voice soft.

I stand, crossing the room to her. “Couldn't have done it without you, Princess.”

She laughs. “Pretty sure I wasn't the one who made that shot.”

“Maybe not,” I say, pulling her close. “But you made me the person who could.”

As we leave the locker room hand in hand, I can't help but feel excited for what's to come. The playoffs await, anotherchapter in our journey, but whatever happens, I know I'm ready. We're ready.

25

BROOKE

ONE MONTH LATER

The sun beats down on the bustling charity sports event as I make my final checks. Clipboards, schedules, and a sea of volunteers in matching T-shirts surround me. I spot Miles weaving through the crowd, his tall frame and easy smile unmistakable even from a distance.

---