Chapter 10 #2
“Trying not to let you carry us for once.”
“Too late,” Jamari mutters, throwing a towel at me. “You owe me an assist.”
“I got you in the second.”
Coach gathers us, running through adjustments while we sip water and towel off. He’s calm but direct. Bellarmine’s not going to back down. They’ll tighten their defense, test our second looks, try to force us into jump shots.
We nod, listen, commit.
And even as I’m taking in every word, there’s still a flicker of warmth in the back of my mind—one I don’t try to shake. Because Theo’s up there, watching me from the stands, wearing my clothes and my smile, and I swear I can still feel his fingers in my hair from last night.
Basketball has always been mine. But today, it’s ours too.
Coach claps once to break the huddle, snapping us back into motion. The buzz of the crowd rises again, echoing off the gym rafters. I jog onto the court, refocusing, adrenaline already coiled tight in my chest.
The second half tips off, and Bellarmine wastes no time showing their hand.
Whatever their coach said to them clearly lit a fire.
They come out pressing hard, aggressive on every possession.
Every pass we make is contested. Every cut, crowded.
We lose the ball twice in the first three minutes, and just like that, our lead shrinks to one.
Coach is barking from the sideline. Jamari calls us into a quick huddle midcourt during a free throw.
“Settle,” he says, his voice low and steady. “We play our game. Let them rush. Not us.”
We nod. Refocus. Adjust.
I tighten my laces during the time-out. My jersey is soaked. My legs are burning, but it’s the good kind. The kind that says you’re pushing your limits. That you’re in this.
We get back into rhythm. Leroy draws a foul on a fake. Price finishes a tough bucket through contact. Dirk makes a block that’s going on every highlight reel this week.
Me? I fight for every inch. I keep my hands active on defense, chase rebounds like they’re personal insults, and hit one more midrange jumper that keeps the score tight. I don’t light up the court, but I hold my own, and I make my minutes count.
The final two minutes are chaos. We’re up three, but they close the gap with a corner three that swishes so clean it silences our crowd. One possession later, Leroy gets fouled. He drains one of two. We’re up by one with thirty seconds left.
Defense decides it.
We switch on every screen, talking loud, hands up. My guy tries to slip past me again on a fake, but I recover, body low, and force him into a tough floater. It rims out. Dirk skies for the board, pulls it down like a beast, and draws a foul as the clock winds down.
He hits one. Misses the second.
Bellarmine gets off a prayer with two seconds left, but it clanks off the back iron.
Buzzer.
We win. 66–64.
The gym erupts.
The bench clears. Arms wrap around shoulders, we slap backs, and someone grabs me by the neck and shakes me like a rag doll.
“You did it, Frosh!” Leroy yells into my ear.
“I contributed,” I yell back, grinning.
“Same thing.” Jamari laughs, mussing my hair.
The moment’s a blur of sweat, noise, and high fives. My heart’s still pounding as we huddle with Coach, who’s all smiles now. This was our last nonconference game before SEC play in January, and we finished strong. It’s not just a win—it’s momentum.
Coach gives us a short rundown on winter break training plans, reminders to check in with our strength coaches, and one last “don’t do anything stupid over break” speech.
As we start to split, Leroy claps me on the shoulder. “You heading home tonight?”
“Nah, tomorrow morning. Gonna chill with Theo tonight.”
He raises an eyebrow but just grins. “Cool. Tell your homie I said hey.”
I manage not to roll my eyes too hard. Barely.
I stick around long enough to shake hands, joke around, listen to Dirk talk about his plans to eat a twelve-piece bucket solo from KFC “as a reward for being a goddamn wall tonight.” Then I duck out to find Theo.
He’s waiting in the hallway just outside the locker rooms, leaning against the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket, that crooked smile already playing on his lips.
“Hey, superstar,” he says, voice low and teasing.
“Hey yourself.” I close the distance, drop my duffel by his feet, and lean in so that only he hears the next part. “Wanna come back to my room and let me be really inappropriate in ways that would make my Catholic grandma cry?”
He snorts, grinning. “Jesus, Caden.”
“What? She’s not alive to be offended.”
“Wow.”
“What?” I say, mock-innocent. “You coming or not?”
“Oh, I’m coming,” he says, eyes glinting. “But I’m not letting you talk about your grandma again while we’re making out. That’s officially banned.”
“Fair.”
We walk together back through campus. It’s quiet tonight. Most of the student body’s already left for the holidays. The air’s crisp and the sky’s clear. It smells like pine and cold asphalt, and Theo’s shoulder keeps brushing mine as we walk.
I feel bigger next to him, like I always do. I’m still holding out hope for at least another growth spurt. Gotta hit that six-four mark, just to be safe. Maybe I’ll start sleeping upside down or chugging calcium by the gallon.
When we get back to my dorm, I unlock the door with a little too much urgency.
Theo laughs behind me. “Subtle, North.”
“Whatever. It’s our last shot at real privacy. My parents are going to be up my ass all break.”
He steps inside, drops his bag, and kicks the door shut behind him. “Well, then,” he says, his voice low and playful as he walks toward me, “better make it count.”
I catch him around the waist, and in the quiet of the room, I kiss him hard.
It tastes like victory. Like sweat and Gatorade and something more—something that grounds me after the rush of the game. His hands find the hem of my shirt, and mine tangle in his hair, which is soft and easy to thread my fingers through.
I plan to make good on the promise to wear him out and make him hoarse from yelling my name.
But just as I lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, Theo lets out a small breath. “My mom called,” he says.
Not exactly the sexy phrase I was hoping would come out of his mouth. Still, I blink. “Yeah?”
He tugs my hand and leads me to my bed, where we sprawl out. “She said two envelopes came in the mail this morning.”
That gets my attention immediately. “The colleges?”
He nods, and something flickers in his eyes—excited, maybe a little stunned. “I told her she and Dad could open them if they came. I didn’t want to wait.”
“And?” My stomach tightens, but I try to keep it light. “Tell me one of them was UK.”
“Yep.” He smiles, soft and fond. “Got into both.”
My breath catches for a second. “So, what’s the verdict?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he curls one of his fingers in mine, eyes on the ceiling like he’s thinking of the right words. That alone makes me nervous.
“I’m going to accept the offer from Louisville,” he says finally.
I blink. My heart sort of stumbles, like it missed a step. “Oh.” It’s all I manage. Just one tiny, empty syllable, because what the hell else can I say?
Theo sits up a little, tugging me with him. “Hey—don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I just told you I’m moving to another country.”
I stare at him, caught between logic and disappointment. “I just… I thought maybe you’d pick here. You applied here. You got in. We wouldn’t have to do long-distance again. It’d be—” I stop myself before I say perfect.
Theo shifts closer. “It’s only an hour away. I can come to home games. We can do weekends. We can text, and call, and write dumb love emails.”
I try to smile. I do.
He takes my hand again, squeezing gently. “You know I’ve been going back and forth on this for months. And yeah, UK’s got a great undergrad program. But Louisville’s BA English track is better. Plus, they’ve got a sport admin minor, and the post-grad education certification is top tier.”
“UK has that too,” I mumble, even though I already know his reasons are solid.
“I know,” he says. “But it’s not just that.
” He draws in a breath, exhaling unsteadily.
“Being here with you every day—don’t get me wrong, that sounds amazing.
It’s my dream. But it’s also scary. Because I know me, Cade.
And if I saw you every day—walked by you on campus, ran into you at the rec center, watched you stretch before practice—” His voice drops, low and teasing. “I wouldn’t be able to not touch you.”
That hits me. Hard.
“I could handle the hiding,” he goes on, “but being that close and having to pretend I’m just your best friend or your study buddy? I don’t think I could. And worse—I’d mess up. I’d forget we’re not supposed to be anything. I’d grab your hand or kiss your cheek without thinking.”
I feel that in my gut, because… damn it, he’s right.
“We barely made it through Thanksgiving without giving something away,” he reminds me.
I flash back to the night we hit the ice cream shop back home. It was cold. He looked adorable in my hoodie, licking a cone like it was a challenge. And I—being the idiot I am—reached for his hand while we were walking back to my car. Out in public. Without thinking.
We let go fast—snapped apart like someone’d shocked us—but not before Mrs. Hightower spotted us from across the street. Town gossip number one. We spent the next ten minutes nervously laughing and fake arguing about who owed who ice cream, just to sell our “just horsing around” cover.
I remember the way Theo looked at me afterward. A little hurt. A little scared. Like he already knew this was the part that would suck most.
“I’m not mad,” he says softly. “I get why you’re not out. I do. But I’ve told you since I was fifteen that once I’m out of Gomillion, I’m not hiding anymore. Not at school. Not with friends. I’ve done the quiet thing for years. I’m tired.”
I nod. I want to tell him I’m proud of him. That I love how brave he is. That I wish I was too. But instead, I say, “I hate that I’m not brave enough to be that with you.”
Theo cups the side of my neck, thumb brushing under my jaw. “You’re brave in a hundred ways I’m not. You play in front of thousands of people. You train like your life depends on it. You let the whole world expect greatness from you, and you carry it like it’s nothing.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It’s not. But don’t act like it doesn’t count.”
I close my eyes for a second. “I just wish I could tell people you’re mine.”
He kisses me softly, but it’s deep enough to make my chest ache. “You can,” he whispers against my lips. “Just not the world. Not yet.”
I wrap my arms around him, holding tight. “You’re still mine, though. That doesn’t change.”
“Not even a little,” he says.
For a long time, we don’t talk. We just hold on. Breathing. Letting the weight of it settle without crashing through us.
It’s not the life I imagined. I wish I could give him everything he wants without hiding. Without waiting for someone else to go first. Without worrying that I’ll lose everything if I’m honest.
But I do love him. That part, at least, is crystal clear.
And I’m his.
Even if hardly anyone else knows it yet.