Heading to half court, I fist-bump the guys on Atlanta’s side. These are men I’ve watched for years, guys I’ve dreamed of playing with—and against. I soak up every second. I take my position, ready for tip-off. The whistle blows, and the referee throws the ball into the air.
It takes a few trips up and down the court to find my rhythm, but once I do, everything clicks. Shots start falling and we play with the kind of chemistry that turns a franchise around. Charlotte hasn’t made the playoffs in almost five years, and I plan to change that.
By the time the game ends, we’ve routed Atlanta by twenty. The Charlotte Sting are 1-0. I finish with a solid game, fifteen points, five rebounds, and three assists. Not bad for a rookie.
I answer a few questions, but the veterans and Coach handle most of it. When we hit the locker room, all my new teammates douse me withwater. They congratulate me, and I’m relieved—and humbled. It’s hard to be a rookie who takes a starting role on a team. These guys are hungry to win, and they’ve embraced me fast.
Coach enters with a rare grin on his face—we earned it tonight. “Gentlemen, that’s how it’s done. No speech tonight. Hit the showers, and be at the facility tomorrow morning at nine. for film.” A few groans echo through the room, and he gives me a quick nod before heading into his office and shutting the door.
After the excitement dies down, I head to the shower, taking my time as the hot water soothes my aching muscles. Then I dress in sweats and a hoodie because I’m planning on going straight to my apartment, despite my teammates trying to drag me out and party with them.
As I exit the locker room, I find my family waiting for me. My sister is beaming, and I hold my arms out—she launches into them. Reagan is my biggest cheerleader. She always has been.
“I’m so proud of you, Bro.” I spin her around like we’re kids again. I set her back on her feet and she skips back to her boyfriend, who happens to be one of my best friends.
He approaches me next and we do our CTU handshake. Riggs Hart is a good freaking dude. He probably could have played in the NBA too, but he’s always wanted to coach, and he’s been able to do just that. And he treats my sister better than I could ask for. The only guy I’ve ever approved of. They went through a lot last year and it brought them closer together. Calling them end game is an understatement. I’d be surprised if he waits until Christmas to propose.
“Bro, that was insane. Watching you was unreal.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate you coming out, and bringing Rea.” Just her name makes him smile, and she’s right behind him.
That right there is what I want.
My sweet mother is surprisingly patient. She squeezes between everyone and gives me a signature Paige Mills hug that always makes me feel like I’m home. Sniffling back tears, she cups my face with bothhands and I can’t help but laugh. She used to do this when I was little and wasn’t paying attention. Now, I think she just wants to make sure I really hear what she has to say. “Jordan, my baby boy. I couldn’t be prouder.” My heart burst with pride and I can’t help but grin even with her hands on my cheeks.
“Thank you, Momma.” I try to say, but it comes out a little garbled because I still can’t open my mouth all the way. Realizing she still has my face squished, she laughs and pulls her hands away.
My dad is last. I’ve never felt pressured or critiqued by him. He’s always been a tremendous supporter and coach, but only when I’ve asked for help. I hug him and say what I always say after each game. “Thank you, Dad.”
“Always, Son. Always.” The same words he’s told me since I was about ten and started playing competitive basketball. I hope I can carry myself the way he has and keep my priorities straight. Yes, he taught me basketball is important, but family always comes first. He’s talked the talk and walked the walk my entire life.
We chat for a bit, but knowing how exhausted I am—and how long their drive is, we leave quickly. I promise my sister I’ll call her tomorrow, and they walk out together, Riggs holding Reagan close, and my parents holding hands.
Watching them—so love—hits me with a surge of longing and desire to have that in my life. There’s only one person I’ve ever wanted that kind of love with, and she’s in London.
Walking into my apartment,I drop my duffel by the front door and toe off my shoes before walking to the kitchen. I open the fridge, grab water and one of the weekly prepped meals, and place it in the microwave to warm up. I’ve never been a good cook and thankfully I have the means to get my meals prepared. I portioned them out to make sure I fuel my body, especially during the grueling NBA season. In college, I got used to playing around thirty games, sometimes more, but the NBA season is eighty-twogames—regular season alone. It’s an adjustment that I’m trying to prepare for.
The microwave beeps, and I pull the dish out, taking it and my water to the living room. I place everything on the coffee table and grab the remote, turning on ESPN as I dig into my food. Just as I take my first bite, my phone beeps and I pick it up, immediately smiling as I read the text.
Mack
You played an incredible game, J! I wish I could’ve been there to see it, but I stayed up all night to watch it.
Instead of replying, I take a risk and hit FaceTime button to call Mackenzie. I check the clock. It’s about 11:30 here which makes it 4:30 in London. The phone rings a few times before it connects and I’m met with a dark screen.
“Mackenzie Banks, you stayed up all night to watch my game?” I can’t see her because she doesn’t have a light on, but I can picture the blush on her cheeks as she reacts to my teasing.
“Jordan Mills, it was your first NBA game, something you’ve dreamed about your whole life. Of course I watched it.”
“Mack... that means so much to me, you know that, right?” I can feel myself get choked up at how well this woman knows me.
“I do.” She yawns—big—and it makes me chuckle.
“Let me see that beautiful face?”
“I’m not showing my face when it’s… oh my gosh, it’s 4:30 A.M.! Thank goodness it’s the weekend—I’m sleeping all day.”
“You know you’re always beautiful, no matter what. But no makeup and a messy bun is my favorite Mack look.”
