Chapter 20: Day of Rest

Wilt PoV

Wilt woke up the next morning, his leg giving a faint throb as a reminder of his overexertion the day before. He sighed, allowing himself a moment to wake up fully before swinging his legs off the couch and carefully standing up.

He winced as his leg touched the floor. It was still sore from yesterday. But he had made a promise to Natasha. He was going to rest and recover.

To distract himself, he picked up a book from the coffee table. It was a novel he'd been meaning to read for a while but never really had the time to. Now, he had nothing but time. He settled back onto the couch, propping his leg up again, and began to read.

The morning passed by slowly. Every now and then, his hand would twitch, itching to hold a basketball, to feel the familiar weight and texture. But he resisted the urge. He had to rest. He had to heal.

By ten, Wilt had finished the book and was starting to feel restless. He glanced at his laptop, an idea coming to him. He could watch some shows. It would keep his mind occupied and help him resist the urge to go out and play.

He spent the rest of the morning watching a series he'd been meaning to catch up on. He laughed, he gasped, he even shed a tear or two. It was a good distraction, but it wasn't basketball.

As the morning gave way to noon, Wilt found himself rolling around his bed, his leg aching slightly but bearable.

"I need to go out and play. Can't stay cooped up in here all day!" he muttered to himself.

But as he took a step, his leg gave a sharp throb of pain, and he winced. He knew he couldn't. He knew he had to rest. But the itch, the longing to play, to feel the rush of the game, was overwhelming.

With a sigh, he lowered himself back onto the couch. He had to be patient. He had to give his leg time to recover. And if that meant staying cooped up for a few more hours, then so be it.

"Wilt!" A voice echoed through the house, rousing him from his thoughts. It was Vanessa, his older sister. "Lunch is ready!"

Wilt pushed himself off the bed, using the bed frame near him for support. He made his way slowly to the kitchen, the aroma of food drawing him in.

Vanessa turned as he entered, her brow furrowing when she saw him limping. "Wilt, you need to take it easy," she scolded, sounding eerily similar to Natasha.

"I know, V," he replied, giving her an apologetic smile as he slid into a chair.

He watched as Vanessa moved around the kitchen, efficient and focused. She was always the responsible one, the one who had taken care of him whenever their parents went to work.

As Vanessa set a plate of food in front of him, Wilt felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. He was lucky, he realized. He had people who cared about him, who were concerned for his well-being.

"Thanks, V," he said, his voice sincere.

Vanessa gave him a soft smile, her eyes warm. "Just take care of yourself, Wilt. We need you healthy."

He nodded, picking up his fork. "I will, V. I promise."

"You feel bad again, big bro?" Boey asked, frowning.

Wilt looked down at his younger brother, his heart aching at the concern written all over Boey's face. He forced a smile, ruffling Boey's hair gently. "Just a few muscle spasms in my leg, bud. Nothing to worry about."

Boey's frown deepened, his small hands balling into fists. "But you're in pain."

Wilt couldn't help but be touched by his brother's concern. It was moments like these that made him strive to be the best big brother he could be. "I'll be fine, Boey," he reassured him. "I just need to take it easy for a few days."

Across the table, his stoic father furrowed his brow, a rare sign of concern slipping through his usually impassive facade. "You should listen to your sister, Wilt," he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "Rest is just as important as training."

His mom nodded.

Wilt nodded, meeting his father's gaze. "I know, Dad, Mom. I'm taking it seriously."

His father hummed as if in doubt, returning to his meal. His approval wasn't easily earned, but Wilt knew he had it in this. In his own quiet way, his father was also showing his concern.

Lunch passed with light-hearted conversation, a pleasant distraction from the discomfort in his leg. Afterward, Wilt retired to the living room, settling on the couch with another book. Boey joined him, curling up against his side as he played a game on his tablet.

Despite the discomfort, Wilt found a sense of peace in the quiet afternoon. He was surrounded by his family, he was resting, and he was taking care of himself. It wasn't the thrill of the court, but it was a different kind of satisfaction, a different kind of happiness.

And as he listened to the quiet sounds of his home, the soft hum of Boey's game, the distant clatter of Vanessa in the kitchen, the low rumble of his father's voice as he talked on the phone, Wilt knew he was exactly where he needed to be.