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“Sorry won’t get us into the play-offs.” DeMarcus studied the other players. “We’re thirty-two and thirty-nine. Tenth in the conference. The last I looked, teams with losing records don’t make it into the play-offs. What are we going to do?”
Serge shrugged. “We need to win.”
DeMarcus nodded. “What’s your plan? I’m open to ideas.” He waited through a beat of silence. “Anyone? We’re not leaving this room without a plan.”
The players, including the backups, grumbled. DeMarcus didn’t waver.
Anthony pulled a wide-tooth comb through his throwback natural. “Come on, Coach. We want to get out of here.”
Barron arched a brow. “What are you in such a hurry for? It’s not like you have a shorty waiting for you.”
Anthony glared at the point guard. “Shut up.”
Vincent looked up at DeMarcus from his seat in front of his locker. “You had those one-on-ones with us. Why?”
DeMarcus frowned. “I told you, to figure out how to turn the team around.”
Vincent spread his arms. “It’s fear. Do you have a magic pill for that?”
DeMarcus stared at the center. “Fear of what?”
Vincent shrugged. “Stupid stuff.”
DeMarcus still didn’t understand what Vincent was talking about. “Like what?”
The center nodded toward Barron. “He’s afraid of not shining on the court.”
The team captain glared at him. “Mind your damn busine
ss, man. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.” Vincent shifted to look at Serge. “He’s afraid he’ll be stuck on a losing team for the rest of his career.”
Serge grumbled. “Who wouldn’t be?”
Vincent scanned the room. “Rick’s afraid he doesn’t measure up, and Jam-On-It’s afraid he never will.”
Jamal pushed out his chest. “That’s bullshit. I’m as good as anyone in this room, anyone in the league.”
“Except Kobe.” Anthony pointed to himself. “What about me?”
Vincent chuckled. “You’re afraid of eternal damnation because of those thoughts you don’t want to admit are in your head.”
Anthony scowled. “Bling’s right. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Vincent chuckled again. “Confession is good for the soul, St. Anthony.”
Warrick crossed his arms and propped his shoulder against his locker. “What about you?”
Vincent turned to smile at the veteran. “I’m afraid that I can’t tell you that.”
Warrick shook his head, grinning.
DeMarcus narrowed his gaze. Was Vincent right? Was fear holding them back? It made sense. “What about me?”
Vincent rose from his chair. “You’re a control freak. You’re afraid of not being in control. You’re afraid of not having all the answers. But we’re seventy-one games into the season. There are only eleven games left, and you’re losing control.”
DeMarcus locked eyes with Vincent. The center was right. He was losing control, and that scared him. He was losing Jaclyn, and that scared him even more. The silence was heavy in the room. Thirteen pairs of eyes waited for his reaction.
