Page 45 of Loving the Legend
“You tryna get in my head?”
“Come on. Tell me.” I turn slightly and feint a pass to Idris.
“Why?” he asks, not falling for my fakeout.
“I can’t get it out of my head”—I scan for an open look—“It’s like silk sheets, leather”—I tilt away, pulling the ball out of reach as he swipes for it—“the forest after the rain”—I swat his hand off of my jersey—“campfire.”
He grins but schools it a second later when I try to charge past him.
“So you love it?”he asks, squatting low to block my path.
“Regrettably.” I shake my head. “Though there’s one thing that I like more.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” He attempts another steal as I flick a glance at the shot clock, but my reflexes protect the ball.I jut forward like I’m going to charge to the rim, but in a split second, change directions, step back, then release a quick jump shot.
I know it’s good the second it leaves my hand.
“Winnin’.” I jet backward with a shit-eating grin, relishing the pinched expression that flits across his face.
Get used to losing, fucker!
I tie the game with one possession left for the quarter at 97 points.
“Lock in,” Idris yells as we move into defensive positions. Tevin and Kaleb, two of our biggest defenders, cover Sid. Winning the game comes down to our defense over the next twenty-four seconds. It doesn’t matter if we played well and gave it everything we got tonight. We need to close this out, then the next game, and the one after that, to win championships…to honor them.
The ref blows the whistle, starting the final game clock. Idris, guarding Kevin, smacks the ball out of his hand. They both dive to grab possession, but Idris is a smidge too slow. Kevin flips over and launches the ball to Justin. I abandon defending Kristian to cover a wide-open Justin, but I’m too late. He catches the ball and releases a corner three-pointer. We’re all frozen in place watching the ball hurtling toward the net. Justin groans and holds his head—the arc is too high. I’m about to fist the air when Sid soars through the air out of nowhere, catches the rebound, and slams it in.
Noooooo!I clutch my head.
The sound of the game clock going off hits like a water cannon, and I stumble backward in disbelief. Justin barrels straight toward a victorious Sid who is being swallowed by his teammates. The home crowd chants “MVP” at Sid despite the award not being decided for months.
How the fuck did he do it with two seconds left?
“You played well, Rook! You win some and lose some,” Idris says, patting my back. “Come on.” He nudges me toward the locker room. My feet drag like they’re tethered to concrete blocks. I block out the butt pats and head knocks. An acidic burn courses through my stomach. I’m supposed to honor them, and I can’t even secure a win in the last twenty seconds of a game.
Chest slumped forward, I mutter my way through the post-game interview, grateful when the moderator announces that it’s the final question.
“Ty, Jana fromMiami Sports, you posted thirty-five points tonight, including a dagger in the second to last play of the fourth quarter. There’s been a lot of hype this week as you and Sid prepared to face off for the first time. Many people feel you’ve already demonstrated equal, if not greater, promise than he did in his rookie year. How do you feel it went tonight?”
I unclench my jaw. “It was a battle. While we did a great job moving the ball, we struggled defending the basket. The Marvels are a formidable team and definitely made it a challenging game. I don’t think anyone comes into this arena without bringing their A-game. We will learn from today’s loss and come back stronger next time. Thanks, everyone.”
I push my chair back and tuck my head as I beeline straight for the door, desperate to be alone.
CHAPTER TEN
If I got to Justin sooner, I’d have had him. I could have stolen possession and—
Idris smacks my chest. “Yo, you good? Don’t sweat it, man. Pussy and vodka will lift your head up.”
We have a break before our game in San Antonio, so a few of the guys are hitting up South Beach to dull the sting of our loss with booze.
“I’m good. Have fun though,” I grumble, tossing my food around the plate.
He sighs. “Don’t go dark, bro. Hit me up if you change your mind.”
I grunt and push back my chair.
Despite a hot shower and cryotherapy, each step toward the practice court sends shooting pain from the arch of my feet to my lower back. I gave tonight’s game everything in my chamber and all I have to show for it is an L and a sore body. I spend twenty minutes practicing mid-range shots before a passing assistant coach offers to run drills with me for the next hour. Once back in my room, I take another shower, pop two melatonin, and peel open the book Sid recommended about the ex-marine. Midnight rolls around and I’m wide awake. Having restarted the samechapter many times, I give up reading. I pull up Sid’s post-game interview. He’s dressed for a night out in a rust-colored fitted hat, a sapphire blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and blue jeans.
