Chapter 27 – Tommy
“How the fuck could this happen!?” I roar at the top of my lungs. We’re in the locker room and I’m fucking furious. “We’re down?”
The first half just ended and we’re down by eight. This is fucking impossible. I swear I am about to snap somebody’s neck. Everything was going fine. First period was no problem, even after they sent Roy’s bitch ass in to guard me. I guess their coach thought that would throw me off or something. What’s he think I am, twelve?
That pussy’s got nothing on me, and his trash talk is terrible.
“How’s the ankle?” He asked me. I had to laugh. “Little sore?”
What a bitch.
But then came the second period, and we made some major fuck-ups.
“How do we go from nine up to eight down?” I roar, turning my attention to Tim McGowan, our freshman point guard who looks like he thinks I’m about to step on him, and that’s not too far from the truth.
“How the fuck did you drop the ball like that, man?!” I ask, getting right in his face. He’s sitting on the bench below me and it’s taking everything in me not to tear his head off.
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. He feels bad, and me yelling at him probably isn’t helping, so I calm down.
“All right, all right,” I say, waving my hand in the air. I give him a pat on the back. “It’s fine. They’re playing dirty and we all know it. We’ve all fucked up at times, don’t sweat it.”
I give him five to let him know we’re good and make sure he’s got his head in the game. I’ve been in since the tipoff and I’m feeling it. New Hampshire’s fouling us like crazy, throwing guys that play bench most of the season at us so they can swat us on the forearms, elbow us, foul us hard and then get back to the bench. It’s a dirty, despicable, cowardly strategy, but it’s working.
“Listen,” Coach says, stepping into the center of the room. “There are only so many bodies they can throw at us before they run out. We’ve just got to ride it out, and when they bring back their starting five, we crush them.”
“Hell yeah,” I growl.
“How you handling Roy?” He asks.
“Psssh,” I snarl dismissively. “Little bastard wishes he could guard me.”
“Well, you be careful,” Coach says with a warning tone. “He could try something again with you. Keep your wits about you.”
“No sweat.”
“All right, bring it in,” Coach says. Everybody stands and forms a circle at the middle of the room, hands in. “On three. Champions. One, two, three!”
“Champions!” We all roar, tossing our hands above our heads. Then it’s out of the locker room, down the hall and back onto the court. I take my position, with Brant, Joey, Tim and Charlie, the other forward.
It’s our possession and I can feels Grace’s eyes on my back. Her gaze is like fuel for my desire to win. Her presence urges my feet forward and my hands to shoot with utter precision. Just knowing she’s here to support me gives me more fire than any speech or any amount of money or trophies could ever give.
I get the pass and hand it over to Tim. He brings it up court and I take my place by the three-point line. Roy’s on me, playing cute by tugging on my jersey. I turn my back to him and take a step, bodying him out of the way. The ref isn’t paying attention, so I give him a nudge with my shoulder, knocking him back a step.
“Fuck off me,” I say, just loud enough that he can hear me.
Tim fakes left, then shoots me a no-look pass. I catch it and pivot, face to face with Roy, who’s looking at me hard. He’s sweating already. Obviously the game is taking a bigger physical toll on him, which is to be expected. I played the entire first half and I’m still in better condition than he is. Of course, it’s a guy like this that has to resort to dirty tricks to win.
“Guard me,” I taunt him. “Come on.”
I fake right just to mess with him, but keep my foot planted. He leaps back, then stumbles forward to get back on me. I grin and fake left. This time he doesn’t fall for it, but I didn’t want him to. It’s time for some humiliation.
I look left like I’m going to head that way, but bounce the ball with my right hand, straight between his legs. The crowd roars as I slip around him and catch my own pass, threading a line straight to the basket.
Two defenders double me, but I pivot on my left foot and go up for the layup. Right off the glass and in. The stadium goes insane. I head back up the court and point to Roy with a grin. He looks like he could kill me. As I pass the bench though, I hear coach scream at me.
“What are you doing, Tommy? Quit screwing around!”
He doesn’t want me provoking him, but I just can’t help myself. When I win, I want to win, and that means crushing the other team, and when it comes to Roy, I want to utterly destroy him. That son of a bitch almost ended my career, or at least tried to, and now it’s payback time. But I’m not going to stoop that low. I’m just going to embarrass him, blow his whole team away and walk off with the championship. Like a real man.
I flash a smile to Grace, who’s looking at me with a mixture of disapproval and awe. For half a second I feel guilty, but it’s washed away when I turn back to the court and see Roy heading this way.
Come on, you bastard. Let’s do this.
***
Fourth period. One minute left on the clock and we’re down one. One fucking point!
I dug us out of our nine-point hole and Brant went on fire down in the paint, dunked it twice and took a foul. But Brant can’t shoot a free throw for shit, and the rest of the team is getting tired. It’s been a rough game. New Hampshire’s been playing dirty and we’re all going to have bruises tomorrow from elbows and knees.
But the good news is, I’ve been handing Roy his ass over and over. Every time he comes at me, I’ve got something new for him. After I humiliated him with that between-the-legs pass to myself, he’s had it in for me, but he’s just outclassed and he knows it. It’s only a matter of time before he tries to pull some dirty shit on me again, only this time, I’m going to be ready for it.
We’ve got possession and Joey inbounds it to Tim and heads straight for the paint. Roy’s got his hands all over me, but I juke him and head for the outside of the three-point line.
The crowd is on its feet. I can feel the tension in the air. I can feel Grace’s eyes on me. I know her heart is in her throat. She wants this as much as I do. But I can’t think about anything right now besides the game. My hands, my feet, my body have to be in perfect sync with my mind. I have to pull out all the stops and carry my team to victory.
Tim takes the ball to the top of the key and sends a bounce pass to Joey. I cut left around Roy in case he sends me a pass, but he’s going for it. He busts out a sick crossover and blows by his defender. He’s heading for the basket and the stadium’s on its feet. This could be the one to put us in the lead.
But as he goes up, two players from New Hampshire double team him, and one of them hits him hard, swats the ball right out of his hand. It’s an obvious foul, but the ref doesn’t call it. The crowd goes wild, booing as one of New Hampshire’s guards scoops the ball up and starts to take it down court.
“What the fuck?!” I shout in the ref’s direction. He shoots me a stern look, letting me know to watch my mouth or I’ll be the one getting the whistle blown at me. This is bullshit. I’m fuming. That asshole’s gonna cost us the game!
But I’ve come way too far this year to let this happen. There’s no way we’re losing, not after what I went through with my ankle, and not after what I went through with Grace. The whole stadium has its eyes on me – the whole world – but it’s only Grace’s eyes I am thinking about right now as I race toward the ball.
He sees me coming and passes it off, but Joey’s right behind me and we streak toward him like a pair of thugs. We double team the guy. He tries to pump fake, but it doesn’t work, and when he tries to give Joey the crossover – I swat the ball away.
It’s loose!
The crowd lets go and starts screaming as I scoop up the ball and push down court. My entire team is sprinting behind me, but the court’s open and I’m going for it. It’s clear. New Hampshire’s five guys are behind me, but my lead’s too long. There’s no way they’re catching me.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see Roy closing in on me.
As soon as I see him, I know what’s on his mind. He’s going to pull some shit on me again and save the game for his team. Dirty son of a bitch can’t beat me fair and square so he’s going to cheat. We’re down by one, and if he knocks me over and gets the ball, he could save the game and take home the championship.
Last time this ended with disaster, but this time, things have changed.
“No fucking way,” I mutter under my breath. I can see him in my peripheral, closing in, hungry like a coyote. He’s close. I can hear his breath. Panting like a wild animal. He wants this bad, but not as bad as me. I can feel him closing in. My hand pumps the ball and my legs push me forward. Forward down the court, and further to victory.
I glance behind me, and that’s when I see the little bastard make his move.
He lunges forward like he’s playing soccer, kicking his leg out to slide tackle me. But this time I’m aware. This time I see it coming, and I’m ready.
I leap forward, picking both of my legs high up into the air, and Roy’s dumbass slides right by me. His foot hits the court hard and sticks, causing his body to buckle and sending him sprawling head over heels into the stands.
The crowd goes nuts, laughing, shouting, booing as I head for the hoop. This is it! I’m about to win the game. After the season I’ve had, I deserve this. My ankle is strong beneath me, the eyes of my girl are on my back, urging me forward to victory. I reach the paint, slam my foot down and go up, the ball high above my head.
Here it is!
The winning shot!
I flick the ball off the tips of my fingers, against the glass, straight for the hoop—