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There were two absolute truths in my life right now.

One, it was game day.

Two, I was losing my fucking mind.

It had been two weeks—two entire weeks—since I’d kissed Reese in that stairwell. Two weeks since we’d won the Miami Invitational. Two weeks since I’d seen Warren step out of that damn tunnel right behind her, which I still had no explanation for. Mere coincidence? The thought of what could have happened between them in that darkened hallway had driven me to playing my best game of the season thus far and our overall victory.

With the scrambled mess my head had been in, it was any wonder why I hadn’t played like shit. I couldn’t explain it.

I swear Warren’s eyes had been on Reese every time I’d glanced up at him during the game. And every time I saw it I nailed a three-pointer, or I had a steal, or I made one hell of a drive to the basket. I just couldn’t stand the idea that he’d once had something I hadn’t been able to attain, but something I desperately wanted. Not that I was the type of asshole who saw Reese as an object to possess.

Well…possess, yes.

Object, no.

I did want her, that couldn’t be denied. But for reasons that went far beyond the fact that Warren seemed to want her, too. I actually enjoyed being around her, even though she pissed me off more often than not. She fascinated me. Not to mention the fact that my dick reacted stronger to her than it had to any other girl in my entire life.

There had been very minimal contact between us since that game. I hadn’t visited her for any therapy issues, and we’d avoided each other on the plane ride back. I’d been afraid that I would have lost my cool if I’d opened my mouth around her. So many questions I wanted answered, yet I knew it wasn’t my place to ask.

And if there was one day that I really needed to shove all of this to the back burner, it was today.

Game day.

Our first conference home game. An undefeated record. A sold out arena, packed wall-to-wall with screaming, jumping Thunderbolts—the name of our student section. The resounding boom of The Baron as we took the court. The shouting of our names from devoted fans.

There really was nothing sweeter.

This was where I thrived. What I lived for.

I ruled this world with a vengeance.

I walked down our team tunnel in my sweatpants, street shoes, and zip-up sweatshirt with the hood up. We normally had to dress in blazer and tie for home games, but Coach would let us slide on it every now and then. My headphones blasted my warm-up music in my ears as I entered the locker room. I’d switch from Avenged Sevenfold to Eminem. From Godsmack to Metallica. In preparation for games, I needed hard hitting and angry. That’s what got me fueled up and ready to go.

Work hard, play hard.

And I played hard.

Jesse fist-bumped me when I reached our group of lockers. I pushed aside one headphone to hear him.

“You feeling strong today?”

I cracked my neck from side-to-side. “Today and every day, man. You?”

He slipped his jersey on over his head, striking a few poses while flexing his biceps. “Just call me Black Superman.”

“Yet another good porn name,” Boyd commented, slapping Jesse on the shoulder on the way to his locker.

“I got a porn name for you, Newton,” Jesse said. “How about Harry Small Cox?”

The locker room filled with the sound of laughter.

“The Hillbilly Humper!” Rafferty shouted from the other side of the room.

“Ben Sucking.” This from Colt.

“Dr. Deliverance,” I chimed in, bringing another round of guffaws.

Boyd looked unaffected. “It’s so cute,” he said, amused. “Y’all are just jealous ‘cuz we all know who has the biggest dick in the room.”

The laughter faded. It was true. Not that we guys check out each other’s junk or anything, but Boyd’s equipment was pretty hard to miss. Let’s just say, he and the horses his family raised had a lot in common.

I placed my headphone back over my ear and listened to Eminem’s “’Till I Collapse” as I put on my uniform. It was routine that it be the last song I listened to before I left the locker room. The lyrics resonated with me on a deeper level, especially after experiencing the pain of my knee injury. Because I would be here, finishing this season with my team and a weak knee, until my bones collapsed.

So help me God.

“Let’s go, everybody gather up!” Coach yelled moments later.

We all scooted forward, closing in around the three coaches. I’d had my share of coaches over the years, and players could easily tell when they were bullshitting them. But the one thing Coach Bradley had never been around us was fake. He gave his impassioned speeches and taught us life lessons because you could tell he cared. Hell, even when he was chewing our asses out you knew he was only doing it because he so badly wanted us to live up to our full potential. Never self-serving.

Coaches like that were rare.

“You all know what’s going to happen when you step out onto that court,” he said, moving his gaze back and forth between every player. “The lights are going to shine on you. The crowd is going to shout your name. You’ll see your numbers flashed all around those stands. And do you know why those people cheer for you? Do you know why they rally behind this team?”

We all remained silent, knowing the question was rhetorical.

“It’s because you give them pride,” he stated emphatically. “Your hard work and your efforts make these fans, this school, and this coaching staff proud to wear the blue and white. Dignity, gentlemen, is not something that’s borne of winning. It’s borne of inner strength and devotion and a collective trust in each other.”

Adrenaline ignited in my veins, feeling like electrical charges surging into my limbs. I took steady breaths to calm my system, controlling my energy until I had the opportunity to release it.

“Every time you step out onto that court, you enter into a battle,” he continued. “The weak do not win battles. The strong do. The meek do not win battles. The proud do. And individuals do not win battles. Teams do. You inspire others to fight behind you because you as a team are fierce. When you fight, you fight for victory, yes. But you also fight for pride. For the letters on your jerseys. For the opportunity to achieve greatness. And you, gentlemen, have that opportunity this season. The path to greatness is a hard-fought road and one that only the strong can overcome. So I ask you…are you strong?”

A murmured chorus of “Yes, sirs” echoed through the room.

He stepped forward, a vein popping out in his neck. “I said, are you strong?”

Everyone shouted, “Yes, sir!”

He yelled back, “Are you proud?”

“Yes, sir!” We all jumped to our feet, bouncing on our souls as we crowded into a tight huddle with red-faced Coach Bradley in the middle. Getting fired up.

“Are you going to fight?”

“Yes, sir!”

“What are we going to do?” I roared.

As captain, it was my privilege to shout the sacred question before every game.

“BRING THE THUNDER!”

We all brought our hands to the center, rumbling out “NCU!” as we broke it down. Leading the team, I pushed my way through the locker room doors, encountering the blinding flashes of the camera crews and reporters who had gathered, waiting for us to emerge. Ignoring them, I continued forward down the tunnel with purposeful strides. The lot of us no doubt made one intimidating as hell picture.

But, man, I have to say. There is no other high in the world than the feeling you get when you first step onto that hardwood and your home crowd erupts for you. Rising to their feet, NCU fans clapped and stomped their feet, creating that exhilarating sound of thunder that was distinct of all the NCU sports teams. I absorbed those sounds, letting them invigorate my body and spark fire in my blood.

But you could only revel in them until tip-off, and then you had to block all of that shit out.

Both teams had already warmed up, so we only had to get through introducing the starting line-ups before the tip-off. The five of us—Colt, Jesse, Boyd, Krys, and myself—sat on the bench as the arena went dark and the spotlights came on. The notes to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blasted through the speakers as the announcer’s voice came over the system. I was the last to be announced.

“Standing at six-foot five inches, the senior power forward, and your King of the Court,”—insert eye roll—“Caaaaaam Donovan!”

Heart thumping, blood pumping, pulse pounding…I ran down the line of my teammates, shaking hands and bumping chests. I riled them up a little more on the court as we all crouched in a circle.

“Who are we?” I yelled.

“NCU!”

“And what are we going to do?”

“Bring the Thunder!”

We jogged back over to the bench for Coach’s first play calls and a few last words. I stood there staring down at the dry erase board Coach held out to us, studying what he drew, when I got a strong whiff of…cherry fucking vanilla.

Did she wear it on purpose just to fuck me? I’d done so well tuning her out since I’d entered the arena. Now, when my concentration needed to be absolutely impenetrable, all I could think about was her. With that fragrance assaulting my nostrils, my senses were going haywire.

Don’t look over at her. Stay focused on what Coach is saying.

Well, that didn’t happen.

I glanced in her direction down at the end of the bench. She was watching me intently, her gaze roving down my body. Clearly, she didn’t realize she’d been caught. When we finally made eye contact, her eyes widened, looking horrified, and she turned away. I wasn’t bothered to find her checking me out. In fact, I encouraged it. What I was shocked to see was that blush. The girl could verbally eviscerate you like it was nothing, yet she blushed at being caught ogling.

Contrary as ever, she shyly peered back over her shoulder at me.

Because I hadn’t taken my eyes off her the whole time—and because I was the dumbest man alive—I fucking winked at her.