Page 52 of Game Changer

He’s got issues of his own, but hearing him talk about his work with the charity made me realize there’s more to him than the media makes out.

In the past couple of days, we’ve been texting here and there. He says he’s keeping me out of trouble. I say I’m trying to make sure he gets his laugh a day whether he wants it or not.

But I’m excited to see him in person, even if it’s from a distance. I can’t wait to watch him tear up the court, and when Brooke asked if I was planning to go, it was an easy yes.

We’re here a few minutes before tip-off. Apparently, Harlan watches all the games from downstairs, but Mari and Chloe said they’d meet us later for drinks.

The place is already buzzing, and Brooke’s words dial up my excitement another notch.

I texted an hour ago to wish Clay luck but didn’t hear back. He’s probably in some pregame routine.

Now, the lights go dark, and the crowd erupts before they come up again. Players are announced one at a time, the opposing team’s so unceremoniously it seems unfair and the Kodiaks' with the utmost enthusiasm.

Rookie.

Atlas.

Miles.

Jayden.

Clay.

When he’s introduced, the building shakes.

I’ve seen him in his jersey in press images and online, but this feels different.

When I scan the crowd, there are hundreds of people wearing his jersey. Possibly thousands.

Wow.

I knew he was a star. But here, he’s a god.

“You watch any basketball before?” Brooke asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

The basketball goes up in the middle of the court, and both teams swat at it.

From then on, she explains what I’m seeing.

It’s five-on-five. Each player has a position, frontcourt or backcourt, but they help each other out as needed over the forty-eight minutes.

“Some of the guys are fast and nimble, able to cut and shoot from distance, like Jay,” Brooke goes on. “Others are huge, tall enough to grab a ball off the rim, wide enough to block offensive players, like Atlas.

“Then there’s Clay, who’s got both—height and strength, plus the moves to score from anywhere he wants.”

But when she starts talking about schemes and coverages, I shake my head.

“You’re not remembering this, are you?” she asks dryly.

“You had me up to fouls,” I say truthfully.

“There are three more preseason games. We’ll go over the rest next time.”

Next time.

Thinking that there will be another game, another chance to experience this atmosphere, makes my heart swell with joy.

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