Page 114 of Bad Prince
“Big night, huh?—”
I turn and fire a ball at his chest.
Not full force.
But enough.
It hits solid and drops him back a step.
Silence.
Message delivered.
I turn back to the line.
Seventy-three.
Seventy-four.
The doors open again.
This time I don’t need to look.
Kane.
He walks in already dressed, jaw tight, eyes scanning the court once before landing on me.
No words.
He grabs the second rolling rack.
Wheels it to the opposite corner.
We don’t nod.
We don’t acknowledge.
We just shoot.
Corner threes.
Opposite ends.
Ball after ball.
The sound of net snapping and rubber hitting hardwood fills the gym.
The rest of the team gives us a wide radius.
They know better.
Fifteen minutes in, sweat’s dripping down my back again.
Twenty minutes in, Kane finally misses one.
The ball rims out.
He catches it.
