The arena lights still hummed when the Lakers filed back into the locker room after the second preseason game, but the air felt different—lighter, like a knot had finally loosened. They'd beaten the Nuggets 118-112, and for the first time all camp, the offense hadn't sputtered like a rusted engine. Dalton had finished with 18 points, but more importantly, he'd dished 6 assists. His jersey was soaked through, but when he collapsed onto the bench, he didn't toss it aside like a burden—he grinned, swiping a towel over his face.
"Lila texted," he said, voice rough but bright. "Said, 'That pass to Davis? Not terrible.' High praise, coming from her."
Lin Mo laughed, tossing him a Gatorade. The cap popped with a fizz, and Dalton took a long drink, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You really meant it, huh? About getting me the ball in my spot?"
Lin Mo nodded, peeling off his own jersey. Underneath, the scar from his cracked ribs still peeked through—a pale, jagged line, like a stitch gone slightly awry. "LeBron used to do that for me. Rookie year, I was terrified to shoot in the clutch. He'd run this stupid play—double screen, drag the defender left, then hit me right where I liked it. Said, 'Confidence is just muscle memory. You make the shot enough, you stop thinking about missing.'"
Dalton's brow lifted. "You ever miss?"
"First time he set it up, I airballed. Fans booed, I wanted to crawl into the tunnel. But he clapped me on the back and said, 'Next time, just aim for the net, not the crowd.'" Lin Mo paused, grinning. "Next time, I made it. Muscle memory."
Maya, the rookie guard, wandered over, her sneakers squeaking on the tile. She'd scored 12 points off the bench, her quick cuts leaving Nuggets defenders stumbling. "Can we run that play again tomorrow? The one where you fake the pass to Davis, then hit me in the corner? It felt… easy."
"Easy's good," Lin Mo said. "Easier than forcing it, anyway."
Later, as the locker room emptied, Dalton lingered. He held up his phone—a video of Lila, sitting on a hospital bed (she'd had a checkup that day), screaming "THAT'S MY BROTHER!" when he hit the three in the fourth quarter. "She hasn't been this excited since they approved her new meds," he said, voice tight.
Lin Mo clapped his shoulder. "That's why we pass. Not for stats. For that."
Dalton nodded, then held out a fist. "Tomorrow? Let's make her scream louder."