Page 1 of Going for Three

The roarof the packed stadium shook the tunnel walls as the team neared the entrance. I bounced on my toes, allowing my neck to stretch from side to side. Rolling my shoulders back and forth, I released slow breaths as I felt each of my muscles relax. We were going home with the win tonight. I could feel it.

“Give a round of applause for your Solaire Suns,” the announcer’s deep voice rumbled, sending the crowd into a frenzy. I clapped my hands in time with my racing heart before jogging out with the team.

The darkness of the tunnel disappeared in an instant. Suddenly, I could smell the hotdogs, popcorn, and boiled peanuts being sold inside the arena. Fans hung over the side rails, trying to get as close as they could without falling over thesides. They would do anything to get close to one of us, and it was comical. I would never be so pressed, but at the same time, I was me. As I was nearing the floor, a bad little mocha shawty appeared.

“Good luck, Mr. Most Likely to Win,” she cooed before she flashed me her perfect titties.

I whistled approvingly, offering her a simple wink without breaking my stride. Chuckling softly, I shook my head to rid myself of her juicy mounds. I loved me some chocolate drop nipples. She knew what she was doing, but it was game time, and nothing was going to distract me from that.

On the court, I joined my team as we began warmups. I felt confident as the ball came to me, and I posted up for a jump shot until I saw my father just beyond the goal. He was standing within the shadows with a woman leaning against the wall in front of him. His massive diamond-studded chain was swinging in her face, begging for her to play with it, and she took the bait. Something he said had tickled her enough to display her pretty smile. I shook my head, trying to focus on my shot, but he gripped her chin just as I was about to release the ball.

The sound of my missed shot was resounding. I cursed then turned away.

“Get your head in the game, son,” my mother’s voice broke through my racing thoughts.

My eyes found her a second later as she sat courtside, looking as poised as ever. Her brown skin glowed radiantly with youth despite being in her late forties. By her classy appearance and innocent expression, you would never think her husband was a few feet away, publicly embarrassing her. I gritted my teeth with a shake of my head. A part of me wished they weren’t even here. Every time they were around, they fucked up my aura. Why couldn’t that nigga go sneak off and be trifling in private?

Smacking the side of my face, I tried to get back in my zone. It was difficult, though. I knew there was no way my mother wasn’t aware of what he was doing. She wasn’t a fool. She was far from one, actually. I could bet every cent in my bank account that they’d be fighting about this in the hours to come. Preferably, after the game was over. I was not in the mood to be in the gossip blogs tonight. The internet loved talking about me and my toxic family.

I never saw the way she shouldered his disrespect and adultery as strength. It looked like weakness and fear. Maybe a part of her felt like he was the best she could do. Even though being the wife of a washed-up player came with zero fucking perks, she stuck by his side. Now, her lavish lifestyle was on my dime, so maybe that’s what she won by sticking around.

I didn’t have any proof, but a part of me was convinced she was doing her own dirt in the dark. If only that nigga could follow her example, everything would be perfect. I could give a damn if they were together or not. I released the fantasy of loving parents a long time ago. Now, at twenty-seven, my only prayer was that they sat the fuck down and shut up. Their every move was stalked because of his attempt at success and what I was able to do in my five-year career. Making the headlines was guaranteed for even the simplest things, yet the bullshit never stopped.

I missed my third jumper in a row while warming up, and I could feel the pressure of Coach Atkins’ eyes from the sidelines. He knew something was off because I didn’t miss. Ever. After the fourth time, he walked over briskly.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded while trying to get rid of the cotton lodged in my throat and the image of my father from my mind.

“Yeah. I’m good. Just a little thirsty.”

He paused, studying me intensely. The lights from the stadium reflecting off his bald head made him look like Mr. Clean. I snickered to myself but straightened up when he frowned. This was not the time to goof off.

Turning toward the bench, he waved for a water boy to bring me something to drink. A little Asian kid came racing over. I took the water bottle from him then tipped my head back. Despite my effort, the water did nothing to quench my thirst. Maybe nothing would because it wasn’t physical. My soul was missing something vital, and I had no clue where to find it.

“I’m good, Coach,” I assured him.

He remained cemented in place for a minute longer. “Okay. Get back out there.”

I returned to the warmup lineup, and for a minute there, I found my stride. I sighed in relief. I was confident now. Once the clock buzzed to indicate it was time to get started, I jogged to the bench. I’d successfully erased the image of my father and his victim of the night from my mind. The only thing that mattered was the game.

I closed my eyes and silenced the world for a second. The image of a little me conjured itself in my mind. I searched for his love for the game… When I located that well of joy, I used it to warm every vein in my body. By the time I reopened my eyes, everything was sharper and more vibrant. There was this tingling sensation on the tips of my fingers, and I could hear heaven. That music was the reason I truly loved this game.

Walking to center court, I got in position for tip off. A young baller out of Memphis approached on the opposite side. We slapped hands before I squatted in position. I ate rookies like this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He would be no different. A smirk covered my face a second before the referee blew his whistle. In a quick motion, I hopped up and tipped the ball toward my team.

No lie, I dominated the first half of the game. Every shot I took soared through the air, landing in the basket with perfect precision. I loved the sound it made. I didn’t get the nickname King of the Court for no reason. My shooting was on point, and it was the reason I’d secured a multimillion-dollar deal as the face of the Suns franchise. I was the opponent you studied extra hard for flaws before you played me. In the next three to four years, I would achieve MVP status… if only I could separate myself from my toxic family drama.

With a few minutes until the end of the third quarter, I heard bickering over screeching sneakers, labored breaths, and the static of the jumbotrons. I made the mistake of honing in on my mother’s voice. I spun around in time to see her haul off and slap a bitch across the face. Chaos erupted in the arena within seconds.

My mama and the girl were tussling while thousands of phones were recording. I raced over just as two men reached them to break up the fight. I didn’t like how rough the one who grabbed my mother was and refused to be quiet about it.

“Aye, you better watch where you puttin’ your funky ass hands.”

“Ain’t nothing about me funky, boy. You better watch your mouth.”

I looked him up and down with a sneer. “You sure about that? I can spot a couple things starting with that dingy red flag tied around your fat ass neck. I’m surprised you ain’t passed out yet in this bitch.” I began imitating how hard he was breathing. “Sounding like a member of The Fat Boys and shit. Looking like one, too, Pillsbury fuck boy.”

A symphony of laughter exploded around us. His puffy cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. A smirk painted his face as he straightened his posture.

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