Crossing the line
I could hear my own breathing, the squeak of shoes, the slap of the ball against the floor.
This is where I belong, I thought.
Not the interviews.
Not the speculation.
Not the commentary.
Here.
We won by nine. I finished with twenty-seven, eight assists, five steals. In the locker room, Jordan slapped me on the back like I’d personally resurrected his career.
“You were locked in tonight,” he said. “Like… scary locked in.”
I forced a grin. “Good scary or bad scary?”
He laughed. “Depends who you ask.”
The reporters asked the usual questions afterward. How did it feel to bounce back? What changed? Was I feeling pressure?