I stood up and offered him my hand. He looked at it for a long moment, his jaw working silently as he wrestled with his pride and his desperation. Then, with a choked sob, he took it, his grip surprisingly firm. The tears he'd been holding back began to fall freely, streaming down his face in silent testament to the hell he'd endured.
"Thank you, Danny," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."
I pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back. "Welcome home, skipper."
I left him there on the park bench, a man who had been to hell and back, but who now had a glimmer of hope. Marcus Chen had tried to break us, but he had failed. He had lost his money, his reputation, and his power. And we had won. Not just the league, but something far more important. We had won back our soul.
---
