Page 28 of Mending Hearts
Marco snorts behind me.
“But,” I add, and his expression falters, “talent doesn’t mean shit if you don’t have control. Again. This time keep your eyes up.”
Luca rolls his eyes with the drama of a teenager who thinks he’s the first person to ever be inconvenienced. “Yes, sir.”
He’s fifteen. A Mexican kid with a sharp mouth and sharper instincts. The kind who talks like he’s older because life forced it, not because he wants to be.
I watch him run the drill again. This time he does it right. Clean. Smooth. Controlled.
The other kid guarding him mutters, “Damn.”
Luca smiles like he’s won an award, and I point at him. “That. That’s what I’m talking about.”
He bounces the ball once, twice. “So you’re saying I’m basically you.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m saying you’re going to get humbled the second you meet someone faster than you.”
He tilts his head. “You’re faster than me?”
“Yes,” I say. “And I’m old.”
He scoffs. “You’re not old.”
“I’m ancient,” I insist.
Marco mutters, “He’s thirtysomething and dramatic.”
“Okay, Coach Retired,” I shoot back without looking.
Marco flips me off. Luca cackles. And just like that, the heaviness in my chest loosens a fraction. Because this—this is real. This is something I can do. Not because it fixes anything or erases the past, but because it matters to someone who isn’t thinking about eight years of silence and a ring on a right hand.
We move into shooting drills. Then defense. Then a short scrimmage.
Luca is loud the entire time, calling plays, trash-talking like it’s his birthright.
“You call that defense?” he yells at one kid. “My abuela moves faster than you, and she got a bad knee!”
The kid he’s roasting shouts, “Your abuela doesn’t even play!”
Luca shrugs. “She would if she had to.”
I’m laughing before I can stop myself.
Between plays, Luca drifts closer to me, bouncing the ball under one hand like he’s been doing it his whole life.
“So,” he says casually, “you’re leaving today, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be back, though.”
He nods before squinting at me. “You look tired.”
The words hit sharper than they should. Marco makes a sound like he’s swallowing a laugh.
I eye Luca. “You always tell adults the truth to their face?”
“Yeah,” Luca says, unbothered. “It saves time.”
Smart kid.
