Chapter 1
PENELOPE
Suspended between shock and fear, I abandoned the ball and ran to my sister’s collapsed frame. Blaring whistles, screaming, and fans’ shocked reactions accompanied the roaring in my ears.
“Naomi!” The fear in Sin’s voice touched the stratosphere. “Get the fuck off me! Naomi!”
“Mimi!” I cried, dropping to her side. Other players swarmed her as well, but no one was by her side quicker than I was—not even the team’s doctor. Reaching for Naomi, I fought the clog in my throat after seeing her lying there not moving.
“Back up!” Dr. Whitlock rushed up, reaching for Naomi the same time as Coach.
“No! Don’t touch her!” That was stupid of me to say, but I was scared that if he touched her, he’d hurt her. But she was hurt! “Mimi!” I cried again. This time someone yanked me up, pulling me away from my sister. “No!” Fighting against their hold, I had to get back to my sis.
“Naomi!” That was Sin again. Realizing I couldn’t get out of the hold of whoever had me, I glanced at Sin for help.
Only he was hemmed up, too, by several security guards.
His eyes were big, and like me, he was in shock.
The more he fought against security, the more of them showed up to try and handle him.
Within seconds, a stretcher was brought on the court for my sister. Freaking out, I busted out screaming and crying.
“She’s breathing,” Dr. Whitlock uttered. That should’ve calmed me, but it didn’t, because what the fuck was wrong with her?
“Calm down, PJ.” Fallon. She had me back by our bench, holding me back from the chaos taking place on the court. The crowd was eerily quiet, small murmurs reverberating throughout the building as we waited for Naomi to move. She never did.
Helpless, I watched as EMS loaded my sister onto the stretcher. Clearly shaken, Coach walked back toward the bench. She didn’t make eye contact with me. If she would’ve, we both would’ve broken. She was trying to keep her composure, but moisture was in her eyes.
“Oh my God!” On the verge of a breakdown, I was about to run back on the court when my teammates huddled around me and held me back. They had tears in their eyes as well.
“Ladies!” Coach came into the huddle. “Listen to me.” She took a deep breath, then blew out slowly as she fought for composure. “She’s going to be fine,” Bri tried to convince herself, too, that Naomi was indeed okay.
“PJ.” That was the first time Bri made eye contact with me. The panic there caused my eyes to well over worse than they already were. “I need you, baby,” she whispered as the crowd solemnly clapped while Naomi was carted off the court.
With tears streaming down my face, I nodded. As much as I wanted to run and be by my sister’s side, the referees weren’t going to call this game until it was over. There was still an entire quarter to be played.
Bri took my hands, not as a coach, but as my best friend. Right there, we prayed for Naomi—my very best friend, sister, and blood.
“Everybody good?” one of the refs came over to ask. They were about to resume the game as if nothing just happened, as if they didn’t see my fucking blood collapse to the floor.
“Let’s get this over with, ladies!” Bri was back in coach mode.
I knew what she was saying. We had to not only go out here and play every single play but win.
We had to run this time off the clock, so that she and I could go where our hearts wanted to go—to be with Naomi.
Yes, we loved the game of basketball but not more than each other.
A whistle sounded, signaling us to return to the court.
I dried my eyes, sniffled, and dried them again as I trudged onto the court.
Fans stood to their feet, cheering for us as we prepared to do what none of us wanted to right now.
We were still shaken up, but the game had to continue.
It was seeing the sadness on the other players’ faces that had me about to start crying again.
I had to get through this. If not for me, then for Naomi.
She’d kill my ass if I bombed this shit.
Lesha, Naomi’s backup point guard, joined me in the back court.
Sure, she and I meshed well together in the back court.
Lesha and I were like peanut butter and jelly, but Naomi and I went together like Kool-Aid and sugar—you can’t have one without the other.
As if she understood her assignment, Lesha came up and dapped me.
“We got this, boo,” she decreed. Nodding, I agreed with her.
Everyone took their places on the court while my eyes strayed courtside where Sin sat. He wasn’t there. My head briefly bowed, knowing he’d taken off to go after Naomi. I wanted to go with him!
Glancing over to the same spot, Zoo’s eyes met mine. His face was sternly set, but his eyes softly beheld mine.
“I’m here,” he mouthed. Eyes watering again, I blinked them back.
Next to Zoo, Brooklyn’s gaze followed Coach as she paced the sideline. Concern lined his face.
Another whistle sounded, snapping my attention to Lesha, who stood out of bounds with the ball.
“Ready?” she asked.
Regardless of if I was ready or not, the referee blew his whistle, signaling the start of the game.
You’ve got this, Penelope, I coached myself through the remainder of the game. I couldn’t tell you one play I executed because my mind was with Naomi; not even when the ending whistle sounded and the crowd roared with glee that we’d won. I wasn’t in a celebratory mood.
Tears threatened to fall as I quickly did my sportsman-like duties and shook hands with the Stars’ players, my former teammates. I hadn’t thought about them as such until now. Before Naomi collapsed, I was dead set on winning this series. Now, I didn’t give a fuck. I just wanted my sister.
As security led me and my team toward the tunnel, Zoo came into view. He and Brooklyn stood near the entrance.
“Escort those two back,” I ordered one of the guards. He went off to do as I requested. Head down, I continued to the locker room with my teammates. An arm went around my shoulders. Bri squeezed me.
“We’re almost done,” she said, choking up.
I had to hold my shit together a little while longer. This night needed to hurry and be over because the dam was about to break.
Inside the locker room, I quickly showered, threw on my clothes minus my heels, and slid into a pair of slippers instead.
With a heart heavy, I fought back tears as I gathered my things.
I received several hugs and words of encouragement from the rest of the team, some telling me they’d be at the hospital in support.
While I thanked them, nothing was going to make me feel better until I laid eyes on Naomi.
My cellphone buzzed in my purse. I already knew it was my parents before looking at the screen. I had to ignore them for right now. If I talked to them, I’d surely not make it through this interview.
Regardless of how I felt, the reporters were waiting for my post-game statement. Once I finished that bullshit, I could go be with Naomi.
Coming out of the locker room, I locked eyes with Zoo. He extended his hand to me, which I took. His firm hold on my hand was comforting. With his other hand, he took my things.
Security led us to the podium where I would sit to interview. Many reporters packed the conference room where interviews were taking place. Some of their faces were set in somber expressions while others were greedy for a story and could really give a fuck.
“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Zoo informed me.
Gulping, I slipped my hand from his, climbed the few stairs to the stage, and took my place behind the table. Looking out over the crowd, my eyes watered at the fact that Naomi should’ve been sitting right beside me.
“Only three questions.” That was Bri, who had joined Zoo and Brooklyn just outside of the cameras’ view.
“Congratulations on advancing to the semi-finals!”
“Any word on Naomi?”
“How did you feel out there?”
“What was your strategy for tonight’s game?”
Several reporters spoke at the same time, but I addressed the more important one first.
“I won’t speak on my sister at this time.” Hell, I didn’t even know what was going on with Naomi, and it was rude of them to question me about something that should’ve remained private until the information was offered to them.
Again, several questions flew out with me picking up on the one that sounded the most offensive.
“You scored eighteen points tonight, hardly your best game, but your team pulled through. What’s your strategy going into the semi-finals with a better scoring team in Denver?”
Armani was a smooth, Black dude who knew he was fine and acted like many Black people were beneath him.
I knew of him because he was one of the reporters with a big-time sports station that talked hella shit about women’s sports.
He for one couldn’t stand women’s basketball but pretended to like it for the sake of his job.
Not to mention, he’d done a five-minute monologue on why I’d “regret” leaving New York the way that I did.
“I scored eighteen points, had ten rebounds, and eight assists. When is achieving a double-double not having a good game?” Especially after my fucking sister collapsed on the court! I wanted to scream. “As far as my strategy, I intend to do what I do best and play my position.”
Armani blinked at me, and I blinked at him. He wasn’t about to try and make me look inadequate without me checking him for it.
“Coming into the series, you seemed a little nervous,” he continued, but was cut off by another reporter.
“First off, congratulations on advancing, and I pray your sister is okay.” Malaysia was a part of the same network as Armani, only she seemed genuine enough. “How was it going up against your old teammates? A few times, there seemed to be some back and forth between you and them.”
Gina’s ass was the issue. She kept talking shit, and I wasn’t for the shit-talking.