HENRY POV
The locker room was buzzing, but not with pointless chatter. It was a controlled tension, the kind that came before a storm. The kind that meant we were ready.
I sat on the bench, elbows resting on my knees, rolling my shoulders as I listened to the steady hum of sneakers squeaking against the tile and the rhythmic thump of Ace bouncing the ball against the floor. Dax was beside me, focused, laser-sharp, tapping his fingers against his knee in that restless way he did when he was dialing in.
Blake and Maverick sat a few feet away, locked in a quiet conversation about rotations. The rest of the team was gearing up, stretching, tightening laces, adjusting jerseys. But when Coach stepped into the center of the room, all movement stilled.
Our Coach wasn’t the loud, fiery type
