Page 175 of Ruthless Court

For once, I leave them that way.

Thirteen

KANE

I’ve played in packed tournament arenas with my season balanced on one possession.

I’ve stood at the free-throw line while twenty thousand people tried to shake my hands with noise.

None of that explains why I’ve checked Hannah’s ticket status six times today.

I check my phone again before entering the arena.

No message.

Her last answer remains on the screen.

Hannah: I’ll consider it.

She can call that indecision.

I call it yes with unnecessary attitude.

I lock the phone and head inside.

The arena hasn’t opened to the public yet.

Security gates remain closed around the concourse, and the building sounds hollow without fans. Equipment carts roll beneath the stands. Someone tests the speakers, sending a burst of static across thousands of empty seats.

I head into the training room.

The trainer points toward the table.

“You’re early.”

“I’m always early.”

“Not this early.”

I sit while he checks my ankles, knees, and shoulders. He tapes two fingers, runs me through hip mobility, then works on the tightness in my left calf.

“You’re wound up.”

“We have a game.”

“You have games every week.”

“This one matters.”

“They all matter to you.”

He presses deeper into the muscle.

I grit my teeth.

“Something else going on?”

“No.”