Gold

Arell stepped off the plane into the sweltering Atlanta heat, his body still on California time. The past week with India had been intense - emotional, intimate, and all too brief. But now it was time to get back to business. As he made his way through the crowded terminal, his phone buzzed with a text from Geoffrey:

"Welcome back. Police still sniffing around, but no need to worry. All under control. Car waiting out front."

Arell let out a small sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was more drama with the law. He'd come too far to let anything derail him now.

Outside, the familiar Atlanta skyline greeted him like an old friend. His security detail ushered him into a waiting SUV, the tinted windows offering a welcome respite from the bright Southern sun.

As they drove, Arell's mind raced with everything he needed to do. Kenny's playoff game was tonight - there was no way he was missing that. But first, he had a very important meeting.

The SUV pulled up to a sprawling property on the outskirts of the city. As Arell stepped out, he was greeted by the sound of barking dogs.

A tall, muscular man in his forties approached, hand outstretched. "Mr. Thompson? I'm Marcus, Ares' trainer."

Arell shook his hand firmly. "Good to meet you, man. How's my boy doing?"

Marcus grinned. "Why don't you see for yourself? Ares! Come!"

From around the corner of the house bounded a fawn-colored blur of muscle and excitement. Ares, still just shy of 11 weeks old, looked almost exactly as Arell remembered him from their brief encounter in Memphis. The Cane Corso puppy skidded to a halt at Arell's feet, tail wagging furiously.

Arell crouched down, letting Ares sniff his hand before scratching behind his ears. "Hey, big guy. You settling in okay?"

Ares responded by attempting to climb into Arell's lap, his puppy enthusiasm nearly making Arell trip.

Marcus chuckled. "He's only been here a few days, but he's already showing great potential. Why don't we head inside and I can show you what we've been working on?"

They made their way into a spacious, air-conditioned room clearly designed for dog training. Various obstacles and equipment lined the walls.

"Alright, Ares," Marcus called out. "Sit."

The puppy hesitated for a moment, then planted his rear on the ground, looking up expectantly.

"Good boy," Marcus praised, tossing him a treat. "Now, down."

Ares tilted his head, clearly still learning this command. With a bit of gentle guidance from Marcus, he eventually lowered himself to the ground.

For the next hour, Marcus demonstrated the basic obedience training he'd started with Ares. It was clear the puppy was still very much in the early stages of learning, but his intelligence and eagerness to please were evident.

"He's picking things up quickly," Marcus explained as Ares attempted to figure out a simple puzzle toy. "At this age, it's all about positive reinforcement and building a strong foundation. We're focusing on socialization and basic commands right now."

Arell nodded, watching Ares with amusement. "He's got a lot of energy, huh?"

Marcus laughed. "That he does. Cane Corsos are working dogs, after all. They need plenty of physical and mental stimulation. Speaking of which, why don't you play with him a bit? It's important for you two to bond."

Arell didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed a soft rope toy, engaging in a gentle game of tug-of-war with Ares. The puppy's strength was already impressive, even at his young age.

"So," Marcus said as they watched Ares happily gnaw on the rope, "what are your long-term plans for him? Just a family pet, or are you thinking about more advanced training?"

Arell considered for a moment. "I want him to be able to travel with me. Maybe some protection work eventually. I just want a loyal companion who can handle being in different environments."

Marcus nodded approvingly. "That's a good goal. We'll start laying the groundwork for that now. Lots of exposure to different sights, sounds, and experiences. As he gets older, we can introduce more advanced concepts."

As they discussed the details of Ares' future training, Arell's phone buzzed again. It was a reminder about Kenny's game.

"Shit, I gotta bounce," Arell said, checking the time.

Marcus nodded understandingly. "No problem. We'll keep working with Ares here for now. Once he's a bit older and has his basic obedience down, we can start doing some training at your place too."

Arell crouched down one last time, giving Ares a final pat. "Be good, boy. I'll be back soon to check on you."

As he climbed back into the waiting SUV, Arell felt excitement bubbling up inside him. Between Ares, Kenny's game, and his own career, there was so much happening. And he hadn't even had time to properly celebrate his success.

The YouTube views for "Fair Trade" had been staggering. What had started as an impressive 1.5 million views on the first day had exploded into 20 million. And now, the cherry on top - Gold certification in Canada. His first ever.

Arell's mind drifted back to his time with India. The intimate moments they'd shared, the deep conversations, the way she'd looked at him as they'd said goodbye at LAX just this morning.

The arena came into view, its massive structure dominating the skyline. Arell could feel the energy even from outside - the playoffs always brought a different kind of intensity.

The roar of the crowd washed over him as he entered the arena proper. Arell took a deep breath, soaking it all in. Despite the jet lag and the chaotic pace of his life, he felt energized. It was good to be home.

<>

As Kenny stepped onto the court for warmups, the familiar squeak of sneakers on hardwood filled his ears. The energy in the arena was electric, a palpable buzz of anticipation for the playoff matchup against the Fort Wayne Mad Ants. Kenny took a deep breath, inhaling the mixture of popcorn and sweat that permeated the air.

"Let's go, boys!" Coach Stevens called out, clapping his hands. "Get those legs loose!"

Kenny started his routine, his muscles slowly awakening as he jogged laps around the court. He glanced up at the stands, spotting Arell settling into his usual seat. Their eyes met briefly, and Arell gave him a subtle nod. Kenny felt a surge of confidence – he was ready for this.

The G League playoffs was intense. Single elimination. No room for error. Win or go home.

He glanced at the scoreboard, the bright red numbers reminding him of their 4th seed position. They'd clawed their way here, and now everything was on the line. The top 8 teams overall had made it, regardless of conference. Kenny knew the Santa Cruz Warriors were the team to beat - they'd dominated all season and were heavy favorites to take the championship.

"Alright, huddle up!" Coach Stevens called.

The team gathered, sweat already beading on their foreheads. Kenny could feel the nervous energy radiating off his teammates.

"Listen up," Coach began, his voice low and intense. "I know you're all feeling the pressure. But remember, we earned our spot here. Now it's time to prove we belong."

Kenny nodded, his eyes scanning his teammates' faces. Jamal looked pale, his usual confidence replaced by wide-eyed anxiety. Tyrell was fidgeting, unable to stand still. Even Marcus, the veteran, had a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his nerves.

Coach continued, "We've got home court advantage for this game. Let's use it. Feed off that energy. And remember, it's single elimination. Leave everything on the court."

As they broke the huddle, Kenny pulled Jamal aside. "Hey man, you good?"

Jamal forced a smile. "Yeah, just... you know. Big game."

Kenny clapped him on the shoulder. "We got this. Just play your game, alright?"

The warmups intensified, players now breaking into shooting drills. Kenny felt his shot falling smoothly, each swish of the net building his confidence. He moved fluidly through his routines, muscle memory taking over as his mind focused on the task ahead.

Kenny's eyes scanned the court. Across the way, he spotted Marcus Williams, the Mad Ants' star guard, already eyeing him. Williams smirked, miming a shot before shaking his head—a little pre-game trash talk. Kenny just smiled back, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. And instead drained five straight threes, each one a dagger, and Kenny didn't break eye contact once. The message was clear: tonight was going to be a long night for Williams.

As the arena filled, the energy built to a fever pitch. Kenny could feel the vibrations of the crowd through the soles of his shoes. The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers:

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the G League playoffs! Tonight, your College Park Skyhawks take on the Fort Wayne Mad Ants in a win-or-go-home matchup!"

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Kenny closed his eyes for a moment, soaking it in. This was what he lived for.

"Starting for your Skyhawks," the announcer continued, "at point guard, number 23, Kennnnnny Valery!"

Kenny jogged onto the court, slapping hands with his teammates. As he took his position for the opening tip, he locked eyes with Marcus Williams again.

"Hope you're ready for a long night, rookie," Williams taunted.

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "Better buckle up, old man."

The referee tossed the ball into the air, and the game was on. Kenny immediately felt the intensity ratchet up. This wasn't just another game—this was the playoffs. Every cut was sharper, every screen harder. The Mad Ants came out aggressive, trying to set the tone early.

But Kenny was ready. As he dribbled up the court, he could feel the defense keying in on him. Williams was up in his grill, trying to pressure him into a mistake. Kenny stayed calm, his dribble low and tight as he called for a high screen. He used the pick to create just enough space, then crossed over with a quick hezi, leaving Williams stumbling. The lane opened up like the Red Sea, and Kenny exploded to the rim.

As he soared through the air, time seemed to slow. He could see the defense collapsing, bodies converging to stop him, but it was too late. Kenny threw down a thunderous dunk, the rim rattling as he hung on for just a moment longer, savoring the feel of it.

The crowd erupted, the noise washing over him in waves. As he landed, Kenny sprinted to the sideline, slapping hands with Arell in one fluid motion.

"Do his ass dirty, Kenny!" Arell shouted over the roar of the crowd, a grin splitting his face.

Back on defense, Kenny was locked in. Williams was trying to shake him, but Kenny was glued to him, reading his every move. He mirrored Williams' footwork, his quick hands disrupting the Mad Ants' offense. When Williams tried to drive, Kenny anticipated it, cutting him off and forcing him to pick up his dribble.

Kenny's eyes never left the ball. As soon as Williams hesitated, Kenny pounced. He poked the ball free, scooping it up before Williams could react. He was off to the races, the court opening up before him. As he approached the rim, he saw the defense collapsing on him, trying to stop him from getting an easy bucket. But Kenny wasn't looking to score—he was looking for the open man.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he whipped a no-look pass to Tyrell in the corner. Tyrell caught the ball, hesitating for just a split second. Kenny's voice cut through the noise.

"Let it fly, T!"

Tyrell pulled up, releasing the shot just as the defense closed in. The ball arced through the air, and Kenny knew it was good the moment it left Tyrell's hands. The net barely moved as the ball swished through, and the crowd erupted again.

"There you go!" Kenny shouted, pumping his fist. "That's how we do it!"

But the Mad Ants weren't going down without a fight. They tightened up on defense, doubling Kenny every time he touched the ball. They were forcing the other Skyhawks to step up, and it was clear that some of them were struggling with the pressure. Jamal was a step slow on defense, getting caught in screens and leaving shooters wide open. Tyrell was second-guessing himself, passing up open looks instead of taking the shot.

The Mad Ants seized on every mistake, building a lead. With two minutes left in the quarter, they were up 28-19. Coach Stevens called a timeout, his frustration evident.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" he barked as the team huddled. "You're playing scared! This isn't some regular season game. This is the playoffs! You've got to want it more than them!"

Kenny could see the defeat creeping into his teammates' eyes. He knew he had to do something to turn the tide.

"Coach," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Let me run the offense. I'll get us back in this."

Coach Stevens looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright, Kenny. It's your show. Don't let me down."

As they broke the huddle, Kenny gathered his teammates. "Listen up," he said, his voice carrying just enough authority to cut through the noise. "Forget about the score. Forget about the pressure. Just play your game and follow my lead. We've got this."

The change was immediate. Kenny took control, dribbling up the court with purpose. He called for a motion play, directing his teammates to move without the ball. As the defense shifted, Kenny found an opening. He crossed over into the lane, dragging the defense with him before threading a perfect bounce pass to Jamal for an easy layup.

"That's it!" Kenny shouted, clapping Jamal on the back as they ran back on defense. "Just like we practiced!"

On the next possession, Kenny dribbled up court, keeping his dribble low and tight as he scanned the defense. Williams was still guarding him closely, but Kenny was in his bag now. He hit Williams with a hesitation dribble, then exploded past him with a quick crossover. The help defense was slow to rotate, and Kenny took full advantage, finishing at the rim with a silky-smooth finger roll.

As the first quarter wound down, Kenny continued to impose his will on the game. He wasn't just scoring—he was orchestrating the entire offense, setting up his teammates with pinpoint passes and keeping the defense on their heels. The Skyhawks cut the lead to three by the end of the quarter, trailing 30-27.

As they walked to the bench, Williams bumped Kenny's shoulder, trying to get under his skin.

"Lucky run," Williams sneered. "Won't last."

Kenny just laughed, shaking his head. "I'm just getting started, old timer. Hope your knee braces are tight."

The second quarter saw Kenny shift into another gear. He was everywhere at once, a blur of motion and precision. On the first possession, he called for a high screen, using it to create space before whipping a no-look pass to Kwesi for a thunderous alley-oop.

As he stepped to the line, Kenny heard the announcer's voice cutting through the noise:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing something special here tonight. Kenny Valery is putting on a clinic. He's got 18 points, 7 assists, and 4 steals... and we're not even at halftime!"

The game was a blur of fast breaks, pick-and-rolls, and quick dishes to his teammates. Kenny was in his bag, and every possession felt like an opportunity to showcase his full arsenal. He was orchestrating the offense, calling for screens, threading the needle on passes, and cutting through the defense like a hot knife through butter.

On one play, Kenny dribbled up the court, signaling for a high screen from Kwesi. As Kwesi moved into position, Kenny saw the defense shifting, anticipating the pick. He slowed his dribble just enough to lull the defenders into a false sense of security, then exploded past the screen with a quick cross, leaving his defender flat-footed. As the help defense rotated, Kenny kept his eyes up, scanning the floor. He saw Kwesi rolling to the rim, and without breaking stride, he whipped a no-look pass over his shoulder.

Kwesi caught the ball mid-air and threw down the alley-oop.

Kenny's court vision was on full display. He was two steps ahead of the defense, anticipating their moves before they made them. On the next possession, he drove hard to the basket, drawing a double team. Instead of forcing the shot, he kicked it out to Tyrell, who was wide open at the top of the key. Tyrell caught the ball in rhythm and let it fly, the three-pointer swishing through the net with ease.

"Let's go!" Kenny shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. He slapped Tyrell on the back as they hustled back on defense, the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The Mad Ants tried to slow the game down, but Kenny wouldn't let them. He picked up the tempo, pushing the ball at every opportunity. When they tried to press him, he used his quickness to break through the pressure, weaving through defenders with a combination of hesitation dribbles, crossovers, and spin moves that left the defense scrambling to keep up.

As the half wore on, Kenny could feel the Mad Ants starting to wear down. Their legs were heavy, their rotations a step slow. Kenny smelled blood in the water, and he went in for the kill.

With a minute left in the half, the Skyhawks were up by five. The Mad Ants were trying to cut into the lead before the break, but Kenny was having none of it. On defense, he was a menace, hounding Williams with relentless pressure. Williams was trying to shake him, but Kenny was glued to him, his quick hands disrupting every dribble.

Williams tried to create space with a step-back jumper, but Kenny was right there, timing his jump perfectly to swat the ball out of the air. He grabbed the loose ball and took off down the court, the clock winding down.

Three. Two. Kenny crossed half-court, the defense in full retreat. He saw the clock ticking down, and with a final burst of speed, he drove to the rim, rising up just as the buzzer sounded.

Swish. The layup dropped through the net, and the crowd exploded once more. Kenny landed, his chest heaving as he took a moment to catch his breath. The Skyhawks headed into the locker room with a seven-point lead, the momentum fully on their side.

<> 

I got the first chp to the snowfall fic ready, I need second opinions.