The Chance: A Novel (16 page)

But then something happened.

Nolan looked at the stands. He looked at the place where his friends were cheering for him, and suddenly, all the noise and smells and the reality of being in the final minutes of a state championship basketball game faded. In their place was just one thing, one thought.

The way he missed Ellie Tucker.

Chapter
Six

H
er dad didn’t talk to her, not the way her mom had always done back when they were a family. But that Saturday night, Ellie felt more restless than usual. She wasn’t sure if this was the week, but she’d checked on the Internet at the library and found out that Nolan and the Bulldogs were in the state play-offs. If they won last week, then tonight they’d be in the final game. Winning a state title.

She sat on her bed cross-legged, facing the window. The base was crowded and noisy. Soldiers and uniformed people everywhere. Her father had enrolled her at the base school, but Ellie hated it. Only a handful of kids talked to her. Two girls in her history class were nice, but they had their own friends.

Her heart hurt as she stared at the night stars. Nolan in the state play-offs and she wasn’t there? The truth made her so mad, she could’ve walked to Georgia. Day and night without a break—whatever it took to find him. She had sent him three letters, but he hadn’t responded. At the bottom of each one, she had written their new address. She found stamps in one of the kitchen drawers, and she would always ride her bike across
the base to mail them. So that nothing could get in the way of it reaching Nolan.

But he hadn’t written back.

Ellie propped her elbows on the windowsill. Maybe he was too busy. Maybe now that she was gone, he’d forgotten her. All his attention must be on basketball. She sighed. Of course. That’s what it was. He was starting on the varsity team. He wouldn’t have time to think about writing to her. Not till after the season.

The longer Ellie thought about how much she missed him, the more images of her mother filled her mind. Her mom hadn’t written, either. So was that it? Her mom didn’t love her anymore? After all they’d been through, she could let Ellie leave without a fight? Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Maybe she would never see either of them again.

Her mom and Nolan.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before a small rock hit the window. It made a sharp sound, and Ellie jumped back, her heart racing.

Who would
 . . . She looked out the window. She recognized the group of teens, the girls from history class and a few guys they hung out with.

Her dad was in the living room, the Lakers turned up loud on the TV. She eased her window open and stuck her head out. “Hey.” She kept her voice to a loud whisper.

“Ellie, hi!” One of the girls giggled and came closer. “We’re going to the beach. Come with us.”

Ellie glanced over her shoulder toward the living room. Her father would never let her go. She looked at the kids. “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.” The other girl laughed. There were four of
them—the girls and two guys from the baseball team. “Maybe twenty minutes. Come on, Ellie!”

She hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Her dad could take her away from Nolan and haul her across the country to a place where she knew no one. He could ruin her life and spend his nights watching TV. But he couldn’t keep her locked in her room.

Without saying another word, she found her tennis shoes and a light jacket and slipped out the window. She closed it halfway behind her and then set off with the group. The notion of disobeying and running wild on the beach with her classmates was exhilarating. The first time she’d felt alive since they moved to San Diego.

They didn’t do anything bad or illegal. Thirty minutes of laughing and running on the beach. When she crept back into her bedroom, she could still hear the game on in the other room. Her father hadn’t even noticed. As she fell asleep that night, she didn’t pray like usual. Praying hadn’t gotten her anywhere. It hadn’t changed her father or prompted Nolan to write to her. So maybe this was better. The new Ellie would figure out life on her own—without God.

Because by now it was clear: God didn’t care about her, anyway.

T
he game raged on and Nolan tried to shake the feeling, tried to find the control he’d played with seconds earlier. But he felt half as fast, half as sharp as before.
Get it together, Cook,
he ordered himself. Time kept melting off the clock.
We have to do this . . . come on. Please, God . . .
Nolan made his usual pass, the one through the key to the Bulldogs’ big guy. But this time
the other team intercepted it. Before Nolan could turn around, they threw the ball full court and connected with a player streaking up the sidelines. Bulldogs down by one.

All season Nolan had pictured himself in this game, leading it, winning it. But now he couldn’t stop missing Ellie, couldn’t stop thinking about how nothing made sense without her.
Focus . . . you have to focus.
He glanced at the clock. Fourteen seconds left. He doubled his concentration and intensity and went in for a layup. Bulldogs by one. But the other team scored a three and grabbed a two-point lead. Time-out, Bulldogs. Again Nolan noticed his father. He looked pale, clammy. Something was wrong. Nolan would ask him about it after the game.

The time-out seemed to last only seconds, and Nolan walked back out onto the court, not sure what play they were supposed to run. Rage flooded his bloodstream. They weren’t going to lose this game because of him. He wouldn’t let it happen. His teammate inbounded the ball, and the five of them worked it around until only two seconds showed on the clock.

Nolan ran to his spot, the place where he’d hit more shots and won more games than any other. Left side, three-point line. He clapped his hands, calling for the ball, and it came flying to him from one of the Bulldogs at the top of the key. The basket was all Nolan could see as he set up and released the shot. But something didn’t feel right. The way his thumb lay against the ball, maybe, or the slightest interruption in his concentration. Nolan held his breath, watching the ball. It was going in, it had to. When it mattered, Nolan always hit this shot.

The whole arena seemed to freeze as the ball arced and fell
toward the rim. But instead of slipping through the net, instead of even hitting the rim, the ball fell short and slapped against the gym floor. Air ball. Before the reality sunk in, the buzzer sounded. And like that, pandemonium broke out across the arena.

Red jerseys flew past him from every direction, players chest-thumping and jumping into each other’s arms. Atlanta’s East Jefferson High had won the state title. Nolan dropped to the ground where he’d missed the shot. Where he’d lost the game.

His teammates reacted the same way, covering their faces with their jerseys and shuffling back to the bench. Nolan pressed his fists to his eyes. How could he have missed that shot? The win was theirs. Savannah High was a better team. He shut out the sounds of celebration around him. This was his fault. All his fault. He clearly wasn’t as strong as he thought, not as experienced. A true champion would’ve blocked out everything but the game. Especially in the final minutes.

He stayed there, crying angry tears, until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. “Son, come on.” His father’s voice spoke straight to him, louder than every other noise in the arena. “You did your best. Come on.”

Nolan lowered his hands and dragged himself to his feet. Then, in a moment he would remember all his life, he fell slowly into his father’s arms. “I let you down, Dad . . . I blew it. I’m sorry.”

His dad didn’t say anything, just let Nolan cry while he held him. Control came eventually, but until then, his father held on. His dad said only one thing before he released him: “I love you, son. There will be other games.”

Together they walked back to the bench where the team sat, towels draped over their necks, eyes on the ground, cheeks tearstained. The huddle was another moment, a glimpse of the greatness of his father—both as a man and a coach.

“No matter what that trophy says, no matter that it won’t sit on the shelf at Savannah High, you are champions. You played like champions; you won all season like champions. And today you lost like champions—fighting until the final shot.” He nodded, looking each of them in the eyes. “We will be back here next year, and we will win it all.”

Only two players were seniors. Nolan watched the look in everyone else’s eyes go from utter defeat and despair to the first glimpses of hope. They would win next year.

By the time his father was finished talking to them, they all believed it.

Next year belonged to them.

The bus ride home was quiet. Nolan figured the guys were doing the same thing he was—trying to imagine starting over, summer workouts, a million jump shots and free throws, countless hours in the gym.

Back at the school, his dad talked to him again. “Nolan, we play as a team. We win or lose as a team. No one player can be blamed tonight.” He sat beside Nolan on a bench in the locker room after everyone else was gone. “A true champion can’t be defined by his wins or losses—except in life.”

Another quote Nolan would never forget. “Thanks, Dad.” He paused. If only he had one more chance at that last shot. “You coming home?”

“In a little while.” His dad wiped his brow. “I have to wrap up a few things here.”

Nolan had driven his mom’s car, since she went to the game
with the neighbor. He helped his dad to his feet, and they hugged again. “You’re the best coach in the world. You did everything you could tonight.”

“We all did.” He patted Nolan’s shoulder. “See you at home.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too.”

H
is father’s words rang through his mind on the way home and even after he’d showered and come downstairs to be with his mom and sisters. No one was ready to sleep just yet. He helped his mom make grilled cheese sandwiches, a late dinner. But thirty minutes became an hour, and still his dad didn’t come home.

Finally, at the two-hour mark, his mom grabbed her car keys. “He isn’t answering his cell.” Her words ran together, and she kept her voice down. Nolan’s sisters were watching a movie in the TV room. “I’m gonna check on him.”

She never got that far. She found her purse and, as she headed for the front of the house, the doorbell rang. Nolan followed her, and as soon as she opened the door, they saw two uniformed police officers with their hats in their hands.

Nolan felt his heart stop, felt it skid into a beat he didn’t recognize. What was this? What . . . what was happening?

One of the officers stepped forward. He identified himself and looked at Nolan’s mother. “Are you Mrs. Cook?”

“Yes.” Panic rang in her voice. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I’m sorry.” He paused, but he didn’t look at Nolan. Not once. “Your husband . . . he was found at the high school by
the janitor. I’m afraid he had a heart attack. He didn’t make it.”

“Not my dad!” Nolan couldn’t bear the possibility. “No, he didn’t. No!” Whatever came next, Nolan didn’t hear it. He ran past his mother, past the officers, running . . . running as fast as he could across the street and into the park. Through the trees to the place that belonged to him and Ellie. And there, with his back against the rough bark and his head in his hands, the sobs came. Deep sobs racked his body, and he let the truth fall down around him like deafening hail.