Smooth Play (Brooklyn Monarchs 2)

Serge defended Jamison. Warrick guarded Parker. Anthony had Varejao. Vincent was assigned to Ramon Sessions, and Jamal took Daniel Gibson. The Cavaliers played a wicked game of keep-away as they passed the ball from Jamison to Parker, Varejao, Sessions, and then Gibson without

anyone taking a shot.

The game clock showed thirty-seven seconds. The shot clock wound down to eight seconds. Andrea watched the action on the court. Were the Cavaliers trying for a shot clock violation by exceeding the twenty-four-second limit? How would that benefit them?

Five seconds on the shot clock.

The Cavaliers’ Gibson dribbled twice before pulling up to take the shot. Jamal rushed forward to block him and ran into the point guard. A referee blew his whistle and charged Jamal with a personal foul. It was the rookie’s fifth foul of the game. The crowd let out a collective gasp and went silent with disappointment.

Gibson made both of his free throws, giving the Cavaliers the lead, 105 to 103. Thirty-four seconds left to the game.

Warrick grabbed the rebound. He sent the ball to Vincent, who advanced it to Anthony. Anthony set his feet and went for the easy layup. But Parker was waiting and slapped the ball straight into Varejao’s hands.

Twenty-seven seconds on the game clock. A fresh twenty-four on the shot clock. Andrea’s heart turned to ice. Beneath the media desk, her nails bit into her palms.

Varejao raced to the other end of the court, where Warrick stood alone to defend the basket. His arms were spread. His knees were bent. His stance was wide. The clock was ticking. Varejao charged toward him, at the last moment spinning left. Warrick danced with him. Varejao pressed forward. Warrick held ground.

Twenty seconds. The shot clock turned off.

Nineteen.

Eighteen.

The Monarchs were out of timeouts. They’d need to foul the Cavaliers—and soon—to save precious seconds.

The rest of the Cavaliers circled the paint. The Monarchs took their defensive positions. Varejao passed the ball to Gibson. Instead of letting more time drain from the game clock, the Cavalier aimed at the wide-open basket ... and missed the shot.

The fans roared their relief.

Fifteen seconds and counting.

The Cavaliers’ Parker caught the rebound as the ball bounced from the basket rim. He tried to set up for another attempt. The Monarchs swarmed him. Parker lost the ball. Vincent came up with it. The tension in the arena was dense. Vincent threw the ball to the Monarch closest to their basket, the rookie Jamal Ward.

Five seconds.

Jamal sprinted up the court, dribbling the ball. Antawn Jamison hustled after him. Andrea wanted to close her eyes. Jamison stretched his right hand forward and tipped the ball from under Jamal’s palm. The ball rolled to Warrick’s feet. The game clock drained to two seconds. Andrea willed the Monarchs’ point guard to take the shot. He’d been passing the ball most of the night. There wasn’t time for that now.

Take the shot!

Warrick spun from Jamison. He lined up behind the three-point line. He centered his body, leaped into the air, and released the ball an instant before the end-game buzzer sounded. The shot would still count if it went through the basket. Silence crashed into the arena. The air was sucked out of the space. Andrea’s eyes followed the ball’s trajectory up, up, over, over. And through the net. Three points, Monarchs 106, Cavaliers 105.

Monarchs win!

Andrea wanted to jump from her seat and throw her arms in the air. But she couldn’t. No cheering in the press box—or the press row. With great concentration, she finished her news article.

“Well, who’d have thought it?” Sean stood from the table and stuffed his laptop into his carrier. “The Monarchs survived getting swept out of the play-offs. Their Cinderella season continues.”

Jenna sounded shocked as well. “Forget Cinderella. The Monarchs owe this win to Rick Evans. DeMarcus Guinn should have made that starting lineup change four games ago.”

Frederick grunted. “They won tonight, but they won’t win the series. No team has ever come back to win a seven-game play-off series after losing the first three games.”

Andrea was well aware of the odds. But tonight, anything was possible. She tossed Frederick, the human basketball encyclopedia, a cheeky smile. “Don’t count out the Monarchs.”

She shrugged her laptop case onto her shoulder. Andrea hurried down from the press section through the underground passage toward the postgame press conference. She caught snippets of conversations as she wove through the crush of stunned and exhilarated fans.

“Evans was epic.”

“I’m glad I didn’t leave at the half.”