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“I know,” I mumble, pulling back to look at him, but he’s already focused on my mom.
“You came out for me?” he asks gently.
“Of course, we love you, Connor,” she replies, and my heart swells. “But don’t you give up,” she orders, her tone strict. “Don’t you dare give up!”
Connor laughs once. “No, ma’am.” And then his coach calls him back to join the rest of his team.
“I love you,” I tell him, kissing him quickly. I tug on his jersey, the one matching mine and my mother’s. “You got this!”
We lose.
We more than lose.
We get annihilated.
As soon as the final buzzer sounds, Connor shakes hands with the team, and then…
Then he falls to one knee, his outstretched arm keeping him upright while his entire body shakes with exhaustion. He’s wiped. Completely drained. I’ve never seen him work so hard, push so fiercely. When he looks up, his tired eyes take in the celebrations of players and fans from Philips, no doubt wishing he was part of it. He wanted state. He told me so many times how much he needed state. And now it was gone, completely out of his grasp. “God, I hate this for him,” I mumble.
Mom takes my hand. “He’s a strong boy. He’ll get through this.”
“Ava!” Corey, Connor’s dad, calls out, marching down the stands. He looks how I feel.
I raise a hand in a wave, watching the stands clear behind him, and wait for him to stop in front of me before saying, “He gave it everything.”
“And more,” Corey agrees. He shakes hands with Trevor and introduces himself to my mom, even though he’s already met her—though she won’t remember the circumstances.
“Your son put up a fight,” Mom tells him.
“He’s a warrior.”
We all turn to look at Connor, the only Wildcat left on the court. He’s sitting on the hardwood now, his legs outstretched, knees raised, head between his shoulders. Coach Sykes approaches him, squeezes his shoulder once, and whatever he says has Connor nodding.
Coach leaves him there, and Corey grasps my elbow. “Come with me,” he tells me, and so I follow him onto the court, hesitant as I stand in front of Connor. Without looking up, he lifts his hand, and I take it in mine. He tugs, pulling me down to his level. On my knees, I let him hold me to him, ignoring the tightness of his embrace or the wetness soaking through my jersey when he wipes his eyes on my shoulder. His entire body shakes, not from his crying, but from the adrenaline still pumping through him. He presses his lips to my temple, his heavy breaths coating my cheek.
“I’m so sorry, babe. I know how much this meant to you.”
He swallows, loudly, before pulling back, his eyes red when they lock on mine. He nods, and I know he can hear me, understand me, but it’s not enough to take away his pain. He’s so discouraged, so disappointed. So goddamn heartbroken.
Mom stands beside him, her scars highlighted by the gym lights. “Stand up, Connor!”
My eyes snap to her. “Mama, not right now!”
“Stand. Up!”
“Mama!”
“It’s okay,” Connor murmurs, releasing me to get to his feet. Standing in front of her, he’s only half the man she’s grown to love. He seems to have shrunk in the time it’s taken to lose a single game.
She orders, as if he’s one of the privates in her unit, “Goddammit, number three! Chin up!”
Connor inhales deeply, then lifts his chin, looks down at her.
“Shoulders out!”
His spine straightens, shoulders out, just like she commanded.
Mom huffs out a breath. “Now you listen to me, young man! You walk with your head high! You carried that team! All on your own. Not just tonight, but for the entire goddamn season! You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing! Do you hear me?”
