Chapter 16
Cal
The second I sat down at the broadcast desk, everything around me sharpened. The nerves I’d carried all week didn’t disappear completely, but they finally had somewhere to go. Work. Basketball. Live television. The kind of pressure I actually knew how to handle.
The media platform sat courtside near halfcourt, elevated just enough to give us a clean view of the entire floor without blocking the fans behind us.
Marcus Vaughn sat to my left reviewing notes while Terrence Cole leaned back in his chair like he had done this a thousand times before.
James Bishop adjusted his headset and looked over at me with a grin.
“You ready, Sinclair?”
I nodded while checking the floor one more time. “I was born ready.”
Marcus opened the live broadcast smoothly, his voice calm and seasoned, welcoming millions of viewers to one of the most anticipated games of the season.
Terrence followed with a breakdown of the Phantoms’ offensive identity without J5, and by the time the opening highlight package rolled, Marcus turned toward me.
“Cal, you’ve covered this team closer than anybody at this table. What are you watching for tonight with J5 back on the floor?”
I leaned forward slightly, letting the game pull me fully into myself.
“I’m watching trust,” I said, locking eye contact with the main camera.
“Everybody wants to talk about points and minutes, but coming back from an injury like that is mental before it’s physical.
I want to see if he plants without hesitation, if he takes contact without overthinking, and if he moves like he trusts the work that got him here. ”
James nodded immediately. “That’s a good point, because you can be cleared medically and still not be comfortable mentally.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “And from what I’ve seen, he looks prepared. He looks controlled. He looks like somebody whose team around him did the work the right way.”
I didn’t say Nia’s name. Not yet. But I felt it sitting on my tongue.
The first half flew by in a blur of pure adrenaline.
J5 absolutely delivered, silencing every critic with an explosive crossover and a hard finish at the rim that brought the entire arena to its feet.
By halftime, he had twelve points, five assists, and the network producers were raving in our earpieces about our on-camera chemistry.
During the halftime breakdown, I used the touch-monitor to dissect J5's lateral movement, pulling up slow-motion clips of his drives.
“Look at the plant here,” I pointed toward the replay, my voice confident and steady.
“He absorbs contact, keeps his hips aligned, and still has enough control to finish. That tells you his lower-body mechanics are holding up under game speed.”
Marcus glanced over at me with an impressed smile. "Beautiful analysis, Cal."
When the broadcast cut to a commercial break, I leaned back and let out a long breath, finally letting my eyes drift down toward the court level.
Nia was standing near the tunnel, talking to J5 with her arms folded and her expression serious.
Even from a distance, I knew that look. She was locked in.
She wasn’t celebrating yet—not until the game was over and he walked off that court healthy.
That was Nia. Always watching for what everybody else missed.
The second half started even better. The Phantoms were rolling, the defense was feeding off the crowd, and every time the opposing team tried to cut into the lead, Houston answered.
By the fourth quarter, the game completely belonged to us.
I was fully in my zone, trading banter with Terrence and delivering stats seamlessly.
Then, during a timeout midway through the fourth, my eyes strayed back down toward the bench.
I saw Nia scanning the crowd. At first, I thought she was just taking the moment in.
Then her face changed. Not much, but enough for me to notice.
Her eyes landed courtside a few seats to her left, and then she smiled.
A real smile. Warm. Surprised. The kind of smile that had no business making my stomach tighten the way it did.
I followed her gaze.
A man sat courtside in a dark suit, relaxed like he owned the place, with the type of polished, old-money posture that immediately annoyed me. He lifted his hand toward her. She waved back.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. My blood ran completely cold under the hot studio lights. Was this him? Was this the man she’d been dating? This guy?
Oh, please. He looked too polished. Too preppy.
Like he had never had to chase anything in his life because everything had always been handed to him with a signature and a reservation.
He couldn’t keep up with Nia. Not really.
Nia was fire. Mouth. Attitude. Softness when she trusted you enough to show it.
This dude wouldn't even know what to do with her.
“Cal.”
Jame's voice sharply pulled me back. I blinked once and realized Marcus had just finished a point, and the red light on my camera was flashing live, the lens shifting directly toward my face.
I recovered quickly, forcing my expression back into a smooth public mask.
“What we’re seeing now is Houston controlling the tempo,” I said smoothly, forcing my eyes back toward the hardwood and away from the baseline.
“The Phantoms have stopped reacting and started dictating. That’s the biggest takeaway from tonight. ”