Chapter 30
CLAY
We roll up to LA riding a high, having won our first two series, doing what the oddsmakers said we couldn’t.
Only now, we’re staring down the barrel of the defending champions—in their building. Kyle’s still out and my knee is questionable.
There’s no mistaking we’re underdogs as we take the court.
The first quarter is like watching a car wreck.
Atlas gets caught in the perimeter where he can’t shoot or guard.
Jay gets double-teamed by bigger guards.
Miles misses his first four attempts from deep.
Rookie tries unsuccessfully to take the ball into the paint, only to get turned over by more experienced guys.
If I questioned how much trouble we’d face in LA, now I have my answer.
The Kodiaks were going in like David versus Goliath, and Goliath steamrolled us.
Forty-eight minutes of scrappy game play leave us bruised and bloodied.
In the locker room, my guys are deflated.
“If we’d had Kyle…” Rookie starts.
“Kyle doesn’t give a shit,” Jay replies.
“They’re too good.” Atlas shakes his head.
“Don’t put this on them,” I interrupt as I change my shoes. “You want to look at what to fix, you look at us. We let them do this.”
I kick my locker and stalk out of the locker room to cool off.
Harlan’s pacing the hall.
“You want to say something?” I call to him, and he stops.
“It was a good run. You took this team farther than we had any business going. It’s been a rough couple of years, and you’re showing up as professionals. You put the team ahead of yourself, and that’s all I can ask.”
I stare down the tunnel toward the lights.
No.
We’re not giving up.
I pull out my phone and text Nova.
Clay: Do you still have that flag?
I place a call, and twenty minutes later, the entire starting lineup plus Harlan is piling into a limo.
“Where we going?” Rookie asks.
“It better have a drink,” Atlas grumbles.
Nova and Brooke tuck in too, Waffles in Brooke’s lap.
The mood is rough. When we pull up in front of our destination and pile out, the guys eye the business’s sign skeptically.
I hold the door, and Nova leads the way, everyone heading inside. I shake hands with my artist.
“Was wondering when you’d be by for your next tattoo.”
I hold up the flag and point at the bear in the center. “I want that.”
“Where?” Jay asks.
I tug my shirt over my head, pointing to an empty spot on my chest next to my heart.
“Been saving a spot. I thought it would be for when I won the championship, but I was wrong. It was for this team. Because I’ve played ball a few places, but nowhere like this one.
This team makes the most of what it’s given.
This team fights, even when it’s hard. This team looks out for one another, on and off the court. ”
I take my seat, my gaze connecting with Nova’s as the artist starts his work.
A throat clears.
Jay.
“Yeah, I want one too.”
My chest expands. I hold up a fist, and Jay bumps it with his.
“And me.” We both look over to see Rookie eyeing the banner.
“You mean like a little baby bear?” Miles drawls.
Rookie shoulder-checks him, and Miles only laughs.
“And me.” Miles.
“I’m shocked you’d want a tattoo of something other than your own face,” I say.
“Haha. There are things I love as much. Sorry, Waffles.”
“Me.” Atlas.
It’s easy to stick together when things are going smoothly, harder when we’re down and fighting back. But that’s when it matters.
I’m risking my reputation and my legacy on this. And I’ve never felt more alive.
“Can you do it?” I ask my guy, adrenaline pounding through my veins as though we’re in another game.
The tattoo artist looks around in bewilderment. “Four more?”
“Not four. Five,” Harlan says, and we all turn to stare at him.
Miles beams. “Tell me you’ll get it on your neck. Just, like, a big old neck tat—”
“Don’t press your luck.”
The artist shakes his head. “No way I can do that many tonight. Maybe two. I suppose I can call another of my artists as a favor.”
I nod my thanks as he reaches for his phone.
Hours later, we spill back onto the street. Harlan pulls me aside.
“Whatever happens, I’m proud of what you’ve done. We’ve had our problems, but I only ever wanted to see you succeed.” He claps a hand on my shoulder.
I turn back to my guys, who’re comparing tattoos.
“Rest up tomorrow. Then we go back in there for game two,” I say.
“And we play like family. They might be fast and strong, but I promise you, that’s one thing LA doesn’t have.
We don’t think about Kyle or anyone except the guys who show up in a Denver jersey to work every day. They’re mercenaries. We’re Kodiaks.”
There’s a chorus of agreement.
Harlan folds his arms, the same resolved fire sparking in his eyes. “What about you, Wade? You ready to take it to LA in your old house?”
My hands fist at my sides as the fresh ink seeps into my chest under my shirt.
“It was always a rental.”