Page 39

CHAPTER 39

MARCUS

Coach Burke stands in front of the team, all huddled around in the locker room. We circle him, every player with their arms over the shoulders of the guy next to him.

One player is noticeably absent, having been ejected from the team by Coach Burke himself before the championship tournament began. Anderson Hearst was caught selling locker room pictures to the press, specifically to a well-known news organization that is known to publish propaganda and misinformation. Chase Astorfeld was the one that turned him in after the team was inundated with a lot of anti-gay slander. He followed in Ashton's footsteps and left the fraternity after that and was one of the first of our teammates to make a public statement supporting us as players rather than focusing on the media circus surrounding our relationship. Almost all the guys followed suit, showing up to our first game against Louisville wearing Marcus' trademark rainbow sweatbands on their wrists.

"Alright, listen up, fellas. This is it. You made it. Despite all the odds and hiccups this season, you made it to the Final Four. Look around at your teammates. We came in as underdogs, but we fought for every inch, earned every win, and we made it here together. Win or lose, we walk off that court as champions, because we've already proven what we're made of. Tonight, you go out there and you give everything you've got. For some of you, this might be the last game you ever play. For others, this is just another step in your journey. There are a lot of NBA scouts sitting court side, but I don't want you to worry about them. Forget everything but playing the best damn game of your lives.”

He looks each of us in the eye. “Play for each other. Play for your school. Play for every ounce of sweat you've left on the court, every sacrifice you've made. Are you ready?!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I said, are you ready!?"

"YES, SIR!"

"Let's get out there and show them what we're made of! All in and Cougars on three!"

"COUGARS!"

An energy has followed us from the beginning of March Madness, a drive that has pushed us through each and every win to get us to where we are today. And as we run out on to the court, I can feel the roar of the crowd in my bones. The screaming, clapping, and stomping of the fans, the squeak of sneakers on polished wood. Every sound, smell, and touch of my teammates thumping me on the back as we wish each other a good game. I'm glad that, no matter what happens tonight, this won't be the end of it. It's only the beginning.

First Quarter

We're down by six, but I don't let myself focus on the clock. I keep my head in the game, keep moving, keep playing the game the way we've been playing all season. There are three other guys on the court with us, but whenever I'm playing with Ash, it feels like we're the only ones. I make eye contact with him across the court, and I flash back to a memory of the first time I noticed him. He was looking at me much the same way he is now. Like I meant something to him, even though we didn't know each other at all. Maybe something inside us knew this is where we'd end up.

Spencer Nolan blocks a shot on goal, and Ashton picks up the rebound. Just from the way he's holding the ball, I know how he'll play. Purdue's defense is tight, but Ashton will find a way to break through it. He always does.

He fakes a pass to Wyatt Langton, crosses to his left, then sends the ball flying in my direction. I take the breakaway, dodge two defending guards, and make the layup. Ashton winks, and I shake my head. We had an entire conversation last night about letting the rest of the team play, too, but he keeps setting up plays for me to score.

Once the ball is back in play, I fight to get possession. I've always been better on offense than defense, and being a little shorter than the average baller gives me an advantage. I'm able to swoop under Purdue's centers' arm and swipe the ball, rocketing it over to Wyatt. He passes to Spencer, who passes it to Ashton. I shake my head when he immediately looks to me, but I've also got defense bearing down on me, knowing Ashton is likely to pass me the ball. He shoots from the three, and Dustin Harris goes in with the assist, slamming the ball through the net.

Second Quarter

The arena erupts in cheers as my long shot arcs through the air and sinks in the basket. Ashton bites his lip, looking at me with a cocky smile that makes my chest tighten and my ears heat.

"Stop it, " I mouth, rolling my eyes.

The way he's played throughout this tournament, you wouldn't know he isn't fighting for a top spot on the draft roster. Instead, he's determined to make sure I have the highest point record in the tournament. He thinks it'll make it more likely for me to get an earlier draft pick. I'll go wherever I'm sent, and Ashton will find a way to follow me, but if I get drafted to Charlotte, it will make things a whole lot easier.

This isn't just about the game for either of us. This is about our entire future. Ashton has been dealing with so much and taking it all in stride. Standing up to his father, taking on the future of his family's company, and deciding to give up his NBA dreams to go to grad school, it's a lot. But he's on this court helping push our team to new heights and acting like my own personal post-up assistant to better my chances of success.

I want this win. Hell, we all want it, but I can't help but think about how fucking brave Ashton has been.

At halftime, after another motivational speech from Coach Burke, I take a minute to pull Ashton away just to get one good kiss in. He tastes like salt and determination.

"I fucking love you."

Third Quarter

We're able to pull ahead by two points, but it's short-lived. Purdue has proven themselves to be more than formidable, and they're able to overtake us again pretty quickly. For a while, it's a standoff, both teams making impressive pushes, but not getting anywhere. I think Dustin should get MVP for the number of times he's able to block the goal. At just under seven feet tall, he barely even has to jump to do it, but he can sometimes be a little clumsy with making sure it gets into the right hands. Luckily, there's Jackson Montgomery, who is one of our quickest and most agile players. He's been playing partner to Dustin's blocks, helping make sure we get position and down the court to attempt to score. Every time we sink a bucket, so do they. Every time they miss one, so do we. We're neck and neck for most of the third quarter, and it seems like both teams are beginning to lose steam.

One of Purdue's guards fouls Ashton during an attempt on goal. It was an honest mistake, and in no way intentional, but Ashton lands hard on his knee. I'm chosen to make the free throws, probably because I'm our team's shortest player. Several players on our team laugh at that, and even Coach quirks a grin when the ref passes me the ball. I love being underestimated. Both shots go in cleanly, and we're able to close the gap a little before the buzzer sounds.

Ashton is okay, but likely to be on the bench for the rest of the game.

Fourth Quarter

The whistle to start the fourth quarter sounds, and it becomes very clear, very quickly, that Purdue was able to refresh and psyche themselves up to finish strong. Whether it was intentional or not, they know they took out a key player. Purdue pulls ahead, hitting a few clutch shots that we just can't answer. We're fighting hard, but it's not enough.

We fall behind on the scoreboard, enough that I know it's going to be hard, if not impossible, to recover with less than four minutes on the clock.

I signal to Coach, who trusts me enough to call our last timeout. It's risky, but I have an idea.

I jog over to the sidelines and look down the line. Ashton cocks his head at me and grins, wondering what I could be up to.

"How wiling are you to go out on a limb?" I ask Coach.

He looks up at the scoreboard, then shrugs. "At this point, what could it hurt?"

To everyone's surprise, I ask to pull the scout squad, who are all mostly freshmen. It's a surprising move to fill out the entire line with freshmen, but these guys and I play well together. We know each other's strengths, and we also know the best ways to beat Purdue's defense. Despite no longer being on the scout squad since I got moved up to the starting line, I've still practiced with them multiple times a week, and I find that learning the habits of the other team makes me a better player, so I never stopped even after it wasn't part of my job description.

Pulling them in for a huddle in the last seconds, I give them a rundown on what I want from them.

"All I need from you is to do what you do at practice. Tristan, I know you haven't gotten a chance to play in a game this big before, but you've got the smoothest shooting stroke beyond the arc on our team, if not in the whole NCAA. Chase, your defensive skills and knack for scoring in transition is vital when playing against a team as versatile as these guys. Franklin, you might be quiet, but your footwork is loud. And Landon, you're fast as shit and you've got the best eye for finding open players. Don't let anyone tell you that being on the scout squad isn't anything more than the most important job, because you're about to fucking show them what we can do."

We clap and take the court. It takes them a few seconds to get their bearings, but with me running point, and these guys getting their first taste of what it's like to put their skills on display, we're untouchable. We play the cleanest, most energetic three minutes and forty-two seconds of basketball in the history of ever. I have zero doubts that, win or lose, these minutes are going to make highlight reels and get these guys noticed for next season. It feels like a parting gift, but they deserve it.

The five of us are able to close the gap, but not enough. The buzzer sounds, and the scoreboard flashes 92-88 in Purdue’s favor.

For a moment, I stand there, soaking in the moment. The sting of loss is sharp, but not as sharp as I thought it would be. Last year, we'd barely been able to make it to the first four. No one expected us to make it farther than the first round this time. And yet, here we are, playing in the Final Four and giving the top team in the nation a run for their money. It's something to be proud of.

The sounds of our fans clapping and cheering despite the loss lifts me up even higher. In the crowd, multiple rainbow sweatbands are lifted high in the air, my name and number held up on homemade signs and jerseys. I've earned their respect, if nothing else.

As I walk off the court, Ashton is waiting for me. I don't need to ask how he's doing, I can see it in his eyes. There's something different in his features, something calmer. Something that wasn't there just a few weeks ago when he was facing a war with his father.

His hand finds mine, and for a moment, the world fades away. It's just the two of us.

"You okay?"

"We gave it everything. I'm happy. Are you okay?" I say breathlessly, pointing at his ice wrapped knee.

"I'll be fine." He grins and pulls me in for a hug, neither of us caring who's around or how sweaty we are.

A reporter pulls us to the side, requesting to interview us together. She shoves a microphone in my face, getting to the questions quickly so she can interview more players after us.

"Gentlemen, tough break today, but what a run it's been. Marcus, you just set a new record for the most points scored in a championship tournament. How does that feel, especially after a game like this?"

I grin at her question, doing my best to avoid Ashton's excited smirk next to me. "It's a great feeling to have accomplished a record like that, but it wasn't just me out on that court. I had help with every point. To set a record like that with my teammates, especially Ashton, who must hold a record for the most assists after that game, it means a lot."

"It's clear you two have developed a strong connection on the court this season. Ashton, after everything the team has been through this season, how important has that bond with Marcus been during these high-pressure moments?"

Ash chuckles, and I hold back a short laugh. She's good, I'll give her that. She managed to ask a question about our relationship without actually asking a question about our relationship, probably knowing she'd get shut down by CVU's media coordinator, who is standing just behind the reporter in case she needs to cut us off. She rolls her eyes, but gestures for Ash to go ahead. She trusts that he can handle it.

"It's everything. On and off the court, it comes down to trust."

"With the eligibility deadline just weeks away, a lot of people are speculating on why you haven't declared your intent to enter the NBA draft. Do you care to make a statement about that?"

He looks down at me, and I shrug. This is his thing, this moment, and his decision. I'll support him, no matter what.

"There will be an official press statement released tomorrow, but I've decided not to enter the draft. I've been weighing my options, and I've decided to go a different direction with my future. But I'll be front and center supporting my boyfriend, both on draft night and every single game."

The reporter looks stunned. It gives us exactly the window we need to thank her for her time and jog off the court to meet the rest of our team in the locker room.