Page 99 of Shot Taker

My heart thuds harder. I didn’t think this moment could feel better, but she’s it—the missing piece.

I want her in my life. I need to convince her she matters as much as basketball, and it’s not as simple as moving my trophies to make room for her art.

“Wade, you’re up!”

We go back and forth for the next couple of hours.

Ten sweaty pros playing like kids, laughing and grinning and showing off.

The money and the calculations fall away, and it’s just love of the game. Ours and everyone else's in this building.

The West wins by five. The charities for both teams get huge donations, so everyone wins.

Still, we get a trophy. Media flocks to do interviews. A bunch of players and ex-players descend, and after I speak to a couple of outlets, a rumbling voice accompanies an arm around my shoulders.

“That knee feel as good as it looks?”

I glance up to see Zane Carter, a Hall of Fame player, watching inquisitively.

“It’s better.”

I hold out a hand, and he grabs it. I’m still in my jersey, and he’s in a designer suit custom fitted to his six-six frame.

“Hell of a game, even for one of these,” Zane says.

“Appreciate it.”

The guy is a legend in the truest sense. I had his basketball card as a kid. His poster was on my wall.

I catch sight of Nova behind him and can’t help smiling.

He follows my gaze. “I hope you make better choices than I did. I got a lot of rings. Only one I couldn’t hang onto.”

I don’t much follow guys' relationships, but the tabloids made a big deal of a couple of his divorces.

“You always reminded me of me,” he says.

“That’s a high compliment.”

“It’s a good thing for basketball and a bad thing for you. See, you’re relentless. Never see anything outside the court. By the time I looked up, it was too late. I came over because I was relieved to see it doesn’t look like that’s the way things are anymore for you. Kept seeing how you looked up at the stands, like you’re head over heels. Don’t lose that.”

Another group of guys comes over to congratulate me, but I’m focused on Zane’s words.

I can’t lose her. I won’t.

25

CLAY

“Helluva game,” Harlan greets me as I drop into the booth opposite him and unzip my jacket. I grab a fry off his plate.

The waitress comes by. “Can I get you something, Clay?”

“Coke. Thanks.”

“Rebel.” Harlan’s eyes crinkle as she departs. “When I came through, you showed up to practice on time and drilled your shots. You were fine. Now everything is about optimizing. Nutrition, sleep—it all gets tracked and improved to the finest point. There’s no such thing as good enough.”

I turn that over as my Coke arrives and I take a sip. “You sound like you miss those days.”

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