“When will you start chasing your dreams? When you’re old and gray? Or breathing your last?”
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I woke up the next morning with my heart pounding. This was it—D-Day. The one Luke, his team—the Tigers—and of course, Patrick, had been anxiously waiting for.
The regional tournament had been pushed forward due to the back-to-school season. Originally, it had been scheduled later, but they feared some players would be unavailable if it wasn’t moved. Though the change was a relief in some ways, it also meant longer, grueling training hours. Still, despite the pressure, the Tigers had prepared as best they could. I wasn’t sure they were ready—but the confidence in Luke’s eyes was unmistakable.
“Nervous?” Mom asked as we stepped out of the Uber.
“A little,” I admitted, linking my arm with hers. We flashed our passes at the gate and made our way into the massive basketball stadium in Miami.
“They’ll be fine,” she said, her voice steady with assurance. Was it her belief in Luke? Or something deeper?
“Hey, Tigerssss!” we called out as we entered the backstage area.
The boys sat across three benches, focused, with Luke giving them one final pep talk. But the moment they saw us, they smiled. Luke walked up to Mom, gave her a hug, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks for coming, love.”
“Anything for you, Luke,” Mom beamed like a teenager in love.
“Salut, Beth. Merci d'être venu.” he said to me. I blushed. Luke had been helping me build confidence in my French, intentionally using it in conversation. And in just a few days, I had improved more than I thought possible. It’s funny how much can change in just a short time.
“Bienvenue, Luke,” I replied, stepping into his warm embrace. Unlike Dad’s citrus scent, Luke smelled like aloe vera—hopeful, fresh, new.
“Maintenant, sors à petit ami et encourage lui.” My cheeks burned. We hadn’t put a label on our relationship, but it seemed like Luke—and everyone else—already had. Even Mom. Maybe that’s what happens when you act all lovey-dovey with a guy.
“Hey, Bethely,” Patrick said, stepping up to hug me as I pulled away from Luke.
“Hi, Tiger.” I ruffled his hair playfully. It had only been two days since we watched The Fault in Our Stars at the cinema, but something had shifted between us. We were closer now—closer than I ever expected.
“Thanks for coming,” he whispered, gently taking my hand.
“My pleasure. Have fun out there, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” He grinned knowingly, remembering our deal to treat hard things as fun—like a game. A strange idea, but somehow, it worked.
…
Mom and I found our seats in the front row bleachers as the pre-game activities began.
Soon it was time for the grand team entrance. First up: Emirates—the Tigers’ toughest rival. I gasped. If the Tigers looked fierce, the Emirates looked… beastly. Like gorillas, towering with confidence and strutting like they owned the court.
And maybe they did. They’d won regionals three years in a row. They weren’t just confident—they were dominant.
Then, the Tigers emerged—and we cheered. Luke and Patrick glanced our way and smiled. I felt warmth spread through me. They weren’t intimidated. Not even a little. Whatever pep talk Luke had given them, it had worked.
The game kicked off, and just minutes in, Emirates scored the first basket. Their fans—much louder than ours—erupted in cheers.
The Tigers pushed hard, but Emirates was relentless. Patrick nearly scored, but the ball was stolen last second and dunked effortlessly into the other basket. Two goals to none.
“They’re so amateurish,” someone behind me scoffed. “How’ve they lasted this long?”
The words stung. People always had something to say—even when they hadn’t seen the hours of sweat, the pain, the drive.
Time passed with no new scores until halftime.
Mom and I made our way backstage to check on the team—and what we saw melted my heart.
Luke stood in their midst, placing a hand on each player’s shoulder. “You’re doing great. Don’t give up.”
He broke down their strengths and weaknesses, things even they hadn’t noticed. By the time he was done, they weren’t just ready—they were fired up.
Quietly, Mom and I returned to our seats.
The second half was a different game. The Tigers were fierce—focused. Emirates didn’t score once.
Then Patrick, like a spark, made a clean dunk. We jumped to our feet, screaming.
Another goal followed. Then another. And another.
By the fourth goal, we knew. The Tigers were winning.
But with ten minutes left, Emirates scored again… then again.
A tie.
The stadium fell into stunned silence. Everything would now come down to the final moments.
Penalty shots.
Emirates went first—and fumbled. The ball slipped out of the player’s hand.
Groans and hisses filled the air.
Now it was our turn.
Patrick stepped forward. Time slowed. Everything else vanished.
His Instagram caption echoed in my mind:
“I don’t mind if the whole world falls away. But not my ball… my ball is my oxygen.”
“This is your moment, Patrick,” I whispered.
He leaped—and dunked the ball clean into the basket.
“GOAL!!!”
The stadium exploded in cheers.
I hugged Mom briefly, then ran to the court where the team had lifted Patrick on their shoulders.
Just as he was lowered, I threw myself into his arms.
“I’m proud of you, Pat,” I whispered, my throat thick with emotion.
“Merci, Joli,” he grinned.
Then he kissed me.
Right there, in front of everyone.
It caught me off guard—but I kissed him back, breathlessly, as the crowd roared around us.
“I love you, Pat,” I blurted, unable to stop myself.
He stared into my eyes—but didn’t say it back.
“You’re breathtaking, Bethely,” he said instead.
I tried to smile. But something about his response left a small ache in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said, pinching his cheek gently.
“My pleasure,” he whispered, pulling me into another embrace. And in that moment, I felt like home.
But still…
Was this what it looked like?
Or was I dreaming again?
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A/N: What did you think of this chapter, guys?