I missed Daedae POV and ik yall did too so here ya go!
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DaeDae Watkins-Graham | 19
"Alright, time!" Coach Jones shouted, his voice cutting through the gym.
I exhaled hard, hands resting on my head, sweat pouring down my face from the suicides we just finished. My lungs burned, and my legs felt like they could give out at any second.
I dragged myself over to the bleachers, where Trey was already gulping down water like it was the last bottle on Earth.
"Man, they tryna kill us out here," Trey said, wiping his face. I nodded, too out of breath to say much. I grabbed my water bottle and sat down next to him, taking slow, deep breaths before bringing the bottle to my lips.
"First game next week," Trey reminded me. I nodded again, this time with a small smile creeping in.
I'd been waiting for this moment.
The first game of the season, and I knew my family was gonna be there to watch me. It was the one thing keeping me going through practices like this.
"Daedae!" Coach yelled, and my head snapped up. Two police officers stood behind him, arms crossed, and an uneasy feeling settled in my gut.
I glanced at Trey, who was already giving me a wide-eyed look like, What the fuck?
"Come on over," Coach waved me toward him. Reluctantly, I stood up and walked over, my legs feeling heavier with every step.
"They need to talk to you," Coach said before stepping away, leaving me standing there alone with the officers.
The moment he left, my mind started spinning. I knew what this was about. I knew this was coming, but I wasn't ready. Not now. Not here.
I had tried to outrun it, but deep down, I always knew this shit was gonna catch up with me.
"Hey kid. Big fan of you. Can't wait to see you play," one of the cops said, giving me a light shove on the back as he guided me away from the bustling gym.
We moved to the far side, where the other players were still dribbling and laughing.
The other officer leaned in, his tone serious. "What we're really here to ask you about is David Taylor."
David was dead.
I killed him months ago, and I thought I could bury that truth deep enough to forget. My dad said he would handle it, but standing here, I wondered if this was it—if they were about to arrest me.
"You knew him, right?" the officer pressed.
"Yeah," I stammered, shaking my head as if trying to shake off the memories. "We were homies at some point." I wiped my face with a towel, using the movement to hide my expression.
