Like always, some quick warmups, some light layup lines.
Then tip-off.
We got the ball first. D-Rose brought it up. He used a screen, exploded into the lane, and finished with a layup, soft touch off the glass.
Portland came right back, though. Dame pulled up for a deep three, missed it. I grabbed the board, pushed it up the floor, hit Powell in the corner. Bang.
Pace picked up from there.
Back and forth. Fast breaks, quick pull-ups.
End of the first: 17–17.
Second quarter hit and the rhythm shifted.
We started pressing a little, rotating faster. Rose kept slicing through the defense. I hit a stepback, then came off a pin-down and knocked down a midrange.
But the Blazers didn't back down either.
Dame got hot. Couple floaters, then a nasty side-step three in transition. Crowd got loud.
"They waking up." Vucevic muttered during a dead ball.
I nodded, wiping sweat off my face. "Then let's make sure they go back to sleep."
Third quarter started and Portland came out swinging.
C.J. McCollum caught fire, man was pulling up off screens, hitting floaters, even hit a nasty fade in the corner with a hand in his face.
They took a slight lead, five, then seven.
"Yo, we gotta cool him off." I said to the team, during a timeout.
Vooch locked in.
Post spins, soft touches around the rim.
I fed him twice in the paint, easy buckets. We tightened up on defense, rotated better, made C.J. take tougher shots.
Bit by bit, we chipped away.
By the end of the third, it was back even.
And we could feel the momentum swinging our way.
Fourth quarter.
They had Mason Plumlee switched on me.
I brought the ball up slow, eyes locked on him. He gave me space, too much space.One hard dribble left.Cross back right.He stumbled just a little. That's all I needed.
I rose up, fadeaway, pure.
Net didn't even move.
We tightened up in the last few possessions, kept Dame in check, he still got his shots off, but nothing easy.
Final buzzer rang.
W.
Game was done. We walked back to the locker room—sweaty, tired, but satisfied. Another one in the bag.
Next day? Quick turnaround. Denver.
Altitude always makes that one annoying, but we handled it.
Fast forward. It's April 8th.
Couple games left.
Long season. Felt longer than the others, too. Probably 'cause of everything outside the court.
But I'm locked in.
We're 64-13.
Playoffs around the corner.
We were sitting at the table, eating quietly. The air felt a little heavier than usual.
"Yes… it's time I go back home." Parker said, pushing her food around her plate.
We'd tried. Genuinely. While she was here, we gave it a shot. But truth be told, it felt more like friends, with benefits, than anything deeper.There was just something missing.
I nodded slowly. "I get it. So… Dean's going with you? I mean."
"Yeah." she said gently. "We're heading back to L.A. I just can't move somewhere else or here in Florida, without knowing where you'll sign next. I'm not about to give up my life and end up living in, like… Detroit."
She smiled a little, trying to keep it light, but there was truth behind her words.
"That's fair." I said, leaning back. "It's true... Honestly, there's only the playoffs left. This summer we'll figure everything out."
She looked at me for a long moment. "Okay… Take care of yourself, Frank."
Then she got up, grabbed Dean, and just like that, she left.
Door closed.
House felt a little quieter.A little colder.
And just like that, the days rolled by. Regular season wrapped.
We finished 70-12.
Same as the Warriors, not 73-9 like they pulled off in your timeline.
First-round matchup, the Charlotte Hornets.
We were in the weight room, getting some lifts in.
"Man, we 'bout to sweep them." Powell said, between sets.
"Maybe." Rose replied, calm as always. "You never really know with the playoffs, though. Every possession counts."
"True." I said, adjusting the weight on the bar. "It's like a whole new season. Some guys fold, some guys show up for real."
We kept talking between reps.
After the session, I stuck around a little, talking with Coach.
"Stay locked in, Frank." he told me."You already know." I said, bumping fists with him before heading out.
On the way home, my phone rang. It was Asher. I put him on speaker.
"I hope you ready for these playoffs, bro." he said. "We taking everything. Whole damn thing."
I laughed, leaning back in the driver's seat."Bro… get to the Finals first. Then we talk."
He chuckled on the other end. "Bet. Just know I'm coming for you."
"Wouldn't want it any other way."
After I hung up with Asher, I got home. The place was quiet—same calm as always since Parker and Dean left.
A little while later, Lumos pulled up to cook. Man came in humming like usual, already pulling stuff out the fridge before even saying hi.
"Yo," I said, kicking back on the couch.
He nodded. "What's good, Pres? I'm thinking some good pasta tonight."
I shrugged. "Run it."
We got to talking while he cooked, same usual vibe.
"Me, I got no girl, no kid, no stress. I just wanna stack my bread." he said, tossing onions into the pan.
I laughed. "Aight, I get it. So if I end up leaving Orlando, that don't bother you?"
"Of course not, Pres. You go and I'll pull up wherever."
We both cracked up.
He finished up, we ate, chopped it up a bit more, then he dipped.
The next day...
Today was our turn.
The first day of the playoffs for us. Other teams already played yesterday.
Woke up early.
I pulled up to the arena, headphones in. Dapped up security, I went to greet the staff and the guys from the team already there.
Got my routine in.