Page 215 of The Locker Room

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XANDER understood the drinking. He did. Chris went back to Denver,

and Xander"s heart became a well-oiled machine with one function. The

only function.

Get the fucking ball down the fucking court and into the fucking

net.

It became his watchword, his mantra. The team would scream it as

he minded a series of ball-picks that would do a chess grandmaster proud

in terms of strategy. Every now and then he would get the ball and just

runwith it, and the chant would follow him as he charged for the basket,

and, yes, usually made the goal.

He had a shooting percentage of fifty-nine percent. And even

Coach had to bow before that, and even Coach joined in the mantra.

186 Amy Lane

Karcek had the ball? There was a play in motion? Then the

cameras would be whirring and the newscasters would smirk and all of

Sacramento was alight with glee as Karcek was told to:

Get the fucking ball down the fucking court!!!(Xander usually

added the “and into the fucking net” part himself.)

The audience didn"t get sound, but there wasn"t a sports fan out

there who couldn"t read lips, who hadn"t been looking for that particular

power word since sports had first made it to television.

It made the emotion human, and real, and Xander made it his own.

Get the fucking ball down the fucking court and into the fucking

net!

Xander stopped giving away all of his shots; he started taking a few

for himself. He never played selfishly—not once was he accused of

that—but… but… Chris wasn"t there. Chris wasn"t there to take the ball

from him. Chris wasn"t there to follow him through. He trusted the team,

because they"d been doing what he told them to, but with Chris not

there….

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