“T he Devils must win four of the next five games to make the
playoffs. How confident do you feel about that?”
“You have a lot of ground to make up now that you’re back in the lineup. This entire city is counting on you getting them to the playoffs, and you’re coming off a month-long injury. Do you feel the pressure to come back as if you never left and get some wins under your belt?”
“Ryan, you have no time to ease back into the game. You guys are in a must-win situation. How do you feel about that?”
How do I feel about that? I feel fucking anxious and stressed. I don’t need the constant reminder of how many people are counting on me. I put that pressure on myself every single day, but regardless, I’m constantly reminded during my first pre-game press conference back from my injury.
I wanted to fly under the radar tonight. Give myself time to feel the game and make sure I’m up to speed, that I haven’t lost too much strength. But I’m coming back into the lineup under a must-win situation. I don’t have time to ease my way in, and the pre-game press conference was a dose of reality.
The questions are on a constant loop, replaying in my mind as I bounce on my toes in the tunnel, ready to run out with my team.
Leon Carson did a hell of a job taking over for me the last four weeks. We split wins and losses, and that’s all I could ask for from a rookie given the starting role when he wasn’t fully ready for it.
But tonight? Tonight, I’m taking my spot back. Tonight, I’m going to spend the next two hours playing the game I love with the guys who have become my friends. Tonight, I’m going to try not to worry about the outside pressures even though I can feel them with every fiber of my being.
“Good to have you back, Cap.” Ethan pats me on the back of the head. “Are you ready for this?”
Stretching my neck, I shake out my shoulders as the rest of the team huddles up for a quick pep talk before we run out of the tunnel for the game.
Nodding, I put a fist up. The rest of the team joins in, connecting our fisted hands in the center of a circle.
“All right, boys,” I announce. “I’m back.” The team hollers with cheers.
“Thank you for holding us down, but we have some work to do. We’re in a must-win situation here.”
The team goes quiet with concentration. Focused nods and intense eye contact all around.
“But how about we go have some fun and play the way we know how, yeah?”
Confused stares come my way. These guys are used to me being extreme and unrelenting but being an ass to your teammates and throwing more pressure on their shoulders doesn’t make them play any better, so for now, I’ll carry that burden on my own.
“You heard the man!” Ethan adds, breaking up the awkward silence.
The energy shifts once again, fourteen guys bursting with adrenaline. “Devils on three!”
The tunnel echoes with the cheers and shouts as we run out for warm- ups.
The crowd is loud, but it turns deafening when I run out of the tunnel. It’s been far too long since I’ve been on the court instead of sitting my ass on the bench. I missed the way the hardwood feels under my soles. I missed the way it feels to wear red, black, and white for Chicago.
It feels like coming home and that feeling is only amplified when I see my girl wearing my jersey as she stands and cheers just like the rest of the crowd, rowdy for my return. The only difference is that Indy is wild, like a woman gone mad.
Just the way I like her.
I’m fully dialed in for warm-ups, blocking out the fanfare, and focused on my pre-game ritual of running through ball-handling drills off to the side of the court. Only now, instead of being solo, Leon joins me as we run through them together.
The National Anthem is sung, warm-ups are complete, and the adrenaline is back for the starting lineup announcements.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’ve been announced countless times, but the four weeks I’ve been without this game remind me of how special it is. How privileged I am to make a career out of something I love so much. How much I missed it, and now I want to savor every second I have of it.
And yes, I still want to win. More than anything.
The arena is dim, spotlights dance along the darkened hardwood as the rest of the starting lineup is announced. Ethan smacks my leg, leaving me as the last player on the bench before he jogs through the makeshift tunnel the rest of the team has made, meeting the other starters at the end.
“And last, but certainly not least, making his return to the lineup tonight,” the announcer booms through the speakers. “Number five, ladies and gentlemen, your starting point guard, Ryan Shay!”
The fan’s deafening cheers turn to a dull white noise in my ears as I stand from the bench. The arena shakes, vibrations bouncing off the hardwood from the sellout crowd standing to clap and yell for my return.
Running through the tunnel of my teammates, I make sure to hit each of their hands, and when I make it to the rest of the starters waiting at the other end, I jog right past them to the opposite sideline of the court.
When I’m in my uniform, I never lose focus. I don’t look into the crowd. I don’t pay attention to anyone outside of the game. But if the last four weeks taught me anything, it’s that this game doesn’t matter much without the three people sitting courtside for me.
Indy doesn’t need the world to know I love her, she’s said it herself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to.
Holding my fist out, I connect it with Zanders’. Leaning down, I pop a kiss on Stevie’s cheek. “Love you,” she says.
“Love you, Vee.”
Next to my sister sits her best friend, the brown-eyed beauty who owns my entire heart. With my knuckle, I tilt her chin up and lean down to kiss her lips. “And I love you.”
She smiles into me. “Go give them hell, Five.”
Jogging back to my team, Zanders shouts from behind me. “What about me? You don’t love me?”
“Love you too, brother!”
It took half of the first quarter to get into a rhythm.
My knee is healed. It feels strong and stable, but I can’t help but favor my left side in fear of another injury. I quickly remembered, thanks to too many turnovers, that I can’t play scared at this level, and by the second quarter I felt like my old self again.
Up by ten deep into the fourth quarter. I’ll average ten less minutes than my usual court time. My coach is clearly trying to ease me back into the game, but, thanks to the constant reminders, we don’t have time to ease into anything. We have five games left and need to win at least four of them to make the playoffs.
As much as Leon can handle himself out here, I’m not ready to call it a night. I missed this rush too much.
The next two times on defense, Dom blocks a shot and Ethan gets a steal, putting us up by fourteen with four minutes left on the game clock. Without a doubt, the three of us will be subbed out at the next dead ball, but I want to feel like myself one more time before the night is over.
I tighten my defense, testing my speed, and I’m right there, just as I used to be. My opponent drives the lane, dishing the ball to another player out on the perimeter. They shoot, but miss, and Dom is there with the rebound.
We quickly transition. I take off towards our end, letting Dom outlet the ball to Ethan who is fast to throw it ahead to me.
I can feel my defender on my back and the scene playing out in my mind as I gather the ball on my way to the hoop is all too familiar. I don’t want to leave my feet. I want to play it safe, come to a complete stop, ensuring he isn’t flying underneath me before I safely put the ball away.
All those thoughts run through my mind in the half second I have to make a decision.
I can’t play scared.
With one swift dribble, I’m in the air, grabbing the rim with a single hand and putting the ball through the net. An internal breath of relief flows through me when my feet safely return to the floor once again.
The guy defending me sure as shit fouls me on my way up, holding my other arm and pulling me down, but do I get the call? Nope, and that’s nothing new for me.
Proud of myself for simply getting it done and not playing in fear, I get back on defense without saying a word. I’ve never been the player to complain to the refs even when they’re doing a shitty job.
“Hey!” Indy jumps from her seat, yelling at the referees as I jog past her. “What the hell was that? Are you blind? That’s an and-one! Why don’t you start blowing that whistle instead of blowing this game?”
My girl is red-faced and angry, stomping around on her strappy red heels as she continues to berate the refs.
Waiting for the other team to bring the ball up, I stand with my hands on my hips, watching her. Ethan and Dom join, sandwiching me on either side.
“He’s an MVP nod, for fuck’s sake! Give the man some credit! What the hell are they paying you for?” she continues before adding a few more colorful curse words. “Goddamn. Are your knees sore from blowing that call?”
An amused smile is fighting to break free, but I just shake my head as I watch her.
“Your girl is kind of scary sometimes, Shay,” Dom notes from one side. Ethan laughs from the other.
“I know,” I admit proudly. “And I fucking love it.” We win by seventeen.
