chapter twenty-three - comfortable

chapter twenty-three — comfortable

DJ LOST THE TIP-OFF. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but unfamiliar enough to shake up the first half. Even shaken up our team was still winning, but the margin wasn't terribly large. It wasn't that the guy he had been up against was a giant— they were both roughly six foot three— but DJ's head just wasn't in the game. It was like none of us had realized how important Lukas was to him, to our defense too. Coach tried subbing back and forth between Perry and Ahmed, but neither of them could fill the dynamics the on-court team needed.

We needed Lukas.

"Kieran, switch!"

I darted down into the paint to take over the guy Marco had been guarding. He was teetering somewhere around 30 scored points, 3 called fouls, and 4 uncalled fouls for his team. He was a shooting guard, but Marco had been covering him because they were both fast enough to get on each other's nerves. I wasn't as fast as Marco but I knew how to defend, even down in the paint where the odds were against me.

Marco shoved past the pick set up in front of him, a big, burly player with the reflexes of a rock. The other team, some random school from the middle of nowhere, relied on picks heavily to free up their shooting guard since he seemed to be the only one capable of making consistent shots and points. Unfortunately for them, he also had a temper, which resulted in him being fouled out at every game we'd played against them prior.

"Fuck off," He snarled not-too-quietly, catching the bounce-pass his teammate had fumbled in his general direction. His face was scrunched up like he needed to take a massive shit, braces glinting dangerously in the sour lights of the gym.

Coach had told us that, a year ago, the kid had been suspended for five games for biting another player. Biting itself was bad, but when his braces had somehow gotten stuck in the flesh of the other player's arm the already-bad situation had developed into an alarmingly-worse situation.

"Bite me," I answered back, copying the way his feet shuffled. He didn't seem to appreciate my sense of humor, but Roger did, judging by the way he coughed loudly, one arm still pushed up against the guy he was guarding.

I had one hand above my head in case he tried to take a quick shot, one hand below my waist waiting for the moment he would eventually fumble. They all eventually fumbled. It took some players longer than others, the players who'd practiced their dribbling for summers on end. It kind of sucked seeing their faces when I stole the ball from under their nose.

It kind of didn't suck too, though: the look on their faces when I'd score a point off the ball they'd lost.

Now. I swiped at the ball, grinning with my hand grabbed at the plastic, and pulled it into my space. He'd grown careless, flicked his gaze around too much, and let the ball bounce a little too freely. There wasn't a lot of space between the ground and someone's waist when they were low to the ground and dribbling, but when they lapsed there was always just enough.

Lukas would've loved this.

"Kieran, here!"

I dribbled out of the paint, lobbing the ball in a high arc towards the other side of the court. It was a little risky, chucking the ball in a general direction where everyone could make out where it was going to land. Marco didn't mind risky though. He liked it. Preferred it actually.

Lukas would've called me crazy for the pass, then punched me in the shoulder and called me a genius.

I'm not a genius, I would've said.

Liar, he would've scoffed.

The scoreboard added two points to our count, Marco's layup an almost-perfectly textbook play.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

I stumbled to the side, Angry McBiteyfuck throwing his shoulder into me subtly enough that the referee couldn't call it out. He put his hands out innocently like he was apologizing and Marco eyed him warily from the other side of the court.

"He needs to chill," Maroc whispered to me in passing, patting my shoulder quickly before stopping at mid-court.

I nodded quietly, rolling my shoulder back before setting up in defense. They had been playing man-on-man, but since they didn't have any decent three-point shooters we were playing regular two-three zone defense. Zone defense let us block out people from getting too far down into the paint, too close to the basket, and it usually gave us a little bit of a breather. Zone could be exhausting against a team with good drivers, but this team didn't have good drivers.

They didn't have good shooters either, the angry guy being the occasional exception once he could get his emotions in check (aka never).

They were just kinda bad in general.

Ouch. I laughed to myself a little, moving through the motions as the opposing point-guard predictably passed it off to the angry shooting guard. He tried to trip me up and went through a series of "complicated" dribbling patterns: behind his back, in-between his legs, faking to one side, etc.. At this point he wasn't even trying to pass it to an open teammate, he just wanted to beat me.

This is kind of sad to watch, actually

The second you made basketball a personal sport, you lost.

I snatched the ball away from his, the same way I had before, not letting myself feel bad when a little vein popped up by his temple.

Okay, now I'll just—

The other team's point-guard rushed into me out of nowhere, almost kicking the ball away from me as he slid in front. He looked more shocked than me, gangly arms waving around like a windmill as I paused and dribbled protectively to my side.

Okay, then.

By now the rest of our team and the other team had caught up, settling into a tight man-on-man on our opponent's side of the court. Marco broke free from his defender, calling for me with a quick shout and I passed it off to him, joining the throng of players by the paint. The angry dude switched with their point guard, back to guarding me. He kept close, one finger hooked on the loose fabric of my jersey.

Dirty tricks.

People who used dirty tricks couldn't win without them. It was pathetic.

Sometimes, when I was in a ranting mood, I could talk about players who played filthy for hours.

Lukas usually said I could've been a lawyer and he'd make up the stupidest scenarios for a so-called "filthy" play.

One scenario involved giving an opposing player a wet-willy.

Another was 'accidentally' falling and 'accidentally' revealing the other player's micro-penis to the whole court.

Marco heavily supported that play.

"Chihuahua!"

Marco was having a grand time at half-court, out-maneuvering the gangly point-guard with his own gangly self. Though Marco moved like a limp noodle, every movement of his was controlled. It was creepy in a cool way, the way Marco could break people's ankles so easily by making them try moving in two directions at once.

"Chihuahua!" Marco yelled again, naming one of the newer plays we'd been asked by the Coach to try out.

"Chihuahua!" Coach yelled from the sideline, languidly raising an arm to approve of Marco's call. The rest of our team sat on the edges of their seats on the off-sides, a few of their legs bouncing. Adrenaline got to everyone during basketball games: it was impossible to not get fired up, no matter how much the other team sucked ass and no matter how badly you were beating them.

"I hate 'Chihuahua'," Roger chuckled, settling into his position on the elbow across from where I set up. DJ pressed up against him, their defenders alternating the outside and inside on defense.

"Same," I scowled, feeling Ahmed settle right behind me. Normally, it would be Lukas standing there. He sometimes hooked a finger on the loose material of my jersey the way my defender had been doing, but it wasn't malicious, obviously. It was just a thing we did. A thing he did.

He said it made our double-screen better and I agreed.

The space between Ahmed and I didn't feel right. It was still tight and no defender could wiggle in between, but it didn't feel right. Everything Lukas did on the court felt right, even when he fucked up his free throws.

We need Lukas.

The scoreboard didn't say we needed him, but I knew we did: We all knew we did.

I need Lukas.

Marco tried driving down Roger and DJ's side first, bouncing back to the crown of the three-point line when the defense shut him out.

Okay, he's coming this way next.

The point of our play— 'Chihuahua'— was to set a double-screen for the point-guard: Marco. Marco would try driving down one side and use the double-screen to shake off his defender. Then, the person defending the bottom of the screen stack, the defenders on Lu-Ahmed and DJ, would run down to block Marco. When they did that, both Ahmed and DJ would be open for a pass and they could take a shot.

I would be open too, but by the three-point line as a second-option.

It was a pretty common play with small variations between schools.

"Up!"

Ahmed fumbled his easy layup, frustration clear on his features when the defender swatted his too-low shot aside. Marco darted forward and snatched it before we could turn it over, passing it over to where I was still open at the three-point line.

Easy.

The ball had just left my hand when my jaw snapped up to follow it, the taste of blood flooding my mouth as I bit down hard on my tongue. Vaguely, the sound of a buzzer and a foul being called lay under a random ringing in my ears. What the fuck?

I shook my head and spat into my hand, relieved when no tooth came hurtling out.

What the fuck?

"Hey, hey," I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and Coach bent down to meet my gaze. Coach only came out when someone got injured. Am I injured?

"You good Kieran?"

"Yeah," I swallowed, the taste of blood dissipating and my tongue throbbing.

"Um, what the fuck happened, Coach?"

Coach looked at me sternly, "Language, Mogan. It was just a mistake. Number Four on their team miscalculated his block and ended up socking you in the jaw"

Number Four?

"Oh, the dude with braces?" My tongue felt heavy in my mouth.

"Yeah," Coach nodded, seemingly relieved that I was still alive and coherent.

"They called a foul," He patted my shoulder and moved back offsides. The referee took his place, bald head gleaming with sweat from backpedaling on the court to keep out of the game's way.

"You get one shot," The referee informed me, turning to the record keeper and signing the foul call one more time.

"You okay, son?"

I nodded mutely, rolling my shoulders back, and sucking my cheeks in. Fuck, my jaw hurt a bit.

If I got one shot, that meant that I had made the three-pointer. If I hadn't I would have gotten three free-throws, but I'd take the one free-throw and a made three-point shot over three free-throws any day. Now I got to make four points for the team instead of three. Nice. Number Four was going to be pissed.

Lukas would've probably told me to be careful. That, or he might've socked number four in the face. I would've done the same for him so I couldn't really call him out.

"Hey, Kieran, you good?"

"Yeah, all good"

DJ clapped me on the back before heading over to set up for the foul shot.

"Sorry," Ahmed muttered quietly, wringing his hands. He was a giant guy, almost six foot four inches, but built like a stick. He could throw his weight around well-enough, but he'd never progressed to becoming a good player, he was just decent.

"It's fine," I shoved at him lightly, "Your defender is a little over-eager and pushed too deep that last time. Try stopping short and making a bank shot instead of treating it like a layup."

Ahmed nodded furiously, the confidence he'd lost seeping back into his shoulders.

I stepped up to the free-throw line and made the extra point easily.

Number Four fumed on the sideline where he'd been pulled out. He had four fouls now, and five was an automatic ejection. Won't be dealing with him for the rest of the game.

I smiled.

"Kieran! Keke!"

That voice was annoyingly familiar. Wha-?

-Oh.

Lukas smiled at me from the bleachers, dark circles visible from where I was on the court. His ten-year-old sister, Hannah the basketball fanatic, was perched on the seat next to him, arms waving wildly. How she had so much energy after a funeral and two three-hour flights, I had no clue.

"Keke, good shot!" Hannah cheered, flushing when I tried smiling at her. It had probably come off as more a grimace, but she didn't seem to mind and she settled back down.

Since when were the bleachers full? There were a shit ton of spectators, all of them crammed on our home team's bleachers. I recognized a few weirder hairstyles from the hallway and some of the spectators had formal wear— teachers?

It's just a scrimmage, why are there so many people?

We always had a few scrimmages in November and December, just to test out new plays and new team compositions before it started to actually matter. At least, that's what Coach said. I couldn't remember a time when games didn't matter, scrimmage or official.

"Hey, Kieranus. Get your ass over here"

Marco punched my shoulder, dragging me to the sideline. Apparently, the coach had called a time out and I hadn't noticed.

"Why're there so many people here?"

Marco snorted, rolling his eyes, "They wanna see the past Gatorade Player of the Year, duh"

"But I didn't qualify last year," I looked over at him confused, nodding at DJ when he patted the seat in between Ahmed and him.

"Yeah, but you almost did. You're the only hope at getting this school in the news one day, Kieranus"

"Don't call me that, dickweed"

Marco guffawed, slapping my back a little too hard as he sidled over to his seat between DJ and Roger.

I flopped down on the bench, gratefully taking my water bottle from one of the Junior Varsity players who'd held onto it for me. Oh. It was the kid with the long hair. His eyes widened at my 'thank you' before he scurried back over to where the rest of the JV team was waiting on the back-up bleachers.

"He runs so fast he doesn't need to tie his hair back," Ahmed said suddenly from beside me, "He used to play soccer with me in middle school. He's quick as hell."

"Cool," I sipped my water slowly, half-taking in what Coach was saying. It wasn't anything of major importance, we were just supposed to keep playing how we were. I could do that.

Runs so fast he doesn't need a hair tie. I mulled over the image, snickering to myself when I pictured a horse instead of a human.

What happens when he stops running?

My eyes wandered across the gym floor, somehow ending back where Lukas and his sister were sitting. How is he still standing? Lukas' grandmother had passed away two days ago, and the entire family had flown out to Florida where she'd been staying to attend her funeral. I knew for a fact that Lukas hadn't gotten a second of sleep, simultaneously trying to support his father and keep his siblings calm.

Lukas met my gaze again, grinning broadly and tossing me a little wave.

Go home. I tried mouthing at him from across the gym, my water bottle tightly clenched in my hand. You need sleep.

"Kieran, what the hell are you doing, son?"

My attention snapped back to the coach, my ears feeling hot when he looked at me strangely. Marco and Roger were giggling behind him, DJ trying to hush them with no luck.

The sports nurse was standing behind the coach, his glasses about to fall off his nose.

"Do you want me to run a concussion test, Coach?" The nurse eyed me funnily, an ice pack in his hand.

Coach looked me up and down before sighing.

"No, I think we're good. Right, Kieran?"

I nodded quickly, my face still burning. I must've looked like an idiot, just openly talking with exaggerated motions into thin air. Fucking hell. I buried my face in my hands when Coach started laughing, DJ completely giving up on quieting Roger and Marco.

Even Ahmed was laughing quietly next to me, a hand clapped over his mouth like that would mute the noise at all.

"Your girlfriend in the stands or something, Mogan?" Coach chuckled loosely, rubbing his cheek as he turned to look at the stands.

"You can tell her to wai—oh," Coach paused, "Is that Lukas?"

Lukas spotted everyone staring at him and he waved with two arms, letting out a whoop. His sister tried curling into a ball beside him, the red on her face not really helping her to blend into the bleachers.

"What in the world? That boy..." Coach sighed, massaging his temple as Marco stood up and waved intensely back at Lukas.

So fucking stupid.

Lukas caught my gaze again, a little smile on his face, and my stomach twisted into itself.

So fucking special.

Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ

"You think we have a shot at Nationals?"

"No"

I leaned my head against the pillar in front of the 7-Eleven we'd walked to. It wasn't that far from our school and it was easier to wait for everyone's rides here instead. Hannah had made some big deal about wanting a slushie, and DJ and his soft ass had promised to get her one before either Lukas or I could warn him about the master manipulator herself. It wasn't a complete waste though since Lukas and I got to split a Kit-Kat bar and chocolate was great.

"Why?" Lukas hummed, sucking on the pad of his thumb where the chocolate had melted. He shifted so he was sitting a little more comfortably, my shoe accidentally knocking against his ankle.

"There are other better teams," I sighed, copying him and licking at my fingers. Roger had insisted on all of us using his fancy, pocket hand-sanitizer before we walked into the 7-Eleven so my hands still smelled like cherries.

"Bummer," Lukas frowned, breaking out into a cute yawn before dropping his head against the wall with a thump.

We stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Lukas seemed normal. He didn't look fragile or stressed, but I knew him better than that. His smile didn't stretch as wide and his eyes didn't do that nice crinkly thing when he was laughing at Marco's terrible jokes on the walk over here.

"I'm sorry," My words almost got lost in the cool atmosphere, breaking the silence that had felt like a bubble.

Lukas sighed, breath catching as his legs began to draw in, head curling down so I couldn't see his face. I pressed closer to him, my arm winding around the back of his neck so my hand could squeeze his shoulder. Is this supportive?

I didn't really know what to do. I'd never met my maternal grandparents, and my paternal grandparents had died a long time ago.

I knew Lukas was close to his grandma though. She always sent extra presents for me around the holidays too, even though I'd never met her.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" My voice was still too quiet, words more air than sound, but Lukas caught all of them. His back rose and fell steadily as he breathed deep and then shook his head no.

"Do you wanna go home?"

He hesitated on that question, finally shaking his head no again and leaning into where I was wrapped around him.

A car lazily drove across the small in front of us, barely even pausing to watch the two teenage boys huddled in front of the 7-Eleven. Why would they care? This wasn't their life.

"Do you wanna sleep?"

Lukas shrugged at that, laughing quietly and straightening up a little. I craned my neck to see his face, biting my lip hard when I saw his eyes. They looked so sad. Like a kicked dog, but worse somehow. Lukas' eyes were so brown, so tired, so sad.

"Wanna cry a little?"

Lukas laughed again, playing with the Kit-Kat wrapper in his lap.

I wanna help.

"I won't tell if you do," Was all I managed to get out before Lukas' head dropped into the crook of my neck. His breath fanned across the back of my neck warmly, lips half-pressed against my shirt collar and half-pressed against the skin around where my collarbone started.

"Sorry I'm such a baby," He muttered lowly with another laugh, inhaling steeply. His mouth tickled my neck and I fought the urge to pull back, my arm going numb from where it was crushed against the wall.

"It's fine. Everyone's a little baby sometimes" I didn't even know if that was English, but it seemed to make sense to Lukas as he pulled back and off of where he'd been hugging me.

"When were you a baby?" Lukas chuckled, the sound was nice and familiar. He was a little too close and I could count his eyelashes if I'd wanted to. They were blonde, so it was hard at a distance, but up-close they were ridiculously long and made his eyes look sleepy.

"Summer-camp when I was little," I admitted, "I didn't want to go so I made a fuss and shit."

"Fussy? You? No," Lukas grinned, chuckling when I shoved at his chest. He moved away from me, sitting back where he had been before. Our legs brushed and our thighs were pressed tight together. It felt comfortable.

Lukas feels comfortable.

"Shut up," I scowled, my fingernails scratching at the concrete of the wall behind me.

"But yeah. I threw like a tantrum every single time I had to go with Jane"

"Oh, you had to go to a summer camp with Jane?" Lukas frowned, his knee knocking mine. If I listened hard enough I could hear Hannah from inside the store, undoubtedly bribing DJ, Marco, and Roger into buying her more than just a slushie.

"Yeah," I breathed out, unwanted memories surging up from where I'd tried hiding them, "It was a stupid camp"

"No basketball?" Lukas hummed with a smile.

I shook my head no, chuckling a little when Lukas giggled in response. Comfortable.

"I have to drop Hannah off soon," Lukas muttered, eyes focused somewhere far off in the distance. I tried mimicking his gaze, frowning when I couldn't find anything particularly noteworthy to stare at.

Overflowing trash can? Wait, is that a half-full slushie cup? What kinda wasteful asshat—?

"Can I come to yours after?"

"'Course," My throat felt dry and I coughed, settling back against the wall. It was November, the air starting to chill and little bits of dry leaves littered the ground.

"Lu—"

"—Kieran!"

Both of our heads jolted to the door, Lukas groaning when Hannah walked out smugly, her hands filled with random snacks. DJ trudged on behind her, his eyes shamefully cast on the ground as he held two slushie cups.

"Do you want one?"

Hannah thrust a random bag of chips in my face and I shook my head no, frowning when Marco cackled behind her. Roger looked amused too, casually biting into a tiny looking pastry-thing.

"Told you," Marco leered, his hand forcefully coming down to ruffle Hannah's hair. She squawked indignantly but accepted his gloating with a pout.

"You don't eat junk?" She looked at me sadly.

"What? I do."

Lukas' crinkled the Kit-Kat wrapper in his lap, suddenly shy.

"Only with Lukas," Hannah huffed, stalking over to sit down next to her brother. She smacked his shoulder before tossing him a bag of chips.

"All the good ones..." She muttered angrily, unrelenting when Lukas' face started to develop a heavy flush.

"What?" I looked over at the guys, confused.

Roger waved me off enigmatically, bits of crumbs falling from his hands.

"Don't worry about it"

Marco snickered and DJ slapped the back of his head lightly.

"What?" I looked over at Lukas with a scowl.

"Nothing," The pink on his face started to subside, "Let's go home"

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4109 words

I hope the length of this chapter (and quality, maybe) makes up for my terrible updating habits! I'm sorry I kept everyone waiting for so long :( I don't really have any good excuses aside from writer's block and life getting a little busier (I'm starting college and I'm fostering a cat).

Did you guys enjoy this chapter regardless of my terrible updating schedule?

I understand that the basketball parts might be a little confusing for many of you. I tried simplifying it a little with explanations, but I worry that that only complicated it more. I was playing some basketball a few days ago and it inspired me to write the scrimmage in the beginning— please let me know if you don't understand any jargon/actions and I'll try to explain it again!

Also, I tried slipping in a little foreshadowing to an important plot point; maybe some of you caught onto it. Either ways, I'm planning to have this book finished by (hopefully) September 2020 so I can take a short hiatus and start DJ and Marco's book.

Thank you all for the continued support and your comments! I love reading all the chats and opinions you guys share each chapter- they make my day :)

Have a lovely week and stay safe <3