The Right Move (Windy City, #2)
Liz Tomforde
1
RYAN
I’m not a dreamer. Not in the traditional sense, at least. My dreams are within reach, attainable moments in time, not romanticized notions of the impossible.
Grown men fall to their knees and pray to their gods over these forty-eight minutes of basketball. Me? I don’t glamorize fate or leave things to chance. I believe in hard work and dedication. My life has a plan. Opportunities are in my path because I’ve willed myself in their direction.
The rest of my teammates, however, have certainly romanticized the idea of a championship if they think they can walk into the first week of practice as out of shape as they are.
“Dom, you need to roll off that screen twice as fast. You’re slow as fuck right now. What the hell were you doing all summer?”
“Living my life, Shay. You should try it sometime.”
Dom Jackson, our big man, slumps over, his palms on his knees, trying to catch his breath along with every other guy I call my teammate.
I use my practice jersey to swipe sweat from my brow as one of the rookies passes me the ball at the top of the key.
“Let’s run it again.”
“Ryan, practice was over an hour ago. Some of us have wives and kids we need to go see.” Ethan Jeong, our veteran shooting guard, stands with his hands on his hips in the corner of the court.
“Yeah, and some of us have dates with…” Dom looks over to one of the young guys on the sideline. “What was her name?” he silently mouths. “Raquel! Some of us have dates with beautiful women named Raquel.”
My eyes wander around my teammates, everyone exhausted but me. “Fine,” I resign. “We’ll call it.”
“Thank God!” Dom turns around, throwing his hands up and slipping his sweat-soaked jersey over his head. The rest of the team quickly follows to the locker room.
“It’s still pre-season, Ryan.” Ethan puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “They’ll get it together.”
“I’m tired of losing. We can’t even win a wildcard game to make the playoffs. I spent my entire summer running two-a-days to get in shape for this season. Everyone else needs to get on my level.”
“They’ll never be on your level. That’s why you’ll be one of the greats, but as a new captain, you need them to respect you, and I’m not referring to the way you play.” He backs away, following the rest of the team. “Besides, I don’t want you tiring yourself out too much. I need you to carry me on your back and get me a ring so I can retire.”
Ethan’s lips slide up in a smile before he ducks into the locker room.
He’s a good guy. Family man. Father of three children and long-time NBA vet. He was the team captain for the last seven years until he asked to step down this season, wanting to have a better work-life balance.
And as of last week, I earned the title and am now the newest captain of the Devils, Chicago’s NBA team.
I knew it’d happen one day. I just didn’t know it’d be when I was twenty-seven and before my fifth season in the league. I still have a lot to learn at this level, and now I have the weight of being the team leader, on and off the court.
The General Manager of the Devils was against the promotion, but that’s not how it works around here. Our captain is determined by a team vote, and after unanimous support by my teammates, I was given the title.
I want to be good for my guys, but I want respect for more than the way I play. I get plenty of it for my talent throughout the league. I’ve dedicated my life to my craft, sacrificed relationships and most of my twenties for this game and it shows.
Year after year, I’ve beat my own records on my path to greatness, not letting distractions get in the way of what I want—to be one of the best to ever play the game.
Though, I have quite the shoes to fill, seeing as my home court is the same as the GOAT himself. The championship banners that hang from the United Center remind me of the greatness that came before me and the gaps in years since we’ve had one, taunt me to earn my own.
I need my guys to take this game as seriously as I do. I need them to live, eat, and breathe it the way I do if we’re going to have a shot this season, but how do I voice that without sounding like the controlling point guard they’ve come to know me as? Now, as the team leader, I need to figure out how to communicate with them in a way I haven’t been able to before because “listen to me, I’m the best player you’ve ever shared a court with,” doesn't exactly work when you’re the team captain.
I’m not particularly close with any of my teammates besides Ethan, so the vote was a bit surprising. My game has always spoken for me, and I got away with being domineering on the court, but now I have another title to wear and I’m not sure how to adjust.
“Casey!” I call out to one of the interns as he quickly scurries my way. “That’s your name, right? Casey?”
“Yes, Mr. Shay.”
I roll my eyes. “Call me Ryan or Shay or literally anything other than Mr. Shay. You got plans? I need someone to rebound for me.”
“I uh…I…well, my mom…”
“You got plans or what?”
“Nope.” He quickly shakes his head. “I can rebound for you, Mr. Shay.” His eyes go wide. “Ryan! I can rebound for you, Ryan.”
His nervous strides take him to the net where he stands underneath it, wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a polo shirt with our team logo. He can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen, but the staff has him dressing like he’s in his mid-forties.
I take my spot at the free-throw line where I plan to stay until I get at least a hundred shots up, but by shot number seventy-six, the doors to our private practice get thrown open.
“Ry!” my sister calls out. “Practice was over two hours ago. I went by the apartment looking for you.”
“Hey, Vee!”
Shot number seventy-seven barely touches the net as it floats through the hoop. Casey cleans up the rebound and passes it back.
“You already worked out this morning. What are you doing?”
“Getting my free throws in.”
My twin sister stands a few feet away from me with a hand on her hip. I don’t look her way, but in my periphery, I can see her shaking her head at me, her curly hair bouncing with the movement.
“What’s your name?” She directs her attention to the intern.
“I’m Casey.”
“I’ll take over for you, Casey.” Stevie intercepts his pass to me and steals his spot under the net.
The intern’s nervous gaze bounces between my sister and me.
“Do you have a ride home? It’s late.” My twin is as sweet as can be, and unlike me, I didn’t even realize the kid might not have a ride home.
“Yeah. My mom is parked out back waiting for me.”
“Ryan!” Stevie scolds. “His mom has been waiting for him.”
“I didn’t know!” I throw my hands up. “Sorry, man.”
Casey quickly shakes his head. “It was an honor, Mr. Shay.”
My eyes narrow at him.