Page 135 of Loving the Legend
He leans in. “I thought you liked it rough.”
I screw my jaw to keep from grinning as I reach in, but he backs me down and posts a floater, increasing our deficit to ten points.
With five seconds left on the shot clock, I don’t even think. I launch a freak shot from way downtown. An old confidence thrums through my body as I watch it sink through the net. I’msurprised when their crowd erupts. Then again, everyone loves a freak shot.
I shake my head and grin.
Things come to a head in the fourth quarter. I’m not sure what’s happening with the refs, but most of the fouls that the Royals commit aren’t being called. The Royals lead, but we managed to cut the deficit, bringing the score to 79–75 with under eight minutes on the game clock. I’m being double-teamed by Ussef and Johan. I execute a fast dribble combination that creates space for me to drive the ball to the rim. But once I’m mid-air, Ussef makes direct contact with my left arm. I still manage to complete the shot, but I expect a call for the foul.
“That was a foul, ref! Come on,” I bark at the nearest referee, who looks apathetic.
I shake it off and get back into the game. Ari steals possession from the Royals and lobs the ball to me to post a layup. As I take flight, Arnaz jumps up and chest bumps me, knocking me out of bounds before I can finish. Ussef takes possession and books it up the court. I scoff in disbelief.
How the fuck isn’t there a call on the most obvious foul in the history of the game!
“What the actual fuck! In case you forgot, it’s your job to call a blocking foul,” I yell at the ref.
“Back down, Washington,” the ref fires back.
“What’s it gonna take for you to do your damn job? Me laid out on a fucking stretcher?”
Idris pulls me out of the ref's face.
“It’s fucking bullshit, man!” I yell over my shoulder.
“It is, but it’s not worth getting a tech or ejected. We need you. You know how to get payback,” Idris says, patting my back.
He’s right. Fuck the refs, fuck the Royals. They want to fuck with me—they just cost themselves the game.
He grins. “Good of rook Ty to show up, though,” he says before racing away.
Nicholas hits a three-pointer, bringing the score to 82–77, their lead. When I catch the ball on an inbound pass and hit a corner three-pointer, the refs call an offensive foul against Kaleb for pushing Johan off of him, nullifying my points. This is a joke. I laugh maniacally as adrenaline pumps through my veins. The same adrenaline I’m going to channel to annihilate these fuckers.
Sid misses the next shot.
Good, asshole!
I take possession of the ball and hit a three-point shot in the middle of the three-point line and the Royals logo.
Nothing but net!
Sid dribbles a crossover, hesitates, then hits a jump shot, bringing the score up to 84–80, still their lead. He and Arnaz smack their foreheads together again, and I gag.
As I take possession of the ball, Kaleb sets a screen, clearing my path to hit a smooth crossover, then a long three-pointer, and it’s gold!
Our defense is strong on the next possession, and despite decent ball movement by the Royals, Nicholas misses a layup.
Hell yeah!
I can already taste our victory.
I dribble past half-court when I’m double-teamed by Ussef and Arnaz. I drive hard toward the left baseline, making them think I'll charge to the net, and then Johan closes in, triple-teaming me.
I smirk.I guess I'm a problem!
I take turns staring each of them down. They can put all five of their players on me, it doesn’t fucking matter. I hit a lethal step back and release a corner three-pointer, and it's bank! And our first lead of the night. The Royals crowd gets loud.
Let’s fucking go!I beat my chest, feeling fired up.
