And then …Eva Montgomery.
I felt the air shift. The room tensed in anticipation, and I could hear the collective breath being held. Jazz’s grip on her coffee tightened. The list continued filling in. A name I recognized.Dez Young. A name I didn’t.Arika Sani.
Team Embers was nearly complete. The roster was coming together, and my heart started to race.
The last name for Team Embers appeared on the screen.
Lex Bennet.
The silence in the room was immediate.
Jazz let out a breath beside me. “Looks like I owe you ten bucks.”
Briana stepped forward, clearly loving the drama of the moment. “It’s going to make for great content, and I know you can push each other. You’ve already proven time and again you know how to play together.”
Team Embers was locked in, and I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or dread. Relief because it meant I wouldn’t have to face off against Eva, guarding her, trying to stop her fast breaks or close out onher pull-up three. But that wasn’t what had my stomach sinking. It was the realization that we weren’t just two athletes on a team together.
And Briana had been thinking about how she could sell that.
I glanced over at Eva, whose eyes met mine with that soft smile of hers. The smile that always made me feel like we were a team in ways deeper than basketball. But today, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t just teammates. We were content.
The memory of Briana’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re must-see TV,” she had said, her grin almost too sharp. I could feel the weight of it now, the way our relationship was the hook. The reason people would tune in.
But I didn’t want to be the reason. I didn’t want to be the punchline in a romance storyline to draw eyes. I wanted to play, to prove myself, to stand on my own without having to justify my every move because I was datingher.
But it was too late to turn back. The cameras would be on us every game—every pass, every steal. Every time we argued on the court would be dissected by millions of eyes.
I continued to stare at the giant screen and waited for the final team’s roster to fill out.
“We’re together. Again,” I muttered to myself.
Jazz caught my words. Her smugness softened. “Don’t overthink it.”
I nodded, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen.
I wasn’t just part of a team. I was part of the narrative. Part of the plan.
And that was the last thing I had wanted.
With team rosters set, Briana moved on to introduce the league’s six coaches. None of them overlapped with the pro league, once again highlighting how Bri wanted the Miami league to stand on its own.
Each newly assembled roster clustered around their new coach and support staff as they were introduced in turn.
“Team Embers,” Bri said, “meet David Demarios. He’ll be the one leading you this season. Coach, you can take it from here.”
A tall, well-built Black man stepped forward from the back of the room. His presence alone demanded attention. He was a mountain of a man, easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders that made the room feel smaller. His warm, deep voice carried across the gym as he addressed us.
“Alright, ladies,” he said, eyes gliding over us with a mix of authority and respect. “As Briana has already alluded to, this season isn’t just about winning games. It’s about pushing boundaries. We’re not just out here for the prize money—we’re out here to make a statement. Every time we step on the court, we’re going to show everyone what happens when you give athletes the resources, the support, and the platform to shine. So that’s what we’re going to do.”
His words struck me in a way I hadn’t expected. This wasn’t just a coach looking to win games. This was someone who understood what this league meant, what it could mean for all of us. For our careers, for the game itself.
“Before we jump into practice,” he continued, “I need you to know that this is going to be tough. It’s not spring break. It’s not a rec league either. If you’re not ready to give 100 percent during practice or a game, I’m sure you can find a pick-up game at the local Y instead.”
Eva was already in full focus mode, head nodding along. I, on the other hand, was still adjusting to the reality of it. Being on a team with her again and being watched like we were celebrities wasn’t something I’d signed up for—at least not this soon.
The gym wasloud with the rhythm of bouncing balls, sneakers skidding across the floor, and the occasional whistle as the league’s coaches tried to keep everything under control.
It was only our first practice, and I was already sore. Jazz and I trained hard in Chicago, but nothing mimicked real game intensity. As we broke for water, I tugged my jersey up to wipe sweat from my face, avoiding eye contact.
