The vet, Leroy, guarding me slides into my space like he owns it. Nine years in the League. Arms like steel cables. Permanent scowl. He bumps my shoulder as soon as the ball comes live. It’s not hard enough to draw attention, but it’s hard enough to send a message.
“Don’t get cute,” he mutters.
I grin anyway, because my pulse is still loud in my ears from Coach saying my name like it mattered. “Wasn’t planning on it,” I say.
He makes a sound like a laugh that got strangled halfway out.
The play starts clean and then immediately goes to shit. Someone misses a read. Someone else overhelps. A big slips early. The spacing collapses in on itself like a bad magic trick. I see it unfolding before anyone calls it. The ball swings my way with eight seconds left on the shot clock. Perfect. I catch it, and for a split second—just a split second—I think of Rafe.
Not in any big, emotional way. Just a flash of him in the stands the last time he managed to make a game. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked in like it mattered just as much to him. Like he’d kill someone if they took this from me.
The thought is gone as fast as it came.
My body’s already moving. Leroy closes out too hard, heavy on his front foot. He wants me rushed. Wants me young. I jab once. He bites, and I drive.
The lane opens just enough. A seam. A breath. A narrow window that exists for maybe half a heartbeat. I take it and split two defenders. Feel a forearm dig into my ribs. Someone’s hand comes down on my shoulder, late but mean.
Pain flares hot and sharp. I keep going. The ball leaves my hand on instinct—high, soft, tight angle off the glass. For a fraction of a second, the gym goes quiet in my head. Then it drops clean, and the net snaps.
“Okay,” Marco mutters from somewhere behind me, impressed despite himself.
Leroy turns, scowling. “Lucky.”
I jog backward, breath coming fast, and shrug. “If you say so.”
His jaw tightens, and I hold back my smirk, knowing better than to piss people off.
Coach’s whistle cuts through everything. “Again.” No additional comment, and there’s zero praise, which somehow feels better. Praise means you surprised him. “Again” means you did exactly what you were supposed to do.
We reset, and Leroy leans in while we wait for the ball. “You talk a lot for somebody who still rides the bench.”
I smile without showing teeth, also knowing he’s full of shit, as I always play it cool and rarely get involved in smack talk. But the words spill out anyway: “You guard a lot for somebody who just got beat.”
Marco snorts from the sideline. “He’s got you there.”
Leroy shoots him a look. Marco just grins wider.
The ball comes in, and the drill rolls on. Fast breaks. Rotations. Shell defense. Bodies colliding. Sweat flying.Someone swearing loud enough that Coach glares at them like he’s considering murder.
At one point, I get shoved from behind on a rebound and nearly eat hardwood. My palms slap the floor. My heart slams against my ribs. No one checks on me. They just keep playing, which is how I know it’s real.
When Coach finally calls a water break, I bend over with my hands on my knees, lungs screaming, jersey plastered to my back.
Marco tosses me a bottle. “Welcome to the rotation,” he says, casual like it’s nothing.
I take it and bump his shoulder back. “Don’t jinx it.”
He grins. “Too late.”
Leroy passes by and shoulder-checks me again—lighter this time. “Not bad,” he says, which from him is basically applause.
I nod once, like I’m used to it. Like I belong. As my breathing slows, it hits me—not in some big dramatic way, just a quiet certainty settling in my chest. No one’s treating me like a rookie anymore. They’re not protecting me. They’re not ignoring me. They’re testing me. Pushing me and making me earn every inch.
Like I’m a real problem they have to deal with. And instead of wanting to shrink from it, all I can think isGood.
It sneaks up on me after that. Not the games—I notice those. I always notice the games. Every missed rotation, every possession where I hesitate half a second too long. That part of my brain never shuts off.
It’s everything around them that changes.
