“Go sit with my family,” he said. “I want to see you when they raise the banner.”
“I’ll be there.”
He started toward the court, then turned. “Lo?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
By the time Halo made it back to the section, the ceremony had already started. The arena was packed, energy thick enough to feel. The lights dropped. A video rolled on the Jumbotron. His rookie year, skinny and hungry. His first All-Star selection. That championship run. Highlights cut together into one long ode to the player he had been.
Stacia cried quietly beside her. Stetson kept his arm tight around his wife, his chest puffed out, his pride loud even in the dark. Halo rested her hands over her stomach and watched her husband take his flowers.
When the banner finally rose, and number fifteen settled into the rafters, the crowd roared. Halo felt the sound thrumming through her bones. This was his city. These were his people. They loved him the way he deserved to be loved.
Then he walked out.
The arena exploded. People on their feet, yelling, crying, holding up signs and old jerseys with his number. He stepped into the spotlight in a tailored black suit, his signature gold chain catching the light. That familiar smile was on his face, the one that meant he was overwhelmed and trying to hold it together.
Even with all the chaos, their eyes found each other. Thousands of people were between them, but it felt like a straight line. He put a hand over his heart, then pointed at her. She smiled through the tears and blew him a kiss.
Two years ago, she did not think she had time for love. Now she was standing in an arena, watching his legacy lock into place, carrying his children, running a business and a foundation she helped build, holding everything she once believed she could not have.
The team owner spoke. Former teammates shared stories. His college coach sent a video. Every person mentioned his skill and his stats, but they kept coming back to who he was. He showed up for people. He made them better just by standing beside them.
Then it was his turn.
DaVinci stepped up to the microphone, and the noise died down. Twenty thousand people leaned in.
“First,” he said, voice steady, “I want to thank this organization, this city, and these fans for believing in a kid from Kentucky who just wanted to hoop. Y’all gave me a home. Y’all gave me a platform. Y’all gave me a family.”
They roared. He waited, patient, then went on.
“I could stand up here and talk about championships and All-Star games, about every award with my name on it like I did this alone, but I didn’t. My teammates, the staff, and my family. Man, my family.” He looked toward their section. “Mama, thank you for believing in me when nobody else did. Stetson, this is for you. Pops, you were down for me before you even knew me. I am who I am because of you. I give you two the highest honors. Omni, sis, thank you for being one of my biggest headaches and biggest cheerleaders. Everybody who had a part in this, I thank you.”
His gaze cut back to Halo.
“Two years ago, I walked away from this game because I wanted more than stats and highlights. I wanted to wake up knowing my life meant more than a W or an L. I wanted to be present for the people I love. I wanted to use what I’ve been given to actually help people instead of just entertaining them.”
Halo felt her smile stretch. She knew what was coming.
“So tonight, in addition to celebrating this honor, I want to share something my wife and I have been building.”
The jumbotron cut to footage of the renovated warehouse. Shelves stocked with clothes, toiletries, books, and shoes. Families moving through aisles with baskets, kids holding toys, people leaving with bags and dignity.
“My wife started the Ignite Foundation,” he said. “I met someone who has the same heart for the community that I do. The Ignite Foundation is a resource center where anyone going through a hard time, fire victims, families in crisis, and people trying to get back on their feet can come and get what they need. No questions asked. No judgment. Just support.”
The arena erupted again. Cameras swung to their section. Halo pressed her hands under her chin as tears slipped free. This was everything. This was the life they chose. This was the work they built on purpose.
“My wife, former Lieutenant Halo Bryns, inspired this,” he continued. “She ran into fires to save people. She gave everything she had to protect this city. She taught me that the most important work happens when you show up for people in their hardest moments. Not for applause. Not for recognition. Just because it’s right.”
Halo broke. Omni screamed. Tessa, who had slipped in late from work, wrapped an arm around her.
“Proud of you, bestie,” Tessa whispered.
“Thank you. I’m glad you made it,” Halo said, voice thick.
