Page 76 of Love & Streetball

“I’m being realistic.”

“Nah, you being scared.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised an eyebrow.

“Wherever you go, I’m with you. Regardless. You hear me?”

I slowly nodded.

“Say it, Slim. You know I need to hear it verbally.”

“I hear you.”

“With the fourth pick in the WNBA Draft, the Heartville Hornets select Scottie Grant from Law Grove University.”

Everything stopped. I heard my name, but my body didn’t move. I got to stay with Kane.

Mama screamed beside me. My agent jumped from her chair. Coach started clapping, and Kane pulled me out of my seat before I could understand what was happening.

“That’s you, baby!” Mama cried. “She said your name!”

“Oh, my God,” I breathed.

Kane wrapped both arms around me and lifted me from the floor. I buried my face against his neck as the room exploded around us.

“You did that shit,” he whispered into my ear. His voice sounded thick. “You hear me? You did that. We get to stay together unless one of us gets traded.”

When he set me down, his eyes were glossy. This was the first time I’ve seen him with tears in his eyes. This meant so much to not only me, but to Kane too.

“Are you crying?” I asked, already knowing he was.

“Nah, man. These lights just bright as fuck,” he replied with a lie.

I laughed even as my own tears spilled down my cheeks. Vani had to be looking down right now, beating his chest and screaming for me. He would have been the loudest in the room. My heart clenched.

“Go get your jersey and your hat, baby,” Kane cheered.

I hugged my mama tightly, hugged my coach and agent, and then headed toward the stage on wobbly legs. I prayed I wouldn’t bust my ass.

The walk toward the stage felt longer than any court I had ever played on. Cameras flashed from every direction. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other without falling.

When I reached the commissioner, she smiled and handed me a red and white Hornets jersey with my last name across the back.

Grant.

I stared at it for a second before holding it up. That name had been through struggle. It had survived overdue bills, long nights, worn shoes, empty cabinets, doubt, and every person who had ever looked at me and decided I wasn’t enough.

I was enough.

20

Three years later…

Our house sat behind tall iron gates at the end of a long, curved driveway. It was a massive three-story mansion built from dark stone and glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city of Heartville, while the circular driveway wrapped around a fountain with our jersey numbers carved into the center.

Inside, the ceilings stretched two stories high, and a crystal chandelier hung above polished marble floors. The living room was filled with custom leather furniture, a wall-sized television, and a fireplace surrounded by black stone.

The kitchen looked like it belonged in a luxury restaurant, with double islands, gold fixtures, top-of-the-line appliances, and a walk-in pantry bigger than most bedrooms. A glass staircase led upstairs to the master bedroom, which had its own sitting area, private balcony, oversized bathroom, and a closet filled with designer clothes and sneakers arranged like they were on display in a store.