The Hard Count(31)

“Damn straight!” Sasha yells.

Nico turns to his friend and tilts his head, and Sasha sinks down slightly in his chair.

“Sorry,” Nico says, excusing his friend. Nobody seems to mind, though. People are listening. The boosters are even listening. Players heads that were seconds ago looking down are now looking up—eyes focused on their new leader. A few are holding out, but Nico will win them over. He’ll own them, too.

“There’s this great thing that happens, though, when you don’t have everything. You find something deeper. In the locker room…out here today…we call it brotherhood. I like that. Family—that’s what we call it at home. It doesn’t have to be blood. It’s my neighbors down the street. It’s the time Carlos Mendoza closed down his shop to drive me to school because someone stole my board. It’s how his wife went out and bought me a new one. It’s how my mother’s fridge was filled with food when we were hungry; how my brother’s daughter always has the prettiest dress for Sunday school; how my boy Sasha, even though he moved away when we were kids, remained and will always be the best friend I’ll ever have.”

“Family. Brotherhood.” Nico looks to his team, most of them meeting his eyes now as he says this. He turns enough to glance my way next; his eyes find me, this time stopping, his lip raising, his confidence building on itself so quickly before my eyes, I feel like this may be his superpower.

“Adversity. Opportunity.”

The room is silent, filled only with the sounds of the rushing air and crackling building again.

“I understand this. I take this job. I take this role. And I will be what you need because I know what it’s like to need…to need someone. To need to believe again. I believe…”

He swallows, his eyes still on me, the intensity so strong that I bend my head forward to peer at him through the lens. Even there, in black and white, he owns me in a way that makes my palms sweat and my nerve endings fire in anticipation. He’s made me want to act, to be better. In a little more than a minute, Nico Medina has made me believe—he’s made most of us believe.

“I know we are going to win tonight. I know it. I feel it. Right here,” he says, fist to his chest as he turns toward his team, taking steps forward until he’s close enough to reach their hands. “I feel it! Do you feel it?”

“Hoorah!” They yell, Colton standing and clapping, others following. My father stands and begins to clap with them, his mouth still a hard line, not ready to accept that any of this could be so simple, but relieved to see them willing to try, to go along with his crazy plan.

“Whose house is this?” Nico says, his voice strong, the words tinged with energy. He’s amped. His legs are steady, and his muscles are flexed.

“Our house!” They yell.

“Whose house is this?” His question comes out louder this time.

“Our house!”

The response matches.

“Whose. House. Is. This?”

It’s always done in threes. This is tradition. And they respond just as loud.

“Our house!”

Nico reaches forward grabbing Colton’s hand, their chests crushing together as he makes his way down the line, celebrating and fueling the mass adrenaline with fist bumps, hand embracing, and chants. He reaches Sasha, and they both roar, their smiles large and the worry that was almost dragging Nico into the claws of dread is nowhere to be seen.

My feet move automatically, and I film it all—my footage a messy scene of chaos, unbalanced shots and unsteady filming. I smile through it all. The scene is brilliant. The story is set. We have to win. Losing is not an option. We all believe.

I stop the moment my camera focuses on Nico and my brother. Nico’s hand held out, my brother looks around, his eyes working fast to see who is watching, and without a second thought, Noah pushes by Nico, moving his hand aside as he works his arm over his crutch and slings his body forward to catch up to Travis. The two of them walk out through the side door into the locker room, not once looking back, and never acknowledging the power of the celebration they left behind.

“It’s going to take time,” I say to Nico. He isn’t facing me, but I know he knows I was standing near him. He nods without speaking at first, smiling and shaking hands with more of the guys as they slowly exit the makeshift platform at the back of the gym. My dad is long gone, not one to press flesh with boosters who all have opinions. Nico knew his role, though, so he stayed. I stand with him, and I hold the camera up under the guise that all of this is for my film. I’m not even rolling by the end of it, though. I stayed because I didn’t want to leave.

I didn’t want to leave him.

Sasha and Colton are the last to head to the locker room, and Nico lingers behind.

“I’ll catch up,” he says. Colton smirks at him, and I flush at the way his eyes take me in, assuming I’m something more than I really am to Nico.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Colton says.

I let my camera dangle in my hand, wanting to keep the focus on everything in the small space between Nico’s eyes and mine.

“How’d I do?” he asks, and I laugh on reflex.

“Have you ever lost a debate?”

Nico chuckles and his head dips down, pulling one side of his mouth in for a smile before leveling me with the gold in his eyes.