Phoenix, AZ
6:43PM
Karely's POV
⸻
Your 6 year old son has been asking for his dad all day.
It starts small—wandering into Devin's closet, tugging at one of his hoodies like it might still smell like him.
Then it turns into sitting by the window after dinner, little legs swinging, asking for the fifth time, "When Daddy comin' home?"
You kneel in front of him, smoothing his curls back. "Soon, baby. Daddy's just at a game."
"But I wanna tell him about my shot," he says seriously. "I made it in the red hoop."
Your chest tightens.
"I know," you whisper. "He's gonna be so proud."
Later that night, when the house is quiet and your son is tucked into bed clutching Devin's old Suns shirt like a comfort blanket, your phone buzzes.
Book🤍: Y'all up?
You smile softly and hit FaceTime.
The screen lights up to Devin in a hotel room, hoodie on, hair damp like he just showered. He looks tired—but the second he sees you, his whole face softens.
"There's my girl," he says.
Before you can answer, a small head pops into frame, eyes lighting up.
"DADDY!"
Devin sits up instantly. "There my guy. What's up, champ?"
Dylan scrambles closer to the phone. "I miss you," he blurts out, no hesitation.
Devin's smile falters just a little.
"I miss you more," he says quietly. "You know that, right?"
Your son nods, bottom lip wobbling. "Why you gotta go so much?"
Devin exhales slowly. "So I can take care of you. And Mama. And so you can keep makin' shots in that red hoop."
That earns a small grin.
"I made one today," your son says proudly. "Just like you."
Devin's eyes soften completely. "You did? Man... I wish I saw that."
"He said your name when he shot it," you add gently.
Devin presses his lips together, clearly emotional. "Damn."
He clears his throat. "Hey. Come here."
Dylan leans even closer to the screen.
"I know it's hard when I'm gone," Devin says. "But I'm always thinkin' about you. Every game, every shot—I think about comin' home to you."
"Promise?" Dyl asks.
"Promise," Devin says immediately. "Cross my heart."
Your son finally relaxes, curling up on the bed. "Can you stay on till I sleep?"
Devin doesn't hesitate. "As long as you want."
⸻
After your son drifts off, breathing slow and even, you quietly take the phone back.
"He's been like this all day," you admit softly. "Missing you."
Devin rubs his face. "Kills me bein' away from him."
"I know."
He looks at you, eyes heavy with love and guilt. "You holdin' it down like always?"
You nod. "We're okay."
"Still," he says, voice low. "I hate missin' bedtime. Hate missin' the little stuff."
"You're doing what you have to," you remind him.
He sighs. "Soon as this road trip done, I'm takin' a few days. Just us. No phones. No gym."
You smile. "He'll love that."
"I love that," Devin says. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He watches the screen for a moment longer, eyes flicking toward where your son sleeps.
"Tell him I'll be home before he knows it," Devin murmurs. "And that Daddy ain't goin' nowhere."
You nod. "I will."
As you hang up, you glance back at your son—wrapped in his dad's shirt, safe and loved.
And somewhere miles away, Devin Booker falls asleep knowing exactly what he's playing for.
—————————-
🤍
