The week passed faster than Marcus expected.Each day, he pushed himself harder. He ran until his legs shook, shot until his shoulders burned, and passed until his hands stung. Still, the thought of the coming game stayed heavy in his mind.
It wasn't just about playing. It was about proving himself. Not to Walt, not even to the other players, but to himself. He hadn't been in a real game in years. The last one had broken him.
Game day arrived on a cool Saturday afternoon. The gym smelled of fresh polish and faint sweat from the earlier match. A few rows of metal benches lined one side of the court. Family members, friends, and curious locals sat scattered along them.
Marcus stood near the bench, tying his laces. He could hear the other team warming up sneakers squeaking, the ball smacking the hardwood, the net swishing. They looked younger, quicker, and more confident.
"Alright," Walt said, stepping in front of his team. "This is just a friendly, but I want effort. Marcus, you're starting on the bench. Watch the game, learn how they play. I'll put you in when the time's right."
Marcus nodded. He wanted to start, but he understood.
The game began fast. The other team came out sharp, hitting shots and stealing passes. Walt's team stumbled early, missing open looks. The tall player, whose name Marcus had learned was Daryl, tried to take control, but he forced shots and got blocked twice.
By the middle of the first half, they were down by eight points. Walt called a timeout.
"We need to slow down," he told them. Then he looked at Marcus. "You're in."
Marcus stepped onto the court. The air felt heavier, as if every eye in the gym had turned to him. He took his spot on the wing.
The first possession, he didn't touch the ball. The second time down, Daryl drove toward the basket, saw two defenders collapse on him, and maybe out of frustration tossed the ball to Marcus.
Marcus caught it, took a breath, and let it fly. The shot felt smooth, just like in practice. It swished through the net.
A small cheer rose from the bench. Walt clapped once. "Good. Keep moving."
On defense, Marcus stayed alert, watching his man's hips, not his eyes. When the ball swung to his side, he stepped in and stole it clean. He pushed the ball up the court, passing to a teammate for an easy layup.
By halftime, they were only down by three. Marcus had scored twice and made a few sharp passes.
As they sat on the bench, Walt spoke quietly. "You see? You don't need to do everything. Just do your part."
Marcus nodded. He could feel the difference in himself. He wasn't playing like a man trying to prove the past. He was playing like a man who belonged in the present.
The second half was tighter. Both teams traded baskets. Daryl still gave Marcus a cold look now and then, but he passed to him more often.
With two minutes left, they were down by one. The gym grew louder as the benches shouted encouragement.
Walt called another timeout. "We'll run a simple play," he said, drawing lines on his clipboard. "Marcus, you'll be in the corner. If you're open, take the shot. If not, swing it."
They broke the huddle. Marcus could feel his heart thudding. The play started as planned. The ball swung around the perimeter. Daryl drove into the lane, drawing the defense.
Marcus was open.
The ball came to him.
He caught it, set his feet, and shot.
The ball arced high and dropped through the net. The gym erupted. His teammates slapped his back as they ran to set up on defense.
The other team rushed to answer, but Marcus stayed tight on his man. With seconds left, the other player tried to shake him, but Marcus stuck with him. The shot missed, the buzzer sounded, and Walt's team had won by two.
For a moment, Marcus just stood there, breathing hard. Then he smiled. It wasn't the championship game. It wasn't the bright lights or the roar of thousands. But it was something.
After the handshake line, Daryl walked past him and muttered, "Nice shot."
It wasn't much, but it was a crack in the wall between them.
Walt approached. "You played well," he said. "Not perfect. But well."
"Thanks," Marcus replied.
Walt gave a small smile. "Next week, we work on your defense more. And your stamina. That shot at the end won us the game, but I want you to be able to take it without gasping for air."
Marcus laughed. "Fair enough."
As they left the gym, Marcus felt lighter. He didn't know where this road would lead. But for the first time in years, he wanted to find out.