The first City League game was set for Saturday evening. Marcus had been training hard all week, splitting his time between the amateur team with Walt and the new squad Hammond had assembled. His body ached, but it was a good ache, the kind that told him he was building something again.
On Friday afternoon, Hammond called him."Schedule's out. First match is against the Northside Hawks."
Marcus froze. "Northside?"
"Yeah. Problem?"
Marcus's mouth felt dry. Northside was the team he had lost to in the final years ago. The same team that had crushed his spirit and sent him spiraling into the bottle.
"No problem," he lied.
That night, he couldn't sleep. His mind kept replaying that final game. He remembered the last shot he took a three-pointer that could have won it. It hit the rim, bounced high, and fell out. The Hawks grabbed the rebound, ran down the court, and scored. Game over.
After that, he walked out of the arena, head low, and didn't touch a basketball for months.
On game day, the gym was packed. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor and the smell of fresh popcorn filled the air. The crowd buzzed with excitement.
When Marcus stepped onto the court, he saw them, the Hawks, wearing their black and gold jerseys. They looked just as sharp as he remembered. And then his eyes caught someone familiar.
Jermaine Carter.
The Hawks' captain. The man who had guarded Marcus in that final, who had celebrated loudest when they won.
Jermaine spotted him too and smirked. "Well, well. Look who crawled out of retirement."
Marcus kept his face calm. "Hope you're ready to work tonight."
The game tipped off, and right from the start, it was fast and physical. Jermaine stuck to Marcus like glue, shoving with his shoulder, bumping him off balance.
"You still choke under pressure?" Jermaine whispered after one play.
Marcus didn't answer. He focused on moving, passing, finding space. His first few shots missed, and the Hawks' bench laughed loudly.
By halftime, the Hawks were up by eight. Marcus sat on the bench, sweat dripping, chest heaving. Hammond crouched beside him.
"They're in your head," Hammond said quietly. "Shake it off. You've been here before."
Marcus nodded, but inside he was battling a storm.
In the third quarter, something changed. A Hawks player fouled Marcus hard on a drive, sending him to the floor. He lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling lights, hearing the crowd gasp.
When he got up, something in him clicked. Enough of being haunted. Enough of letting the past own him.
The next possession, he hit a jumper from the corner. Then a driving layup. Then a three-pointer over Jermaine's outstretched hand. The crowd roared.
By the middle of the fourth quarter, the game was tied. The ball swung to Marcus at the top of the key. Jermaine was on him, eyes locked.
"Let's see if you've changed," Jermaine said.
Marcus didn't answer. He faked left, stepped back, and launched the shot. The ball sailed through the air and swished clean through the net.
The gym exploded.
The Hawks called a timeout. Marcus jogged back to his bench, teammates slapping his back, Hammond grinning.
They held the lead until the final buzzer. Marcus shook hands with the Hawks, even Jermaine.
"You got us this time," Jermaine admitted.
"It's not about this time," Marcus said. "It's about not running anymore."
That night, as Marcus walked out of the gym, the old weight in his chest felt lighter. The ghosts were still there, but they didn't scare him now.