Extra Basket

The sun was already high when the Albarado family packed the car. Bags stacked neatly in the trunk, a cooler wedged tight with snacks, and the hum of a small SUV waiting to roll out. Ethan slid into the back seat beside Anna, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

(The semis start next week… I can't relax too much. Once I get back, I'm going straight to training. No excuses.)

The engine rumbled alive. The driveway disappeared in the mirrors as they hit the road.

From the front seat, Alfred Albarado glanced back through the rearview. His voice carried that calm, steady warmth Ethan knew from old pep talks. "Excited to see your uncle's son?"

Ethan leaned his head against the window. "Well… a little," he said, tone casual.

Elle Albarado laughed softly, shaking her head. "Don't let him fool you. He likes his uncle. If he and Raul had their way, the dinner table would be nothing but pick-and-rolls and free throws."

Ethan smirked faintly. She wasn't wrong.

Alfred thumped the steering wheel with a booming laugh. "My man!"

Beside Ethan, Anna threw her arms up like she was on a roller coaster. "Road trip! Road trip, road trip!"

Ethan chuckled despite himself. For a moment, watching her beam so brightly, he envied that simplicity.

The car ate up the highway. Golden fields blurred past the windows, summer heat shimmering on the horizon. The air inside was cool, humming with the AC, the low drone of Alfred and Elle's conversation mixing with laughter and old memories.

Ethan's reflection stared back at him from the glass tired but sharp, blond hair catching sunlight.

(Uncle Raul's house… it's been a while. His son should be about my age. If Raul's been training him, then he's no joke. Just like Dad used to be when he trained me.)

His chest tightened.

(Next week is the semi. The stage where names are remembered. If Lucas keeps shining and I don't rise higher… I'll fade. No. I can't let that happen. Even if this story wanted me as a side character… I'll carve my name on the court.)

He clenched his fists on his knees.

Anna noticed, poking his shoulder. "Why are you making that scary face again? You look like you're trying to solve math homework."

Ethan blinked, then laughed. "Do I?"

"Yeah! Lighten up, dummy. We're on vacation."

Elle glanced back, smiling. "Listen to your sister, Ethan. Sometimes it's okay to pause. The court will still be there when you get back."

Ethan closed his eyes, leaning deeper against the window.

(Pause? Maybe. But momentum doesn't wait. Lucas isn't pausing. Orlando Ball isn't pausing. If I stop moving forward, I'll never catch up.)

Hours slipped by. Pit stops, gas stations, Alfred's old-school playlist filling the car. Anna doodled stick figures dunking basketballs in her notebook, shoving it into Ethan's hands.

"Look! This one's you. Dunking on some tall guy."

Ethan raised a brow. "I don't even dunk that much."

"You will someday," Anna said confidently. "And when you do, I'll be the first cheering."

Her certainty pulled a genuine smile from him. "Thanks, Anna."

By the time they rolled into New York, the sun was dipping, amber streaks painting the skyline. Raul's neighborhood was quieter, brownstones lined neatly with iron railings. Ethan pressed closer to the window—memories tugging at him.

Raul was waiting outside, broad shoulders framed by the porch light. His grin lit up the block.

"Alfred!" Raul roared. "You finally dragged the crew back to my house!"

Alfred laughed, colliding with his brother in a bone-crushing hug. Elle shook her head fondly.

Anna bounded up the steps. "Uncle Raul!"

He scooped her up with ease, spinning her before setting her down. "Already taller than last time! What's your secret?"

"Ice cream!"

"Ha! Even better."

Ethan followed last, duffel over his shoulder. Raul's eyes landed on him, sharp and warm.

"There he is. The young baller himself. Taller. Stronger. Been training, haven't you?"

Ethan gave a small smile. "Trying to."

Raul clapped his shoulder, grin widening. "Good. We'll see what 'trying' looks like tomorrow."

Inside, the house carried the scent of adobo and rice. Posters of basketball legends lined the walls, a Knicks jersey framed in the hallway. They gathered at the oak table, laughter spilling between dishes. Alfred and Raul swapped old stories, Elle rolled her eyes fondly, Anna hung on every word.

Ethan ate quietly, thoughts drifting back to the looming semis, to Darius Coleman's smirk, to the shadow of monsters waiting on the other side.

Raul noticed. "Ethan. You've been quiet. Something on your mind?"

"Just… the game coming up."

Raul leaned back, folding his arms. "Good. That means you're serious. But remember this: basketball's not just sweat and drills. It's joy. Play scared of losing, and you've already lost."

Alfred nodded. "Listen to your uncle. He knows."

Ethan hesitated. "Uncle Raul… do you think I can really stand against those monsters?"

The table stilled. Raul's eyes softened, but his voice was firm.

"Can you? Absolutely. Will you? That depends on how much you're willing to give. Here." He tapped Ethan's chest. "And here." He pointed at Ethan's head. "Talent matters. But mindset decides."

The words sank deep, heavier than the meal.

Later, as the house settled—Anna asleep on the couch, Elle helping with dishes, Alfred and Raul laughing over beers on the porch—Ethan slipped to the backyard.

The hoop was still there. Scuffed backboard, cracked pavement, standing tall under dim backyard lights. A relic, and a challenge.

He picked up the ball near the fence, its leather worn, familiar. Dribble. One, two, three. He rose, shot. Swish.

A voice came from behind. "Not bad."

Ethan turned. Raul stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a second ball in hand.

"Couldn't resist, huh? First to ten?"

Ethan's pulse jumped. "Now?"

Raul grinned. "Why wait? Tomorrow's not promised."

The duel began under the quiet hum of city night. Raul's moves were slower, but his fundamentals bit like steel. Ethan answered with speed and determination. Back and forth—4 to 4, 7 to 7. Sweat poured, lungs burned.

"Come on, nephew," Raul teased, hands on his knees. "That all you've got? You think you'll topple monsters with this pace?"

Ethan's teeth clenched. He drove, spun, and banked it off the glass. "Eight."

Raul chuckled. "Now we're talking."

The game climbed to 9–9. Ethan held the ball, hesitation in his stance. Then he pulled up from deep. The arc sailed, kissed the rim, dropped in.

"Ten."

Panting, bent over, Ethan barely caught his breath before Raul was there, hand clapping his back.

"Good. You've grown." Raul's tone shifted—pride edged with warning. "But don't mistake me for the monsters waiting ahead. They'll test your body, your mind. Be ready."

Ethan gripped the ball, eyes blazing. "I will."

To be continue