SkyHawks
Kenny's message blazed across the screen: "GUESS WHO'S BACK IN THE GAME?! 🏀💪🏾 Doc just cleared me to play!"
Malik's response came quick: "Our boy's indestructible!"
Arell's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could tell them everything right now - about the system, about India, about his fears. But as he stared at the screen, the words refused to come. With a frustrated grunt, he locked his phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
Back at the mansion, Arell retreated to his room, flopping onto his bed. He grabbed his phone again, this time opening Instagram. As he scrolled mindlessly, a DM from Janelle popped up:
"Hey superstar, we need to get you more active on socials. Two posts this week, minimum. Gotta keep that momentum going."
Arell groaned, rubbing his eyes. He'd been slacking on the social media front, too caught up in everything else. His mind drifted to the BMW X5 he was getting next week. That'd make for a good post, right?
But as quickly as the idea came, he dismissed it. The last thing he needed was people knowing exactly what he was driving around in. He'd figure something else out.
As he continued scrolling, his DMs lit up with a flood of messages. Models shooting their shot, random people begging for features, the usual. But one name caught his eye: nbayoungboy.
Curiosity piqued, Arell opened the message:
"Yo Rose, I'm Kentrell from Baton Rouge. Me & my brother tryna make it big in this rap game. Heard you got a label. I just dropped a tape called Life Before Fame. Give it a listen if you got time. We some real ones down here, no cap 💯"
Arell raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. He clicked the link, and the raw, unpolished sound of YoungBoy's Life Before Fame filled the room.
The first track, Nicki Minaj, ineresting name, but still, Arell nodded along, feeling the hunger in the young rapper's voice. But as he listened to Homicide and Gravity, he couldn't help but wince at some of the clumsy lyrics and off-beat flows.
"Damn, he's got potential, but he needs work," Arell muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He could hear the pain, the struggle in YoungBoy's voice.
As Untouchable played, Arell found himself torn. The beat was fire, and YoungBoy's energy was undeniable. But the rough edges were impossible to ignore. He quickly fired off a message to Geoffrey:
"Check out this person. Goes by NBA YoungBoy. Just dropped a tape called Life Before Fam'. Raw as hell, but there's something there. What you think?"
While waiting for Geoffrey's response, Arell replied to YoungBoy:
"Gave it a spin, bro. You got potential for real. We gotta check some things out, but I'll hit you back soon. Keep grinding."
As he set his phone down, Arell's mind wandered to their recent windfall. The million they'd scammed from Atlantic was burning a hole in his pocket, but he knew they had to be smart about it. He didn't have a choice either way, Geoffrey would ensure that
Real estate seemed like a solid bet. Maybe take 300k and start building a portfolio. The rest could go into stocks, the label, and the clothing brand. He was sure Geoffrey had it all planned out.
Arell's gaze drifted to his phone, India's name lingering at the top of his recent calls. His stomach twisted with a mix of anticipation and dread. He couldn't put it off any longer.
With a deep breath, he hit the call button. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Hello?" India's voice was guarded, uncertain.
Arell swallowed hard. "Hey, India. How... how are you doing?"
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken tension. When India spoke again, her voice was soft, tinged with a hint of frustration. "I've been better, Arell. It's been a few days since we talked."
Guilt washed over him. "I know, I'm sorry. I should've called sooner. I just... I needed some time to process everything."
India sighed. "I get that. I've been doing a lot of processing too. It's just... it would've been nice to hear from you."
"You're right," Arell admitted. "I messed up. How are you feeling? Physically, I mean."
"Tired," India replied. "Nauseous. Scared. It's a lot to take in."
Arell nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I can't even imagine. Listen, India, I want you to know that I'm here. Whatever you decide, whatever you need, I'm here."
There was a long pause. When India spoke again. "Are you really, Arell? Because I've been lying awake at night, wondering if I'm going to have to do this all alone."
Arell's chest tightened. "You're not alone, India. I know we haven't been together long, but I care about you. And this baby... it's a part of both of us."
"I know," India said softly. "But Arell, we're so young. My career is just starting to take off. Yours too. Are we really ready for this?"
Arell took a deep breath, considering his words carefully. "I don't know if anyone's ever really ready. But I know that I want to try. If that's what you want too."
India was quiet for a moment. "I'm scared, Arell. I don't know the first thing about being a mother."
"And I don't know anything about being a father," Arell admitted. "But maybe... maybe we can figure it out together?"
India's voice was hesitant when she spoke again. "I want to believe that. But Arell, be honest with me. Are you really prepared for this? Because I can't... I can't do this with someone who's going to bail when things get tough."
Arell closed his eyes, memories of his own absent father flashing through his mind. "I won't be that kind of father. I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I can promise I'll be there."
"How can you be so sure?" India asked, her voice wavering. "We've only been together for a couple of weeks. This is... it's huge, Arell."
"You're right, it is," Arell agreed. "And yeah, it scares me. But you know what? The thought of not being there for you and our child... that scares me more."
The line went quiet. Arell could hear India's soft breathing, could almost feel her working through her thoughts.
"I want to believe you," she said finally. "But Arell, words are easy. You've got to show me you mean it."
"I will," Arell said, determination creeping into his voice. "Whatever it takes. We're in this together, India. If... if that's what you want."
India's breath hitched. "I don't know what I want yet. It's all so overwhelming."
"I know," Arell said softly. "And that's okay. We don't have to figure everything out right now. But I want you to know that I'm here. Whatever you decide, whatever you need."
"Thank you," India whispered. "That... that means a lot."
A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment before India spoke again, her voice taking on a slightly playful edge. "You know, if we're really doing this, you're going to have to step up your game."
Arell chuckled, feeling some of the tension ease. "Oh yeah? What's that mean?"
"Well, for starters," India said, "you need to meet my parents."
Arell's stomach did a little flip. "Your parents? Already?"
"Yes, already," India insisted. "Look, when we all head back to Los Angeles, you're coming with us. No excuses."
Arell's mind raced. Los Angeles. After what went down with The Game. He could almost feel the phantom ache in his knuckles. "Uh, yeah... yeah, of course," he managed. "Los Angeles. Sounds great."
In his head, Arell was already planning. They'd need protection, serious protection. The whole crew would have to come. But out loud, he just said, "I'm looking forward to it." It would have to be after he went to Memphis, for certain.
India's voice softened. "Good. I want them to meet you, to see the Arell I know. Not just the rapper, but the person."
Arell felt a warmth spread through his chest. "I want that too," he said, surprised by how much he meant it.
"And speaking of getting to know each other," India continued, "I've been thinking about Florida."
"Yeah?" Arell said, a small smile playing on his lips. "What about it?"
"It was nice," India said, a wistfulness in her voice. "I hope... I hope we can have more times like that. Even with everything that's happening."
Arell leaned back on his bed, closing his eyes. "We will," he promised.
As they talked, the reality of the situation began to sink in for Arell. He was deciding to have a child. To be a father. The weight of it hit him all at once.
"Damn, bro," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" India asked.
"Nothing," Arell said quickly. "Just... thinking about everything. It's a lot, you know?"
"I know," India agreed. "But we'll figure it out together, right?"
"Right," Arell said, pushing down the doubts that threatened to surface. He couldn't be like his own parents. He wouldn't be a deadbeat. This child, his child, would have everything he never did.
But even as he made these silent promises, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered: Is the child even mine?
He shook his head, trying to silence the thought. The timeline added up. India hadn't lied about them having unprotected sex. But still...
"Hey, India?" he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "When we meet up in LA, maybe we should, you know, get some tests done? Just to make sure everything's okay with the baby and all that."
"Of course," India agreed readily. "We should probably find a good doctor out there anyway."
Arell nodded to himself. A DNA test would be simple enough to arrange. Just to be sure. Just to quiet that nagging doubt.
"Arell?" India's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, sorry," he said. "Just thinking about everything we need to do."
"I know it's overwhelming," India said softly. "But we've got this, right?"
Arell took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said, surprised by the conviction in his own voice. "We've got this."
Arell and India's conversation continued late into the night, their voices soft and intimate as they discussed their fears, hopes, and uncertainties about the future. Eventually, the rhythmic sound of deep, steady breathing came through the phone line as they both drifted off to sleep, still connected.
<>
The fluorescent lights of the Skyhawks' training facility hummed overhead as Kenny pushed through the double doors, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber filling his nostrils. His heart raced with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. This was it - his first official practice with the team.
As he stepped onto the polished hardwood, the squeak of his new Nike Zoom Freak 1s echoed through the cavernous space. Kenny took a deep breath, drinking in the moment. The G League - the NBA's official minor league - was a far cry from the streets of Chicago or the dusty prison yard where he'd honed his skills over the past few years. This was his shot at the big time.
Coach Stevens, blew his whistle sharply. "Alright, gather 'round, gentlemen!"
Kenny jogged over, joining the semicircle of players. He scanned their faces - some eager, some wary, all curious about the new addition to their ranks. Coach Stevens cleared his throat.
"As you all know, we've had a rough go of it lately. Losing Johnson and Martinez to overseas contracts, and Williams getting that 10-day with the Hawks... well, it's left us in a bit of a bind."
Kenny's mind raced, processing the information. He'd done his homework on the team's recent struggles. The Skyhawks were sitting at 22-22, clinging to the 6th seed in the Eastern Conference. With only six games left in the regular season, their playoff hopes were hanging by a thread.
Coach Stevens continued, "But that's where opportunity knocks. Kenny here," he clapped a hand on Kenny's shoulder, "has just been cleared to play. And from what I've seen in his workouts, he might be just what we need to make a late-season push."
A murmur rippled through the group. Kenny felt the weight of their stares, some skeptical, others hopeful.
"Alright, let's start with some drills. Show me what you've got, gentlemen!"
As they broke into groups, Kenny found himself paired with Jamal, the team's starting point guard. Well, not for long, he was here now.
"So, new blood, huh?" Jamal grinned, bouncing a ball Kenny's way. "Let's see what you've got."
The moment Kenny's fingers touched the leather, something electric surged through him. The ball felt like an extension of his body, responding to his every thought. He began to dribble, the rhythmic thump-thump-thump echoing in his ears.
With a lightning-quick crossover, Kenny left Jamal flat-footed. He exploded towards the hoop, the world around him blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. As he neared the basket, he felt rather than saw the help defense rotating. Without breaking stride, Kenny contorted his body in mid-air, switching the ball from his right hand to his left, and kissed it off the glass for a smooth finger roll.
The gym fell silent for a beat before erupting in a chorus of whoops and hollers.
"Damn, kid!" Jamal laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"
Kenny just shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You pick up a few things here and there."
As practice wore on, it became increasingly clear that Kenny was operating on a different level. His court vision was uncanny, threading passes through impossibly tight windows. His jump shot was nearly automatic, the soft swish of the net becoming a familiar refrain. On defense, he was a menace, his quick hands and lightning-fast reflexes disrupting play after play.
During a full-court scrimmage, Kenny found himself matched up against Marcus, who had a good four inches and at wenty pounds on Kenny, but size meant little in the face of Kenny's quickness.
As Marcus attempted to back Kenny down in the post, Kenny saw his opportunity. With cat-like reflexes, he poked the ball free, scooped it up, and was off to the races. The sound of his sneakers squeaking against the hardwood filled the gym as he flew down the court.
As he approached the hoop, Kenny felt a defender closing in. Without breaking stride, he gathered himself and soared upward. Time seemed to slow as he hung in the air, the rim at eye level. With a thunderous crack, Kenny threw down a two-handed slam that shook the backboard.
The gym erupted in chaos. His teammates rushed him, shouting and slapping him on the back. Even Coach Stevens couldn't hide his grin.
As the excitement died down and practice resumed, Kenny found his mind wandering. When was the last time he'd faced real competition? High school felt like a lifetime ago, and even then, he'd been head and shoulders above most. The street games in Chicago and his time in Cork County had honed his skills, but they hadn't truly challenged him.
His time in prison, as difficult as it had been, had pushed him to new heights. With little else to do, he'd thrown himself into training with a fervor that surpassed even his high school days. Hours upon hours of dribbling drills, shooting practice, and conditioning had transformed him into something... more.
As practice wound down, Coach Stevens gathered the team once more.
"Gentlemen, I've got to say, I'm impressed. Especially you, Kenny. You've got a gift, son. Now, let's talk about where we stand."
He pulled out a clipboard, running down the stats. "We're 22-22, sitting in 6th place. Fort Wayne's nipping at our heels at 21-23, and Maine's just ahead of us at 23-21. We've got six games left, and we need to finish in the top four to make the playoffs."
Kenny's mind raced, calculating the possibilities. The G League playoffs were a different beast from the NBA - single elimination for the first two rounds, then a best-of-three for the Conference and League Finals. Every game would be do-or-die.
He glanced down at the compression sleeve hugging his recently healed leg. The injury was behind him, but Kenny knew he couldn't afford to be reckless. One wrong move, one careless play, and everything he'd worked for could come crashing down.
Kenny found himself mentally cataloging his own abilities. He was a floor general, a maestro with the ball in his hands, one would say. His court vision was elite, able to see passing lanes before they even opened up. With his explosive first step and lightning-quick handles, he could break down any defender one-on-one.
But he wasn't without his flaws. His outside shot, while improving, was still inconsistent. He knew opposing teams would likely sag off him, daring him to shoot. And while his vertical leap was impressive, well, more than impressive, his slight frame sometimes made it difficult to finish through contact at the rim. All in all, he would describe himself as a, slashing playmaker, or rather a 2-way slashing playmaker
Coach Stevens' voice cut through his thoughts. "Alright, fellas. Let's talk schedule."
Kenny leaned in, his focus razor-sharp as Coach broke down their remaining games.
"First up, we've got the Canton Charge. They're sitting pretty at 2nd in the conference, but they've lost their last two. We catch them now, we might just knock them off balance."
Jamal, the starting point guard - or rather, the former starting point guard, chimed in. "Their backcourt's been struggling since Thompson went down. We press them hard, we might force some turnovers."
Coach nodded. "Good point. After that, we've got a back-to-back against the Westchester Knicks and the Fort Wayne Mad Ants. Both teams we should beat, but we can't afford to take them lightly."
Kenny's mind was already racing with possibilities. The Knicks had a shot-blocking center who could alter games. They'd need to draw him out of the paint, maybe run some high pick-and-rolls. The Mad Ants, on the other hand, liked to push the pace. Kenny grinned to himself. He'd love to see them try to run with him.
"Then we've got the Maine Red Claws," Coach continued. "They're just ahead of us in the standings. That game could make or break our playoff hopes."
Darius, their burly power forward, groaned. "Man, their rookie from the NBA been tearing it up lately. Kid's got a motor that doesn't quit."
Kenny made a mental note. He'd need to watch some film on this rookie, find his weaknesses.
"We close out the season with the Greensboro Swarm and the Delaware Blue Coats," Coach finished. "Both teams are below us in the standings, but they'd love nothing more than to play spoiler."
As the team continued to discuss strategy, Kenny found himself sizing up his new teammates. There was Jamal, the quick but undersized point guard whose starting spot Kenny had just usurped. Kenny felt a pang of sympathy, but he knew this was the nature of the game.
Then there was Tyrell, their shooting guard. He had a sweet stroke when he was on, but his defense left much to be desired. Kenny made a mental note to help cover for him on that end.
At small forward, they had Marcus, Kenny had just cooked him, but he was a veteran of the game, and his smarts could definetely be used to create mismatches.
Darius held down the power forward spot, a bruiser with soft touch around the rim. But his lack of range meant the paint could get clogged. Kenny would need to find ways to create space for him to operate.
Finally, there was Kwesi, their raw but athletic center. A beast on the boards and could run the floor like a gazelle, but his post moves were still a work in progress.
As Kenny assessed each player, he couldn't help but notice the gap between his abilities and theirs. It wasn't arrogance - just a cold, hard fact. None of them could match his combination of skills. Even Jamal, as quick as he was, couldn't stay in front of Kenny during their one-on-one drills.
But rather than feeling superior, Kenny felt a sense of responsibility settling on his shoulders.
"Alright, Kenny," Coach Stevens said, snapping him out of his reverie. "You've been quiet. What are you thinking?"
Kenny took a deep breath, feeling all eyes on him. "I'm thinking we've got a real shot here, Coach. We've got the talent. We've got the schedule. Now we just need to put in the work."
He stood up, addressing the whole team now. "Look, I know I'm the new guy here. But I've seen what each of you can do. Jamal, your quickness on D is gonna be crucial against these faster teams. Tyrell, we're gonna need your shooting to stretch the floor. Marcus, your experience is gonna be key in those tight game situations. Darius, we're gonna feast on those pick-and-rolls. And Kwesi, man, you just keep being a monster on the boards."
Kenny paused, looking each of his teammates in the eye. "We've got six games to prove ourselves. Six games to shock the league. It's not gonna be easy. But I promise you this - every time I step on that court, I'm gonna give everything I've got. And I know each of you will do the same."
The locker room erupted in cheers and applause. Even Coach Stevens looked impressed.
As the excitement died down and the team began to disperse, Kenny felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Jamal.
"Hey man," Jamal said, his voice low. "I just wanted to say... that was some real leadership right there. I know it can't be easy coming into a new team, especially mid-season. But the way you play, the way you see the game... it's special, man. I'm looking forward to learning from you."
Kenny felt a lump form in his throat. He'd been so focused on the basketball aspect, he hadn't fully considered the human element. "Thanks, Jamal. That means a lot. And hey, we're gonna need your defense if we want to make this playoff push. We're in this together."
As Jamal nodded and walked away, Kenny turned back to his locker. Six games. Six chances to prove himself. Six stepping stones to his ultimate goal - the NBA.