Marcus woke up the next morning with sore legs and a raw throat from all the shouting on the court. The ache felt good. It was the kind of pain that came from effort not regret.
He lay there for a while staring at the ceiling. The game replayed in his head. The final shot. The sound of the net. The cheer from the bench. He had not felt that alive in years.
The hunger was still there though. Not for the game. For the drink. His body had grown used to it. Sundays were the worst. Too much time. Too little noise. The idea of going to the bar slipped into his mind without asking.
He sat up and rubbed his face. "Not today" he whispered.
Marcus tried to stay busy. He washed his laundry cleaned the apartment and walked to the market for groceries. But as afternoon settled in the pull grew stronger. When he passed the corner bar the familiar smell of beer drifted into the street.
He slowed for a moment.
Then he heard a voice behind him.
"Marcus."
He turned and saw Walt crossing the street with a paper bag tucked under his arm.
"Good timing" Walt said. "I was on my way to see you. Thought we could talk about yesterday's game."
Marcus smiled thinly. "Sure."
Walt glanced toward the bar. "You heading in there?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. Just walking."
Walt did not press. He simply said "Come on. I'll make you coffee at my place."
Walt's house was small but neat. Old basketball photos covered the walls. Teams from years past. Black and white action shots. Yellowed newspaper clippings. Marcus recognized a few names. Local legends.
"You played?" Marcus asked.
"A bit" Walt said with a shrug. "Not like you. But I loved the game. Still do."
They sat at a small table. Walt poured coffee and slid a mug across.
"You've got talent" Walt said. "But talent fades if you let it rot. The drinking will take whatever you have left. I've watched it happen too many times."
Marcus stared into the coffee. "I know."
"Do you?" Walt asked gently. "Because I think you keep telling yourself it takes the edge off. It doesn't. It's got you by the throat."
Marcus said nothing. There was no point arguing.
The next week practice felt harder. Not on his body but in his head. He promised himself he would not drink until after the next game. The first few days passed quietly. Then came the restless nights. The headaches. The strange half dreams that left him sweating.
He told no one. But people noticed.
During a water break one player muttered "You look like you're about to pass out."
"Just tired" Marcus said.
Daryl smirked. "Maybe lay off the bottle."
Marcus clenched his jaw and stayed quiet.
By Thursday the tension boiled over. During a scrimmage Daryl kept ignoring him when he was open. On a fast break Marcus sprinted ahead waving for the ball. Daryl took it himself missed and gave up an easy score.
When they huddled Marcus snapped. "You saw me. Why didn't you pass?"
Daryl shrugged. "Didn't think you'd make it."
"You didn't think or you didn't want to?"
Walt stepped in before it went further. "Enough. Both of you. We play as a team or we don't play at all."
They finished the scrimmage without another word.
That night the craving hit hard. Marcus stood in the kitchen staring at the cupboard. His hands shook. His thoughts raced. The bottle had been there for months waiting.
He stood there longer than he wanted to admit.
Then he took it out walked to the sink and poured it down the drain. The smell rose sharp and bitter. It hurt to waste it. It also felt like cutting a rope that had been tight around his neck.
The next day Marcus moved differently. He passed quicker chased rebounds and hustled back on defense. Even Daryl noticed.
As they packed up after practice Daryl muttered "Nice game today."
Marcus nodded. "Thanks."
It was not friendship. But it was something.
Saturday brought another match. This one was tougher. A team from the next town. The gym was louder. The air thick with noise. Marcus started this time.
The game was rough from the opening tip. The other team pressed hard forcing mistakes. Marcus stayed calm finding space and making the right pass. He did not score much in the first half but his teammates did and that kept them close.
In the second half Walt ran a play through Marcus. The ball swung to him and he drove the lane. Two defenders jumped. Instead of forcing the shot he dropped the ball to Daryl under the rim.
Easy basket.
Daryl slapped his hand as they ran back. "Good pass."
Marcus smiled. "Good finish."
They won by six. The team gathered laughing and shouting. Walt stood off to the side arms crossed watching Marcus with quiet pride.
As they walked out Walt said "You're making progress. Not just on the court."
Marcus nodded. He knew exactly what he meant.
For the first time he believed he could keep going.