Driven_589066

“Well, my food managed to stay where it’s supposed to, but I’m about as nervous as a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“How…quaint.”

“You dissin my grandpappy?”

“God forbid,” Cat replied, hand over her heart to show her sincerity. “I’m sure he was a very wise old fellow in his day.”

“Was? Girl, he’s sitting in the stands somewhere with his cane, his hearing aids, and his air horn. Best be hopin’ it’s not too close to the court! He’ll blast

you one and you won’t come down till after you’ve gone around Mars a few times!”

Cat’s laughter had the desired effect on her belly, and her nerves settled to a dull roar. The next sip of water went down easier than the first into a

stomach that was now calm, cool, and steady. “Thanks, Chane,” she said, finally, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No problem, Shortchange. Can’t have our point guard with a case of the terminal jitters. Bad for business, ya know.”

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Speaking of terminal, where’s Coach D?”

“I wish I knew,” Cat sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “We split up after we came here and I haven’t seen her since.”

“So, you rode in together,” Chaney said slyly. “Must be nice.” The guard laughed at Cat’s expression. “Oh, c’mon, Shortchange. It’s not like I’m blind to the

situation, you know. Hell, I don’t think anyone is. We all think it’s kickin, actually.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cat mumbled, flushed face hidden in her hands.

“You’re gonna be up in the sky box with him, right?” Dylan asked, leaning against the wall in her warm-ups.

“Yeah, yeah. You just worry about playing. Let me worry about the old man, alright?”

“Mac, something’s going on. I can feel it in my gut. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him for the last three days, and if you’d have seen the look on his

face when I stepped out onto the court….”

“I know. And I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. And I will, I promise.”

“By then, it might be too late.”

“Let me do my job, D,” he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “You just concentrate on winning this damn thing. If it’s what you

think, and he’s stacking his cards against the Badgers taking it all, winning will piss him off more than anything else could. Then we’ll see what happens.”

Dylan sighed. “I don’t like it.”

“Either do I. Just…trust me, okay?”

“Alright,” Dylan replied, summoning up a small smile. “Good luck.”

“To you as well, my friend. Kick some ass.”

Dylan took a blistering pass from Cat on the fly and didn’t even bother to dribble as she left her feet for a thunderous jam. At the last second, Tanisha

Bradford, center for the Monarch, slipped into a blocking stance after Dylan’s feet had already left the ground. The two collided and Jackson, no doubt

trying for the Best Actress award at the next year’s Oscars, fell to her back with a loud cry.

“Foul!” the ref shouted, waving his arm. “No basket!”

“What the hell?!?” Cat yelled, running up to the ref. She would have grabbed his arm and spun him around, no doubt earning her an ejection, if Chaney

hadn’t luckily gotten there first and grabbed her arm, pulling her quickly away. “Let me go,” Cat growled from between clenched teeth. “Now!”

“No way, man!” Chaney growled back, shaking Cat like a terrier with a bone. “That’s just what they want, don’t you get it? The refs are shit, man! They’re

gettin’ paid off!” The guard held tight as Cat tried to wriggle free, her gaze rapt to Dylan as she pulled herself out of a tangle of arms and legs and slowly

straightened, testing out the strength in her knee. “Listen, Shortchange. This ain’t college ball.” Chaney’s breath was hot on her face. “This is business,

man! All fuckin’ business! Look at it! Big D’s got three fouls on her and she ain’t touched nobody! You! You got four fuckin traveling calls! I bet you ain’t

traveled since you were in grade school!”

Chaney’s words finally got through, and Cat stopped struggling, then turned to her friend, expression set. “What are you saying?”

“It’s a sham, Cat! Nothin’ but a fuckin’ sham. We’re pawns in some fuckin’ chess game so Johnson can get his latest ‘ho a new Mercedes. Don’t you get it?

He’s bettin’ against us!”

“But that—.”

“But nothin’, Shortchange. Face the facts here. He wants us to lose and he’s paid off the fuckin’ refs to make sure it happens.”

“But why would he bet against his own team?”

Chaney snorted. “He don’t give a shit about no fucking championship trophy, Cat. It’s all about the green, man. If he can make more dough bettin’ against

us, that’s what he’s gonna do. Face it, Cat. We’re bein’ played.”

“You don’t sound too upset about it,” Cat observed.

“I guess I ain’t,” Chaney replied, shrugging. “My contract’s up after this game anyway, and a pro team in Spain offered me some big bucks to come play for

them.” She shrugged again. “I’ll probably take ‘em up on it.”

“You’d do that, leave the team, leave Dylan like that, even if we win?”