Page 10 of Your Secret to Keep

The energy is electric, enough to almost be recharging me. I can’t remember a time when I felt more awake or excited to be at work. I follow Megan around as she introduces me to some of the entertainment staff who I’ll work with from time to time, and everyone seems kind and respectful. She has this air of confidence that follows her throughout the arena, no matter who she’s talking to. Staff, and team members, address her by name. It’s obvious they respect her and it’s a breath of fresh air.

Five years ago, most professional sports teams were ahead of the curve if they had thirty percent of women on their staff. The trend is heading in the right direction but there’s still a ton of work to do. It’s not just about being let in the room, but looking to women for contributions, making impactful decisions, and leading key projects.

It’s wild that I’ve watched the first woman call an NBA Finals game in my lifetime. Doris Burke, also the first female analyst to work in the booth, is out here blazing a trail—one I’m hoping has enough room for me.

I walk behind Megan as we head to the court, pushing down the wave of emotion about to make me cry. One, it’s still not hitting me that I’m getting paid to step on a place I damn-near view as sacred. Two, watching Megan walk in like she’s meant to be here, she’s earned her place in this organization, has me wanting to fist pump.

We’re standing in the corner but are on the floor—a place I’ve dreamt of getting tickets for, but this is as close as I’ve ever come. It’s the fourth quarter and there’s only a minute left. The Jags are down by one and there’s not a single fan who is sitting in their seat.

“Jalen, pick up the pace!” Megan screams through her hands as the point guard dribbles the ball up the floor.

She looks at me, only for a second, and offers a smirk—one that says “you’re not the only fan here.” Jalen passes the ball and it’s like watching a choreographed dance where each person is hitting their marks. Each player on the court touches the ball as they try to set the best play.

Brooks gets the ball near the free throw line and jukes his defender, throwing him off and providing enough space to take it right to the basket. He could’ve shot a layup but instead he dunks it, and it’s like the arena has grown legs and is about to launch us into space.

I clap like I would if I were watching the game at home, leaving out the list of expletives I’d use—I’m not sure of the vibe quite yet.

Jags lead by one and the team has the ball, bringing it up the court toward us. This is one of the best teams in the NBA and if the Jags can pull off this win, it’d be a great sign for the season.

The Knights try to get the ball in the paint, but the Jags keep double teaming, and the center can’t get a shot off. There’s about ten secondsleft in the game and the shot clock is about to expire. The center heaves a desperation pass to a guard in the corner, ready to shoot a three, but Brooks steps out of his defensive position and is in the perfect place to steal the ball.

When the ball hits Brooks in the hands, it somehow gets louder than the previous play. There’s only eight seconds left—a two-point basket basically seals the game or gives the opposing team a chance to send it to overtime, while a Jags three pointer would mean a win.

Instead of going into the paint and hitting the easy layup, which is enough insurance to add a win to the record, he stops at the three-point line and shoots. The arena holds a collective breath, fans from both sides, and I swear I can hear the ball swish through the net.

Jags are now up by four. All they have to do is play the ‘don’t foul’ game and Brooks’ comeback will end in a win.

Jalen runs over and hits Brooks in the chest as the rest of the Jags players crowd around them. The coaching staff and bench are pure chaos in the best way, like the game is over even though there are technically four seconds left. The referees get everyone back in position, eager to get the rest of the game played and end the celebration early.

The Knights are out of timeouts when they try to inbound the ball, and they’re unsuccessful as Jalen steals it and dribbles out the end of the game. Everyone’s watching him, but the person I’m watching is Brooks.

He’s near the corner of the court, where they’ll run into the tunnel in a few minutes. His hands are resting on top of his head and he takes shallow breaths—I can see his chest moving from here. When he rests his hands on his knees, he wipes his face. Drops of sweat or tears? No one will know.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and look up, stopping my own tears.

Brooks Pittman really is something.

Chapter 7

Brooks

“Getthehelloverhere and grab your game ball, Brooks!” Coach yells and the locker room goes wild. It has the vibe of a playoff game and not a regular season win. I know in my heart and soul that I’m lucky to play for a team like this; one that supported me throughout my entire recovery and let me decide when I was ready to return to the court.

I stand and someone starts spraying champagne—that has Jalen written all over it—and Coach yells, “Jesus Christ! Careful with those corks,” with his hands up before continuing. “This guy has busted his ass to get back to the court for this team, these fans, and this franchise. The Jersey Jags are out for blood this year, and with Brooks back, we might be able to pull it off!”

The sound is deafening in the best way. My teammates jump around me; you could almost reach out and grab the joy filling this room. I hold onto the ball tighter than necessary, already thinking about how this will go somewhere special in my house—the one I just bought. A suggestion from my therapist to move on from the place where my depression was the worst, the recovery the most difficult, was something I couldn’t say yes to quick enough.

I look down at my knee, the tape the same as it was when I had it done before the game. I’m so damn thankful for being able to play almost my typical game minute total. Some teams wouldn’t rely on an athlete playing in his first game back when it’s down to the wire, but I love that my coaches and teammates trusted me to do what I’m built to.

Put us in the best position to win.

Tonight is one of those nights I’ll remember for a long time.

I’m showered and my muscles are tired in the way I welcome after a close game. I know the Jags’ media team has come in when I hear Megan congratulating the guys. This means press conferences and interviews are about to start.

My locker is tidy and clean, like always, with the game ball sitting at the bottom until I take it home tonight. I’m making sure everything is in order when I hear Megan behind me.

“Brooks! Couldn’t envision a better comeback game.” She claps me on the back and a smile pulls hard at the corner of my lips. Megan has been here for the last three years, and I respect how she handles social media for the team. We’re never forced to do much of anything, which has us volunteering for more projects she has up her sleeve. She’s a blast to work with and knows her shit when it comes to basketball.

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