“Come on, Bry,” Marcus says. “Don’t hide from it today. You got this shit in the bag.”
The first ten seconds is the longest because Bryson is cold from spending an entire season riding the bench and complaining to me about it. He stumbles, turns the ball over, plays some of the most lackluster defense that makes Marcus scream into his fist, but none of it makes Ace shut up from the sidelines—not even when Gonzaga makes another two pointer and steals our lead.
“Pick your head up, Bry!” He claps. “Pick your fuckin' head up, brodie!”
I shoot from my seat, clasping my hands together. “Head up, Bry!”
Gonzaga’s point guard attempts another shot from the paint, but LaQuan blocks it and Marquise picks up the ball. He passes it to Bryson. He’s got the last ten seconds to make up for the first, and I hear Marshall in my ear, pounding his heavy hands together with Ace.
There’s no time left on the clock, so the game moves so fast that my head spins. Bryson bounces the ball faster than I’ve ever seen him and Ace talks louder, but the stadium’s screaming drowns out his voice. I just see the last of his words shooting out his mouth like they did during their first practice.
Whatever comes out makes Bryson so confident that he pulls up from the three point line with the last two seconds of the game resting on his shoulders. He hasn’t made a three pointer all season.
He falls back on the court from the energy he used to take the shot and the shot clock dwindles down with the ball swirling in the air.
Instead of holding their breaths, the stadium screams louder because Ace controls them too—telling them to get on their feet with his arms while the ball keeps gliding in the slowest trek to the basket I’ve ever seen.
It hits the rim and twirls around it while the buzzer sings. Now it’s my turn to hold my breath for Coach Williams’ team that hadn’t lost a game since Mama woke up in the hospital.
The ball twirls while the stadium vibrates with screams. It twirls while Bryson pushes his arms on top of his head. It twirls while Mama pushes herself up to get a better view so she can report back to Lucy, who couldn’t take off work. It twirls until Marshall gets tired and nudges it with his big finger from up in Heaven because there was no way all his boys whoalmosthad the it factor would lose in a once-in-a-lifetime moment like this.
“He did it!” Mama screams, clamping her frail hands over her mouth. “It went in! He did it!”
There’s one thing those reporters forgot to mention in their description of today. They didn’t say how breathtaking it would be to see Coach Williams’ losing team run out onto that court with their fists in the air and confetti fluttering around their heads. They didn’t even warn me about the tears that would come after Ace dodges everybody and dashes toward me.
He climbs over chairs and into the stands and picks me up. As soon as he makes it back onto the court with me in his arms, his biggest fear swarms us with cameras and microphones. I don’t even get a chance to taste his lips because they want what’s mine. They want his thoughts and to capture his first expressions and they’re banking on Jim Nantz to get it for them.
He grips Ace on his forearm while the camera zooms into us. “You did it again, Kid. You did it.”
Jim Nantz’s skin is paler than on TV and after so many years of calling NCAA games, his hair is thin around the edges. White America’s relief is on his weathered face as he shakes Ace by the shoulder and then thrusts his microphone at his lips without warning.
“I’m here with Ace Williams. Talk to me about those last few moments of the game. What were you telling Bryson Sanchez from the sidelines?”
Ace swipes his face and pulls me in at the waist, dragging his wet hands under my shirt as if he needs to feel my skin to get through this moment.
He looks at me and smiles while he strings his words together in his head. “I told him it didn’t matter if the ball went in or not, all that mattered was that we were proud of him for waking up this morning—that’s the only thing that matters today, that we woke up and showed up for something so monumental despite all the obstacles constantly being thrown our way.”
The first time he talks to the world, the stadium gets so quiet I can hear his sharp breaths on Jim Nantz’s microphone. He sounds clear, crisp, and just like Los Angeles despite not practicing.
I reach up and swipe at the sweat dripping down his red face.
This moment will be at the top of everybody’s timelines before the team even puts their hands on the championship trophy. The world will pick apart his hand resting on my ass, my bedazzled shirt with his last name and number on the back that Cree made, and even the way he introduces himself to them for the first time with me wrapped around him like a safety net because he’s so damn scared of them.
“This morning, we saw you walking out of a courtroom in Los Angeles and now we’ve just watched you play the second most monumental game of your basketball career. All of this happening in just one day. Talk to us about how you feel after such a victorious day personally and professionally.”
His eyebrows furrow and he takes longer to string his words together this time because Jim Nantz is taking advantage of his own once-in-a-lifetime moment. He’s the first reporter to dangle a microphone in front ofThe Kid’sface and get him to talk in it.
I sneak my fingers up the back of his Jersey and stroke his skin to calm him while the stadium waits in silence. I peer around him and catch Bryson’s wide eyes on the cameras, lights, and me with a grin on his face.
His eyes get wider when I toss my hand up for him to come to us. Ace follows it out of the corner of his eye and there’s a “thank you” in the gentle squeeze he gives my ass.
“With all due respect, Mr. Nantz, this day isn’t for me. This is a first for my team and the biggest moment in their basketball careers. I want you to talk to Bryson Sanchez about how he feels after that fire buzzer beater. Today is for my brothers and my girlfriend’s dad, who played for Lockwood. He didn’t live to see this moment, but I know he’s looking down on us, pumping his fist for Lockwood.”
He looks up in the stands at Mama grinning with Marcus and Chelsea wrapped around her and blows her a kiss that Marshall laughs at in my ear.
EPILOGUE
Lourdes
