27. The Big Win
twenty-seven
The Big Win
I ’ve been holding my own. Had several three-pointers, but I can’t compete under the basket with these giants. At seven feet tall, Seiger can grab a rebound on his tiptoes. That’s why I’m the perimeter shooter, like I’ve always been. The sniper, they used to call me.
We’re deep into the second half, score tied, the crowd deafening, when J mouths. “Ready for the Elevator?”
I nod.
“Time out!” the ref calls and motions with his T hand signal, pointing. “Green team.”
Fine with me.
We huddle by the bench as J tells the team, “We used to call this the Elevator Door. O’s going to inbound it. McShotty here’s gonna steal it. Me and Dante set a screen for him while he spins and shoots. We good?”
Everyone nods.
Then fuck if, when the buzzer sounds, I don’t catch a glimpse of the stands. Erika’s on her feet with those beautiful blue eyes glued on me. Her hands are over her mouth, like she’s on pins and needles.
Our gazes lock for a fleeting second.
I don’t need her in my head right now. It hits me—what she said in the truck, about wanting to see me in my element. She’s wanted this. She came to see me. My mind goes numb.
“Damn, Kourt!” J’s in front of me. “What happened? You’re supposed to steal the fucking ball!”
“Sorry, man.”
“Get back in the game. We can’t lose you, man.”
Yeah, you could lose me and still win this game.
But I’ve already won. She’s here. With Ellis—but he doesn’t exist. Her eyes are on me. And it’s not a pending prank that I see in those baby blues. It’s desire.
Big O throws the ball in again—I come from behind, slap it out of Valencia’s hands and dribble back—J and Dante close the elevator doors behind me—a second later, “Three!” the announcer yells.
Three baskets later, the announcer roars to the crowd, “ McShotty’s on fire, folks!”
Damn right.
I hear the long-forgotten chant, “Mc— Shotty ! Mc— Shotty ! Three! Three!”
My heart drums as fast as the basketball. Yes, this is where I live. This is my court.
Dante shoots—it bounces off the rim. J wins the rebound, lobs it high over everyone’s head to me, waiting at the sideline, where he knew I’d be.
I jump to catch it, come down, jump again, arms extended overhead, flick my wrist, the ball rolls off my fingertips—silence as the leather ball sails through the air and… Swoosh!
“Another three!” the announcer booms. “The red team is up by nine now. McShotty’s a flame-thrower, folks.”
“Hell of a game!” The guys surround me. Damn, it feels good—not to have made a fool of myself. I don’t know if my knees are weak from playing, jumping, or relief. It’s over.
“You still got it.” J pulls me into an embrace on the crowded floor in front of everyone, his arm around my neck. I smile against this thick chest.
I’m surrounded by giants, backslaps and handshakes, thanking all of them.
It was fun after all.
Sheriff’s deputies and city cops hold the crowd back in the mayhem after the final buzzer.
“Gotta run,” J says. “Plane’s waiting. God, it was good to see you, man.” His eyes sparkle.
I think he did have fun.
“I can’t thank you enough, Bro. Tell them all how much it means.”
“Will do. Come see us soon, Kourt.”
Stepping out of the showers, the gym is still alive with people.
“Great game, Coach!” Trent’s the first to grab me. “I can’t believe you can play like that.” He pats my back.
“Lucky night. Thanks Trent.”
“Great game, Kourt!” I think that was the mayor.
“You were awesome!” There’s another back slap from someone’s big hand.
“Thanks.” I’m surrounded by a mob—old, young, men, women, even school kids—all congratulating me.
It’s great. I smile at each one, shake hands—but it’s hard to keep up. I’m flattered. They didn’t have to wait for me to shower. Truth is, I love the victory and the fans.
But right now, I kind of wish they’d all go away.
My gaze roams the gym—searching. Did she leave with him?
“Kourt! Man!” Chief Jones pulls me into him with a bear hug. “You won’t believe how much money we made tonight.” He offers his hand, and I grasp it. “Between this and the festival, we’ll get our new firetruck.”
“J came through for us. Thanks, Chief.”
Where is she?
I’m hugged, backslapped or my arm is squeezed by one person after another and I tell each, “Thanks… Appreciate it… Glad you came,” as my gaze keeps roaming the bleachers.
There.
She’s standing on the bottom bleacher, staring at me, in her trademark form-fitting sweater dress—that wavy hair falling below her shoulders, those blue eyes locked on me. That makes my heart pump triple time.
“Thanks… Excuse me… Sorry…” Sidestepping and pushing through the crowd, I only have eyes for her. The voices fade as my feet find their way across the gym floor with my gaze and Erika’s locked together.
“Coach.” Someone calls in the distance, but I don’t look back. I keep striding toward her. I could say I make a beeline to her, but I’m there in two giant strides. Her blue eyes trace mine and she blinks down at me from the bottom bleacher rail.
I grab her underneath her arms, lift her over the railing, and cradle her in mine as I turn to exit the building.
“Kourt, what are you doing?” She catches her breath looking into my eyes, startled, but curious.
“We’re going to need some bacon and some eggs.”
“McClain what do you think you’re doing? That’s my date.” Ellis yells across the gym through cupped hands.
Dick can’t even say she.
“Fuck off, Andrews. Date’s over.”