Book IV of the UNC Series
Carter Blake has a bone-deep hatred for the world-and especially for the people in it. All he wants is to keep his head down, focus on school and basketball, and avoid the mess of human connection. After enduring years of...
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Music blasts through the speakers, but due to the roaring crowd, it remains mute to my ears. The floor beneath my feet trembles, vibrating with the stomping of the people in the stands. Tension pulses in the air, charging the stadium's atmosphere.
Sweat beads down my temple, accumulating on the collar of my jersey. My shorts hang so low on my hips that I keep pulling up, causing my jersey to slip over the hem—which I'm forced to fix every time I'm substituted.
Coach bellows instructions from the sideline, shouting at us to get back and defend. It's a close game, and we're nearing the end of the fourth quarter. This isn't the tournament Coach warned us about—the one offering the automatic bid into the playoffs—but a conference game that will determine our standing in our regular season, which will help us get a spot into the playoffs if we don't win the tournament. And the University of Brookwood from Alabama is putting up a tough fight.
I pant, struggling to draw each breath into my overworked and depleted lungs. I taste the telltale signs of blood in the form of metallic copper at the back of my throat. My legs are spent running back and forth on the court, and my arms ache from shoving and pushing players from blocks. But still, I force myself to run back, throwing my arms up to shield our basket.
With the clock winding down, we only have a handful of chances to secure a win, and with Brookwood always getting the equalizing point mere seconds after we do, it's frustrating.
Andre steps next to me, going to guard the player with the ball while I guard the shooting guard on their team. He huffs out a breath, whispering numbers in the form of plays to let me know that I have to mind a pick-and-roll play. I immediately become aware, the ball moving toward their shooting guard, as I feel the presence of a body squaring up behind me. I tense, readying myself for the impact. But it never comes as I sidestep, moving around him thanks to Andre's warning.
But my reaction comes a second too late. Their shooting guard leaps into the air, letting the ball fly through the hoop for a three-pointer.
Glancing up at the scoreboard, I internally groan at the sight of only ten seconds on the clock and Brookwood up by two points.
My gaze drifts toward the stands where Ryan and Carsen used to sit. Their absence there shouldn't make me feel a certain way, but it does. I haven't seen Ryan since that day, nor have I seen Carsen, and I'm sure that Ryan has already told Carsen about it. And he still hasn't come to find me, explain what I heard, or provide reasoning behind their decisions.
I crouch over, leaning on my knees as I catch my breath. Seemingly more winded from not seeing them in the crowd than the play I just ran.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Andre yells as he runs by me, resetting so we can defend.
I let out a shaky exhale, shake off their absence and run back.
Coach shouts, calling out different plays we could run as we sprint back. Devon dribbles the ball down the court as Andre attempts to block Devon's defender to allow him more space to move. I run, sweeping across the wing toward the top of the court as I take the ball from Devon. I stop moving, continuing to dribble as I eye the clock that winds down to the last few seconds. Deciding to take the plunge, I race toward the corner and jump, hoping for a three-pointer.
