Marcus woke before the alarm the next morning. The sun had not fully risen and a soft orange light slipped through the thin curtains. His body still carried yesterday's work but his mind was sharp. For the first time in years, he woke up with purpose.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes.
Fourteen days.
The number stayed with him. It was not just time until practice. It was a measure of who he would become. Could he stay away from old habits. Could he live up to the belief Hammond had placed in him.
Outside the air was cold. He zipped his hoodie slipped on his headphones and started jogging toward the park. His breath showed with every step. The streets were quiet. Only a few early walkers moved through the morning. He liked the silence. It left no room for excuses.
The court was empty when he arrived. Rain from the night before had left the surface damp and small puddles reflected the sky. Marcus set his bag down wiped his shoes and picked up the ball. It felt heavier than usual but he worked through it.
Corner shots.
Free throws.
Short drives to the rim.
Each made basket loosened something inside him. The past was still there but it did not press as hard. Every shot felt like proof that he was still capable of building something new.
By the time the sun was fully up his shirt clung to his back and his legs burned. A man walking his dog stopped nearby and watched for a moment. Marcus noticed but stayed focused. The dog barked once and they moved on.
He sat on the bench drinking water and letting his breathing settle. His phone buzzed.
Walt: No excuses. You training?
Marcus: First set done.
Walt: Good. Keep going.
Marcus smiled. The message mattered more than Walt knew.
Later that day he walked into a small gym near his apartment. He had passed it for years without going inside. The smell of rubber mats and metal hit him immediately. The man at the front desk looked up.
"Membership?"
"Two weeks" Marcus said. "For now."
The man nodded slid a card across and went back to his screen.
Marcus headed straight to the weights. He started slow. Focused. He listened to his body pushed enough to feel the strain then kept going. This was part of it too. Strength. Endurance. Control.
When he left his arms ached but it felt honest. The kind of pain that comes from effort.
That evening he found himself standing outside his old bar. Music spilled into the street. Laughter followed. For a moment he remembered how easy it was to walk in and forget everything.
Then Hammond's voice came back to him.
No excuses.
Marcus turned away.
At home he cooked a simple meal. Chicken. Rice. Nothing fancy. As he ate, he opened an old notebook and wrote out a plan.
Morning court work.
Afternoon gym.
Evening runs.
Every day. Fourteen days.
Before bed he sat on the mattress again. The old Marcus would have gone out tonight. Would have promised himself tomorrow. This Marcus felt different. Quieter. More serious.
Still, he knew the real test was coming. The court was only part of it. Life would offer distractions. Some harder to walk away from than a bar door.
As he lay down and closed his eyes, he wondered what the next two weeks would bring.
Deep down he knew basketball was not the only thing he would have to fight for.