Epilogue
Six years later…
“Jordan, slow down!” I yelled as our son took off running toward the basketball court.
He didn’t listen. Of course he didn’t. He was Kane Stone’s child.
Jordan’s little red-and-black sneakers slapped against the cracked concrete as he raced ahead of us, carrying a basketball that looked too big for his six-year-old hands.
His wild curls bounced with every step, and the number thirty-two covered the back of the miniature jersey Kane had custom-made for him.
Not twelve.
Thirty-two.
“Why he gotta slow down?” Kane asked beside me. “Let my boy live.”
Kane’s lips twitched beneath his beard as he tried not to laugh.
Age looked good on him. Too damn good. His body was still strong and covered in tattoos, but there was a maturity in his face now that hadn’t been there when we first met.
A few more lines sat around his eyes, and his curls were cut shorter these days, but he was still the same fine, irritating man I had fallen in love with.
“Your son gets that hardheaded shit from you,” I said.
“Our son gets his athletic ability from me.”
“He gets it from both of us.”
Kane sucked his teeth. “You wasn’t doing what I was doing at six.”
“I was better.”
“Scottie, don’t start lying in front of our child.”
I shoved his shoulder, but Kane caught my hand and pulled me against his side. He kissed my temple as we continued toward the court.
The neighborhood had changed, but not completely. A few of the old buildings had been renovated. The city had replaced the rusted fencing surrounding the court, added new lights, and repainted the faded lines. Kane and I had donated the new goals, and bleachers.
This was where it had started.
Before the drafts
Before the money.
Before the championship rings, endorsement deals, magazine covers, and sold-out arenas.
Before the mansion behind the gates.
Before marriage.
Before Jordan.
We had been two kids from two different towns.
Music blasted from a speaker sitting near the fence. The court was crowded with people waiting for the next streetball game to start. Little kids chased each other along the sidelines while the older men argued about who still had game, even though half of them had knee braces on.
The smell of grilled meat floated through the air from a smoking barbecue pit. Somebody’s mama sat beneath a tent selling plates, cold drinks, and slices of cake wrapped in plastic.
Nobody cared that two professional basketball players had just walked up, because it was normal for us to be out here. We were still Kane and Slim.
Kane jogged onto the court, and Jordan immediately passed him the ball. He moved slowly, letting Jordan chase him, but Jordan took the game seriously. His little face tightened with concentration as he stretched both arms out and shuffled his feet.
“Stay in front of me,” Kane coached. “Watch my waist, not the ball.”
Jordan nodded.
Kane crossed the ball between his legs.
Jordan stumbled, caught himself, and kept going.
“That’s it,” Kane praised. “Don’t quit.”
Something tightened in my chest as I watched them. For a second, I could see Kane as a little boy. The one whose father bought him a hoop even though he didn’t care for basketball, and the one who wanted so badly to make his daddy proud.
His father wasn’t here to see the man Kane had become, but Jordan was.
I glanced toward the sky and smiled softly. Vani was watching down on me. I knew it. I bet he wanted to take credit for me and Kane since he’d texted me that day to come out to play. The day we met Kane. If Vani was still alive, I’d let him.
My phone rung and I picked it up since it was my agent.
“Hey, Scottie. T. Perry called and wanted to do a movie about you and Kane. Said he wanted to call it Love & Streetball. How you feel about that?”
I smiled, looking out at my husband and son.
“Let’s do it.”