Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
SUTTON
Out of the twenty college players, I recognized at least thirteen of them from the occasional college game I caught on TV. The seven I didn’t know much about, I was interested to see their skill on the court.
Montview’s admission was fiercely competitive. It had been when I’d been at college, with only one player on my college team being offered a place.
A buzz of excitement hummed to life at being involved in supporting these young players.
I loved the game, always had, and while I wanted to move on to a position where I could put my degree to good use, there was something incredible about being here on this court.
High energy vibrated around the room as Coach spoke, and all twenty guys’ gazes drifted over the three new coaches. Taking in some wide eyes, a few whispers, and a couple of double takes, I could admit to myself that this was a heady feeling.
Sure, every time I was on the court, the rush was indescribable. Being here with players who were on the cusp of greatness, striving for their own kick-ass careers in the League, though, was something special.
After Coach did the intros, he split the group into teams, directing them to have ten-minute games. It allowed us to sit and watch the players perform.
While I knew our invite was based on my relationship status with Jayden, and hopefully being here would cut through any tension or uncertainty for queer, gay, or bi players, I wanted to get out on the court and prime their existing skills.
“Damn, Holland’s got some talent,” Jayden said at my side. Everyone in earshot nodded.
The kid was fast.
“Jimmy Lindt,” one of the full-time coaches we hadn’t met yet said, introducing himself and passing out some paperwork. “Here’s some basic stats on the players for you to look over.”
Immediately, I dug in, keeping half an eye on the court and the other skimming over the twenty names, their stats, and basic details. The Holland kid was just nineteen. But his age didn’t hold him back against some of the guys who had a couple of years on him.
“The players here this year are a good bunch,” Jimmy carried on, taking a seat in the middle of us. “There’s been the usual sort of dick-measuring going on, but after two weeks, it’s clear some are moving on and no longer feel the need.”
I bobbed my head, still half listening as he continued to give us more of a breakdown. Eddie, Paul, and Milo pitched in, giving their two cents on their observations of the players.
You could discover a lot about a player in a couple of training sessions and games. A whole two weeks of intensive strategy, and that knowledge moved to building an understanding of the person, rather than just the player.
I cast a sneaky look to Jayden. Since he caught my smile and winked, my attempt to be stealthy failed. But that was okay. I sent him a warm smile, remembering the first time we’d played off on the court during camp as kids.
He’d been cocky and fun, sure of himself.
The first time I’d really noticed, though, was when he’d screwed up a pass.
It had been an amateur move, and he was ribbed for it by other players.
I’d been expecting him to kick off or maybe even be embarrassed.
Instead, fourteen-year-old Jayden had surprised the hell out of me by smiling, rolling his eyes at himself, admitting his screwup before he went on to legit saying out loud where he screwed up and what he should have done to get it right.
Not long after that, he’d winked right at me and gone ahead and played ball.
The group played for a while longer before Coach pulled them up.
We all rose and headed to the court. Once there, Coach split them up into three groups, and Milo—thank Christ—took the lead and led them to the far right of the court, me in tow, curious about Milo’s style and plans while questioning what the hell I’d been thinking by agreeing to this.
I stood by, hoping I didn’t show my growing nerves. Heck, half an hour ago, I’d been keen. Now, with seven college kids staring at me, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty on their features, I hoped to hell I didn’t screw this up.
The group hunkered down as Milo started picking apart their moves, intermittently offering praise, then following up with a reflection exercise asking for one thing they did well and one thing they needed to focus on.
I half expected eye rolls and sneers at such an exercise, but either Milo had already whipped out that reaction, or they were simply good kids. Well, young men, since I knew a couple were twenty-one.
Reflective practice was essential in this sport, though. It was the only way to improve your game and excel.
“Jacobs,” Milo continued, “you need to be upping your focus in zone defense.” Jacobs winced a little at that, which I understood. So often defenders were focused on one-on-one, but it didn’t mean players shouldn’t know how to defend a zone properly. “Sutton, what do you think?”
I nodded, checking, “Jacobs, right?” The dark-haired player nodded in response.
“Zone defense is a great way to slow the game down. Use it to your advantage. Let it give you and your team the time needed to take control of the game and the play’s tempo.
” I cast a quick glance at Milo, who stood back, arms crossed, smiling and nodding in agreement.
“Remember, no layups in zone defense. Plus, talk to each other. At this stage, you’re not mind readers. Sure, when you’ve played for a while together, there’ll be some of your teammates you gel with, can read from a simple look or read of their play, their body language,” I explained.
“Like you and Moore, right, Coach Sutton?”
Immediately alert, I flipped my attention to the redheaded kid who’d seemed too gangly to be a player.
But since I’d seen him on the court, that impression didn’t hold.
When my gaze snagged his, I’d expected cockiness to be staring back at me.
Instead, curiosity filled his features, and there was no sass or derision in his tone.
“Yeah,” I finally answered, keeping my tone neutral and focusing on Moore my teammate, rather than Jayden my… fake fiancé? “On the court, we don’t need to share a word most of the time. We got to that point by hours of practice, of studying replays—”
“—of hooking up,” a wiseass said alongside a ridiculous cough.
“Murphy.” Milo stepped in immediately. “Pipe down unless you want you and your team to run laps until you collapse.”
Murphy, a guy who was quick on his feet, simply grinned, hands held up in a defensive gesture. “No disrespect, Coach Sutton,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “Just pointing out that being… uhm… friendly off the court has to mean you can read each other on a whole other level, right?”
I glanced around the small group. All of their attention was on me.
The need to deflect niggled at me, but then I remembered one of the reasons why we were here. Why we’d been invited.
The only way to cut through the bullshit and negativity surrounding queer players was to tackle this head-on.
When Milo spoke up again, I smiled over at him. “It’s okay, Coach. I can field this and any other reasonable questions,” I emphasized for good measure. Heck, I didn’t want a complete free-for-all. Nor did I want my private life to be at the center of gossip.
Taking a discreet, calming breath, I channeled the version of myself that could handle this and any other shit that came my way.
Hell, I was an African-American man with a good sprinkling of Polish in me brought up in a working-class neighborhood.
The amount of bigotry and prejudice I’d challenged and tackled over the years had been too numerous to count.
Why the hell not add in a queer label to that list for good measure? Somehow I held back my snort and focused on the young guys before me.
“Murphy’s right. Connecting with your teammates can improve your game twofold.
You have to build mutual trust and respect.
That’s not always easy, especially if you have a few mouthy players on the team who don’t know when to shut up.
” I quirked a brow and followed up with a smile to soften the blow.
Murphy and the rest of the group snorted out laughs.
“Having a player in your team who’s not gelling for some reason can hurt a team’s mindset, their morale.
Playing pro is so much more than you being a kick-ass player, and as clichéd as it sounds about there being no I in team…
” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “I know, I know, I said it was clichéd, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
If there’s upset in the team, it can mess up all plays. ”
Taking in the group, I hoped I wasn’t screwing this up.
At least they were listening or at least pretending to.
But shit was about to get seriously real.
For me anyway. It was kind of empowering that not a single person in this group would understand the significance of the words I was about to say either.
“Dissention in the group can spark from such minor things, like not leaving the emotions of a pointless argument in the locker room. Heck, it can be nothing to do with the team. Maybe you’ve had an argument with your parents, your girlfriend, your boyfriend,” I added for good measure, “and rather than sharing that and talking it out, you bottle it up, take it on the court, and end up screwing your team over.
“Then of course there are the bigger things. Perhaps bullshit you’ve read in the press. Maybe it’s one or two of your teammates identify as LGBTQ+, are queer, like me, and it throws you off your game because of some preconceived opinion of what that looks like or means.”