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Kyzeir locked the Mercedes-Benz AMG rental with a click of the key fob after stepping out of the sleek, expensive vehicle. He slid the red key fob into the pocket of his hoodie and strode confidently toward the entrance of Carter's Recreation and Fitness.
"Heyy, Scar," the older receptionist greeted in a flirty tone as Kyzeir walked inside. He chuckled softly, acknowledging her with a nod, which caused her cheeks to flush with a rosy hue.
Ignoring the signs on the wall that directed him to the various amenities, Kyzeir headed straight for the gymnasium. The rhythmic sound of basketballs pounding against the hardwood floor grew louder as he approached.
Entering the large gym, his eyes scanned the room, searching for Lawrence, his stepfather. He spotted him standing on the sidelines, whistle in mouth and arms folded, intently watching the teen boys as they tirelessly practiced their dribbling drills.
Kyzeir made his way over, his gaze sweeping across the court, nodding in approval at the players' dedication.
"Wassup, Pops," Kyzeir greeted as he approached the older man.
"Wassup, boy. Thanks for making it," Lawrence replied, smiling as he extended his hand for a dap, embracing Kyzeir like his own son.
"Where's Toot?" Kyzeir asked, noticing the absence of his little sister, Amerie.
"Her hairstylist canceled last minute," Lawrence explained, his eyes returning to the court.
"So I reached out to Michelle to see if she knew anyone since we're leaving for Disney tomorrow. She mentioned that Desiree has a friend who could help out. So, Desiree came by and took her for me," Lawrence explained, shifting his gaze back to the court.
"Oh, alright," Kyzeir replied, his mind drifting to Aubree at the mention of Desiree's friend, knowing that she was a hairstylist.
"How's the team looking?" Kyzeir asked, tugging at his chin hair as his gaze shifted to the court. He watched as number one skillfully dribbled the ball. The boy pushed off with his left foot, the ball bouncing rhythmically with each step. One, two, three, four, five—switch. The ball moved seamlessly to his left hand without breaking his stride.
"Who's number one?" Kyzeir inquired, not giving Lawrence a chance to respond to his first question. "That's Zyleel Howell," Lawrence replied. "And we're getting there, we just need a bit more practice," he added, addressing Kyzeir's initial query.
As Zyleel turned around, Kyzeir got a clear look at his face, instantly recognizing him as Aubree's younger brother.
"Remember, Jordan," Lawrence shouted. "Stay low, keep your head up, and trust yourself."
Jordan nodded, tightening his grip on the ball. He started down the court, the ball bouncing erratically at first. One, two, three, four, five—switch. The transition was a bit clumsy, but he kept going. With each bounce, his confidence grew, and by the time he reached the other baseline, he was grinning.
