Page 584 of Bad Prince
I took it left, crossed back right, got half a step, rose from just inside the arc with Barnes on my shoulder and their help late.
Good look.
Back iron.
Long rebound.
Their ball.
They pushed.
Thirty-three seconds.
We weren’t set.
Their point guard drew two, kicked corner.
Three.
Good.
They went up three and half their bench nearly came onto the court.
Timeout.
The huddle was all breath and sweat and marker squeaks while Coach drew up first action, second action, emergency action.
“We do not hunt miracles,” he said. “We hunt execution.”
I nodded.
But before we broke, before I even meant to, I looked over the huddle and up into the stands again.
Found her.
Stella didn’t move.
Didn’t do anything dramatic.
She just looked back at me the way she always does when the moment is bigger than language and all that’s left is trust.
North.
My head cleared.
Not enough to save us.
Enough to breathe right.
We broke.
First action got blown up.
Second almost opened.
I got the ball back on the flare with seven on the clock, let it go from the top with a hand in my face and bodies crashing around the paint.
Good line.
