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“Now shake hands!”
Luke pretended to shake Nash’s hand and jabbed him in the gut. Ford, Nash’s brother, returned the favor.
“Hold my sweatshirt, baby, and watch how real men play,” Nash said to his girl. Luna rolled her eyes.
Luke stretched his arms and refused to look at Quinn, who he knew had gone to say hello to his family. She’d spent a few minutes talking to Nixon before taking a seat with the rest of her team to watch. He knew this because he kept searching for her.
“So let’s win,” Joe, today’s captain, said.
“That’s it?” Newman asked him.
“We let our play do the talking,” Joe said.
The whistle went, and he took a check from Nash as he ran by, and suddenly he forgot everything but the game.
“Long, TJ,” Buster roared at him.
“Who the fuck is TJ?”
“Trainer Junior!” Buster called.
Luke shook his head but ran. He dodged Nash and went in for the layup. Buster threw the ball, and he caught it. He lobbed it into the hoop, and came down with Ford’s elbow in his ribs.
“Ouch!”
“Ooops, sorry.” Ford’s smile was insincere.
“Go get him, Daddy!” Joe’s kids yelled.
“You okay, Uncle Luke?” Grace shrieked. She was running down the sideline with a flag that said, “Unicorns are the best.”
He managed to raise a hand, as he couldn’t speak.
The play was fast and hard and by the end of the third quarter the SRR boys were up, but not by much. Luke’s shirt stuck to him, and his ribs ached, but he felt alive.
“Watch out, Luke,” Jack said, nudging him. “Slick Sam is moving in again on your girl.”
His eyes went to the practice area. Sam was there, talking to Quinn.
“The guy’s a big-headed idiot,” Joe said. “Back to us. I will not have those SRR boys beating us, because they’ll be crowing for days.”
“True that,” Fin said. “And seeing as I’m soon to be related to them, I’m not having their BS at family dinners.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Jack said. “Ted, no one will think you’ll score a basket, so you head under it, and we’ll get the ball to you.”
Ted wasn’t insulted; he knew he was only there to make up the numbers.
“Newman, you stay on Ford. Him and Nash are the SRR boys’ strike weapons.”
“Whereas we have them across the board?” Dylan wheezed, hands on his thighs.
“Jesus, Dyl, time to start running again, clearly,” Joe said. “You’re getting soft.”
“Know it,” Dylan said. “But I did go for a run with Mr. Goldhirsh earlier.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Joe asked. “Knowing you had this ahead of you?”
“You know how persuasive he is?” Dylan was beet red in the face.
