The alarm rang before the sun. Marcus reached out and shut it off then lay still staring at the ceiling. His body ached from the work he had put in but his mind was already awake. He got up tied his shoes and stepped into the morning chill.
The streets were quiet. A thin fog clung to the corners and his breath rose in small clouds as he jogged. With every step his body loosened. Hammond's words stayed with him. Fourteen days. Use everyone.
By the time he reached the court the fog was lifting. Marcus pulled the ball from his bag and let it bounce. Once. Twice. The sound cut through the quiet. He moved into his drills. Crossovers. Spins. Shots from every angle. Sweat soaked his shirt but he stayed locked in.
He pictured the faces of those who doubted him. The looks. The whispers about wasted talent. Each shot felt like an answer. He was not finished. He refused to be.
Halfway through his workout he noticed someone on the bleachers.
Hammond.
The old man sat with both hands wrapped around his walking stick watching every move.
"You're early" Marcus called out between breaths.
"So are you" Hammond replied. "That's a good sign. The ones who rise first tend to last."
Marcus nodded wiped his face and kept shooting. Hammond watched quietly before speaking again.
"You train like a man running from something."
Marcus stopped. Slowly he turned.
"Maybe I am" he said. "I lost too much time."
Hammond shook his head. "The past is heavy if you carry it everywhere. You cannot play with stones on your back. You have to drop them."
The words landed hard. Marcus wanted to push back but instead he nodded and went back to work.
As the sun climbed others began to arrive. Walt showed up smiling like always. A few younger players followed laughing loudly. When they noticed Marcus, the laughter faded. Someone muttered under his breath and a few others snickered.
Marcus heard it.
Why is he here again. He will slow us down. Or show up drunk.
His jaw tightened. He said nothing. Hammond's words echoed. Drop the stones. Let the court speak.
They started a scrimmage. Walt gave Marcus the ball early. Marcus drove into the lane spun and finished with a smooth layup off the glass. A few brows lifted. No one spoke.
On the next play Marcus faced the loudest voice of them all. A tall forward named Darius. Darius smirked daring him.
Marcus took a breath dribbled left crossed right and left Darius stumbling. He pulled up and released.
The ball dropped clean.
For a moment the court went quiet.
"Lucky shot" Darius muttered though his pride had taken a hit.
Marcus kept moving. Rebounding. Passing. Defending. Each play sharper than the last. By the end his shirt was soaked and he had scored nearly half the points.
Hammond stood slowly leaning on his stick.
"That" he said "is the player I saw the first night. The one who was never broken."
The players exchanged looks. Some carried respect they had not planned on giving. Darius avoided Marcus's eyes.
That evening Marcus found himself back at the café. Lena was there again sketching in her notebook. She smiled when she saw him.
"You look tired" she said.
"Good tired" Marcus replied sitting across from her. "The kind you earn."
She studied him. "That's better than the tired that comes from running away."
Marcus smiled. "Yeah. I know that one too well."
They talked for hours. About her family. About paths she did not want but felt pushed toward. About Hammond. About teammates who still did not trust him. Marcus found himself opening up without effort.
At one point Lena reached across the table and rested her hand on his.
"You're not who you were" she said softly. "You're becoming someone else."
The words stayed with him long after they said good night.
Back in his apartment Marcus lay awake staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years the future did not feel like a tunnel.
It felt like a door.
The days passed. Each morning, he trained harder. Each evening, he spent time with Lena. The connection grew quietly. He did not name it. He was careful. But he felt it.
One night as he walked her home she paused at her gate.
"Marcus" she said softly. "Some people will try to pull you back into who you were. You can't let them. Promise me."
"I promise" he said.
He meant it.
Even as he said the words he knew something was coming.
Storms always did.