Page 184 of Ruthless Court

“I never had either of you.”

“We’re still protecting you.”

“From what?”

“Coach noticing you’re one empty seat away from an emotional breakdown.”

I shove him toward the court.

“Warm up.”

He laughs and jogs away.

The butterflies remain.

Actual butterflies.

I almost find them amusing.

I don’t get nervous over women.

I’ve dated and kissed some of the most beautiful girls on campus. With them, I knew where I stood before they crossed the room.

Hannah makes me guess.

She studies me like she’s deciding whether I deserve another insult, then kisses me back hard enough to keep me thinking about it for two days.

She understands my game.

Questions everything else.

That uncertainty keeps me alert in a way admiration never has.

The warm-up clock runs down.

Still no Hannah.

We clear the floor for the national anthem.

The pep band falls silent. The crowd rises, and thousands of voices settle into a low rustle.

After the final note, fireworks burst from the corners of the scoreboard. Cheerleaders race onto the court. Red lights sweep across the stands while the announcer introduces the visiting lineup.

Then ours.

Vale runs through the tunnel with the starting forwards.

Noah follows.

My name booms through the arena.

“Kane Haverhill!”

I sprint between my teammates, slapping hands as the student section erupts.

By the time I reach center court, the officials are carrying out the ball.

I glance toward the player guest section one last time.