Page 2 of Isolation

“Oh yeah, I have something for you.”

I reached into my gym bag and pulled out a basketball keychain. It was from a community event, a promotional item they passed out.

“Whoa! This is cool,” Mason exclaimed.

I tousled Mason’s hair. His curls were getting long—Danica would probably want me to take him for a haircut soon.

“Be good, and let your mom sleep, alright? She has a lot on her plate.”

Mason clutched the keychain. “I will, and you score a lot of points today, Daddy.”

I chuckled. “I’ll try.”

I noticed the time on my phone was 5:42 a.m. I’d be the first one to the gym if I left now. Extra reps and extra shots had been my religion for months, waiting for a chance that never seemed to come.

I headed into the kitchen and threw a K-Cup into the Keurig for Danica while I drank water. I opened the freezer and grabbed a frozen Gatorade to throw in my bag for later. I grabbed the coffee and took it to our bedroom. I set the cup on a coaster on the nightstand.

Part of me wanted to wake Danica up and tell her about the anxiety I was feeling, but she needed her sleep, and I needed to focus. Instead, I kept it moving.

“You good with your cartoons, ’cause I gotta roll, little man,” I confirmed, slinging my duffel over my shoulder.

“Uh huh.” He was already distracted by the TV again.

I stepped outside into the morning air. The sky brightened as I got into my car and headed to the gym. I prayed today would be the day I could tell Mason I got my shot, look Danica in the eye, and let her know I could take care of her.

I pulledup to the gym in record time, parked my car, and grabbed my bag. I pushed through the doors in an attempt to beat the rush. It was quiet except for my shoes against the polished hardwood and the hum of the overhead lights.

I dropped my bag on the floor. The noise echoed in the empty space. Momma taught me early that being on time was late. It seemed no one else on the team got the memo. Hell, fine by me. I’d take the solo time.

I jogged to the far wall, grabbing a ball off the rack. I palmed it, starting my routine. Dribble right, dribble left between the legs, and behind my back. I was thankful two years on the pine hadn’t dulled my muscle memory.

The bounce of the ball was like meditation against the hardwood. My heart rate synced with the ball.Bounce, bounce.I added mid-range jumpers and focused on them from there—elbow in, soft touch, follow through. The ball slid through with a clean swish.

“I see you, Bryant.”

I didn’t allow Coach Von’s voice to break my rhythm. I sank another shot as his voice boomed across the court before I turned to acknowledge him. He had a coffee in one hand and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He watched me with his game face that he’d perfected over fifteen years of coaching.

“Good morning, Coach. Just getting warmed up,” I said, getting the ball and tucking it under my arm on my hip.

He took a sip from his travel mug and nodded. “The team will be rolling in soon. Keep up the good work.”

My focus shifted, and I resumed shooting. Coach was watching,reallywatching, which he hadn’t done in weeks. He was usually too busy with Lowe, Pearson, or any of the other starters for that matter. Today felt different. His gaze sat heavy on my shoulders.

The rest of the team filtered in true to the Coach’s words. First, Tray and Julian then some of the rookies whose names I mixed up half the time. The draft picks from last season who came in with more hype than game. They gave the universal nod to acknowledge you without committing to a conversation.

Pearson—our unofficial team captain and starting point guard. Strolled in last, wearing earbuds and designer sweats that I was sure cost more than my first car. He had the swagger of someone who knows he’ll get time on the court.

“Gather up. We’re running drills before the scrimmage today. I want to focus on individual matchups and defensive rotations,” Coach said as we got in formation around him. I was slightly behind the first row, a habit of being an afterthought.

Individual matchups. My pulse kicked up. The one-on-one battles could change your trajectory if coaches remembered you when making lineup decisions.

Coach Von scanned his clipboard. “I want to see who can lock down and create their own shot. ISO drills first. Bryant, you’re up first.”

I was never first for anything, and a ripple of surprise moved through the group. But I had my game face on and nodded like this was what I expected.

“Pearson, you’re defending,” Coach added.

Classic coaching to establish hierarchy, putting the star against the bench warmer. It made sense.

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