Back on the court, the crowd is even louder. I spot Nicole again, and this time, she’s gotten the entire row to do some kind of half-baked wave. It’s a little cringe, but I love it.
Third quarter, I lock in. The noise drops away. I can feel the defenders’ jerseys brushing my arms, hear the squeak of every pivot and the slap of every high five. I even start calling for the ball. I want it. I want to show everyone—okay, maybe just Nicole—that I’ve got this.
There’s a moment, late in the fourth, where the game could go either way. We’re up one, but they have the ball.
I catch my man’s eyes. He’s quick, but also predictable. When he cuts, I cut harder, and my body hits his. The ball goes loose. I dive, scraping my elbow. I grab the ball, even though my head cracks against the floor and, for a split second, I see stars.
But I have it.I hear the whistle. Our possession.
Marcus slaps my back as I right myself. “Yes! I knew you had it in you!”
I blink sweat out of my eyes and look to the stands. Nicole is standing now, hands in the air, a massive grin on her face.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I line up for the inbound. There’s ten seconds left. Coach gives me the nod, and I give it right back.
We run the play. Marcus fakes left, and I see the lane open up. The pass hits me in the chest. I drive. There’s a defender in my face, arms everywhere. I don’t think. I jump, twist, shoot the ball up and over, and pray.
Come on.
It goes in.
The place explodes. I can’t even hear myself yell, but I do.
We win by three.
After the handshakes and a shower, I pull on my Comets polo and wander back toward the tunnel.
I’m still not sure what to do with myself, so I head back out, half-expecting the place to be empty. But there’s a sea of families, fans, and sponsors lingering for selfies and autographs.
I scan the faces, searching for anyone familiar. Toward the back, I spot them. Nicole and her dad.
Just go talk to them.
Swallowing the nerves, I walk up, hands in pockets, and try not to look as nervous as I feel.
Nicole sees me first, and the way her blue eyes light up—wide and unguarded—warms something in my chest. ”That was insane!” she says, launching into a hug before I can brace myself. She’s warm, small against my chest, and smells like citrus shampoo and stadium popcorn.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I just hold on for a beat longer than is probably allowed.
“You were incredible,” she says, stepping back.
Her father offers a businesslike hand. “Dominic, that was quite a performance. You single-handedly shifted the momentum there at the end. I was impressed. I knew you were a good addition to the team.”
I try to laugh it off, but his handshake is strong enough to break small bones. “Team effort, sir. But thank you.”
“We saw you go down pretty hard. Are you alright? Did they check you for a concussion?” Nicole asks.
“Oh, yeah. Totally fine. It’s not a real game if it doesn’t get a little messy.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between us all, but I jump in before I can talk myself out of it. “Actually, um, Nicole … there’s an afterparty thing. At the lounge here. Players and families. You wanna come?” I quickly look at her dad, feeling guilty. “You’re both invited, if you want.”
I can feel the blood racing to my ears. I’ve never invited anyone to one of these before, but right now, it feels right. And the thought of Nicole not being there at the end of the night makes my chest tighten.
“I have dinner plans with our investors tonight,” Mr. Farrarah says. “But I’m sure Nicole could attend.”
Nicole flutters her eyelashes at me, suddenly shy. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“Awesome.” I nod, once again trying for a nonchalant vibe. “It’s through that hallway, just past the trophy room. I can walk you there.”
