Marcus
I didn’t expect to see Richard Branson at the court that morning. Not with two coffees in hand and that unreadable look that said he didn’t do this often. He handed me one like we were equals. Like I hadn’t been the guy who broke his daughter’s trust.
“You came,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my neck.
“I said I’d help,” he replied. “That was solid. Your drive’s stronger than your stats.”
I wanted to believe that. But after everything that had happened, it felt too late.
“Don’t know if anyone cares anymore,” I said.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not the first kid who got dragged into their dad’s power games. But you might be the first to admit it.”
The guilt still sat heavy on my chest. I looked down at my shoes.
“I’m not here for a redemption arc,” he added. “But I saw how you looked at my daughter. And I think people can earn their way back—if they show up when it matters.”
I blinked.
Then he said it: “I called in a scout. Old friend. He’s dropping by.”
My heart slammed into my ribs. “You what?”
“Relax,” Richard said. “Play like you mean it.”
He walked off. And just as he sat down on the bench, the gym doors opened.
Betty.
Hair messy. Hoodie hanging off one shoulder. Sneakers untied. My lungs forgot how to work.
Richard gave me a nod, then turned to her. “I didn’t tell you to come. But I figured you should see him for yourself.”
She blinked, confused. “You set this up?”
“Just the gym. He’s the one who showed up,” her dad said.
She stared at me, eyes sharp and searching. “What is this?”
I looked down at the ball, then back at her. “I didn’t know he’d call you.”
“And I didn’t know he’d call you,” she said.
I laughed under my breath. “Guess that makes us even.”
She didn’t laugh.
Her voice shook. “So now what? You impress a scout and everything goes back to normal?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t even know if I want the NBA anymore. But I want to figure it out for me. Not for my dad. Not for anyone else.”
I took a step closer. “And I want to figure it out with you. If there’s still a chance.”
She looked between me and the court. “You’ve got five minutes.”
A grin cracked across my face. “That’s all I need.”
I picked up the ball, heart thumping. The gym doors opened again.
The scout walked in.
And Betty stayed.
Not for stats. Not for performance.
She was watching me.
This time, the shot I took was mine alone.
The scout observed silently from the bleachers as I began the warmup. Layups. Free throws. Fadeaways. No theatrics. Just movement, rhythm, precision. My body remembered what my mind had tried to forget—the joy of the game when it wasn’t about pressure or power, but love.
Richard stood with arms crossed, saying nothing, but his eyes followed every shot. And Betty? She didn’t sit. She stood near the court, hands in her pockets, as if moving an inch might change everything. I stole glances when I could. Every time I saw her face, it pushed me harder.
After a few minutes, the scout stepped forward. “One-on-one?” he asked.
I nodded.
He played with calculated ease, not trying to destroy me but to measure my reactions. My balance. My strategy. I pushed back. Pivoted. Hit clean mid-range jumpers. Took a charge. My muscles screamed, but I didn’t let up.
Not this time.
When it ended, we both stood panting. The scout offered a single nod, then turned to Richard. “Still got it. Needs shaping—but the instincts are clean. You’ll hear from me.”
Then he left.
Just like that.
Betty stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wild animal she wasn’t sure would bite.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “So... that happened.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know until this morning.”
“You didn’t even try to convince me to come.”
“I figured… if I was worth showing up for, you’d decide that on your own.”
Silence.
Then she said, “You looked free out there.”
“I was.”
“And you didn’t do it for him?” She glanced toward where her dad had been.
“No,” I said. “I did it for me. But I wanted you to see.”
She studied me. “I’m not ready to say everything’s forgiven.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said. “I’m just asking for time. And a chance to be honest.”
Betty didn’t smile. But she didn’t walk away.
She just nodded once. “Let’s go.”
I followed her out of the gym, heart full, knowing it wasn’t a win. But it was a start.