Page 92 of The Fadeaway
I gave this careful consideration and I’ve decided to go with wisdom from someone I know you’ll listen to, yourself. Ready? Winners want the ball. Yep, that's it. And if that doesn’t work, then just know, for whatever it’s worth, I believe in you.
Read it three times before I stand, knowing I need to get out there but wanting to let her words motivate me. A lot of questions and thoughts of Kitty pull at my focus, but there’ll be time later to decipher the way it makes me feel to know she has my back even when I’ve given her every reason not to.
Wes is waiting for me outside the locker room. Should have guessed. He looks me up and down carefully. “You good?”
I hand him the phone. “Yeah, all good.”
The sound of the band playing “Tequila,” the echo of basketballs hitting the wooden floor, I let it soothe something inside of me that I wasn't able to before Katrina's message.
Fifteen thousand fans are here. This is what I live for – doing what I love in front of thousands of people. Giving them something to hope for, to cheer for. For two hours, they get to leave everything else behind. It’s more than a game. It’s a chance to be part of something bigger than myself.
Wes pulls out the dry erase clipboard he held under one arm and glances down at what looks like a list. A long list.
"Got a few notes for me, Coach Dubya?"
He grins. "Thinking you should attack the basket this half."
I play my best ball on the outside–long shots, jumpers, and fadeaways–that's my clutch move. I’m real good at the fadeaway. The best. On the court and off. You can’t guard someone who shoots and moves backward. You just can’t. I’ve staked my future and my personal life on that one move.
"But they’ve got Louis down low. Man's a brick wall."
"Yeah, which is why they aren't expecting it. I think you can get two or three good drives off him before they adjust and then start looking to Z and Malone. Don't need it to work all night, just to rattle them and gain some momentum."
Florida Gulf is a fifteen seed - nobody expected them to give us trouble tonight. Wes is right, if we get some momentum and throw them off, they'll likely crumble.
"Alright. Far be it for me to go against your years of coaching experience."
Relief smooths out his features. “Alright then. Let’s have a game.”
Yeah, let’s have a game.
38
Joel
The busto the airport is quiet. We pulled out the win, but it was a wakeup call to how quickly the season could end. Even if by some miracle we make it back here next year, I know it won’t be the same without Z. He’s made me work smarter and push harder. Playing with a guy of his talent makes us all look better because we strive to be better.
Wes nudges me as I’m about to close my eyes. "Nice job out there."
"Yeah, you too. I know I give you shit about coaching, but you've yet to lead us wrong. And you didn't even have to give the heart pep talk."
"Didn't have to, someone else beat me to it."
Katrina.
Wes and I almost always sit next to each other on bus rides. Wes would never admit it, but I think he likes how I don’t sit and brood like him or Z. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind, getting things off my chest. But tonight, I’m lost in my head and he seems to sense that.
"So, she's your lucky charm, huh?"
Fucker read the text.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, "Had to make sure it wasn't going to mess with your head. I like the chick, but not enough to gamble a national championship on her words of wisdom."
"Yeah, I guess she is.”
“You know what your problem is?” Wes angles his body toward me, and I groan. Just what I was hoping for, a critical review of my shitty performance.
“What’s that?” I ask dryly, only humoring him because I know the fastest way forward is not resisting.
