Thursday evening came quicker than Marcus expected. He had told himself he might not go back but by six o'clock he was already lacing up his old sneakers. They were worn and scuffed but they still fit. For the first time in weeks he left the apartment without a drink.
The gym was half full when he arrived. Players were running warm up drills and the sound of bouncing balls echoed off the walls. Walt stood to the side with his cane in one hand and a clipboard in the other. He nodded when he saw Marcus.
"You're here" Walt said.
"Yeah" Marcus replied. "Figured I'd give it another shot."
"Good. We're doing something different today. You're with me."
Marcus frowned. "Not in the game?"
"Not yet" Walt said. "We're going to work on your legs and your shot. The rest will come later."
He led Marcus to the far end of the court where a single hoop stood. The paint was faded and the net hung loose.
"First" Walt said. "Run the length of the court and back. Ten times."
Marcus almost laughed. "That's it?"
"Do it" Walt said.
By the fourth run Marcus's breathing was heavy. By the eighth his legs burned. By the tenth sweat poured down his face and his chest heaved.
"You've lost your wind" Walt said. "No shame in that. We'll get it back."
Walt tossed him a ball. "Now shoot. Start close. Move back after every five makes."
Marcus began under the basket dropping in easy shots. Then he stepped back. The farther he moved the more his misses showed. His arms ached from repetition.
"Your form is still there" Walt said. "Your body just isn't used to it anymore. We'll fix that too."
They worked for nearly an hour. Walt spoke little. He gave short instructions and nothing more. When Marcus missed he did not scold him. When a shot fell clean he simply nodded.
At last Walt stepped back. "That's enough for today. Go drink water. Not beer. Water."
Marcus smiled faintly. "You really going to watch what I drink?"
"I'm going to watch what you become" Walt said. "You can't change the past. You can choose what comes next."
The words followed Marcus as he left the gym. On the walk home he passed a small shop. He slowed for a moment thinking about beer then kept walking.
The next morning Marcus woke up sore. His legs ached with every step but it was a good pain. He stretched without thinking poured a glass of water and sat by the window watching the sun rise over the city.
Practice was hours away but something in him wanted more. He went to the park. The cracked court was empty. He dropped his jacket picked up the ball and started shooting. Some shots rattled the rim. Others fell clean.
A man walking his dog stopped nearby. "You used to play pro?" he asked.
"Something like that" Marcus replied.
The man nodded and moved on. It was a small moment but it made Marcus stand a little straighter.
At the next practice Walt added a new routine. More running more shooting and passing drills with the younger players. They still kept their distance but they no longer ignored him.
The tall player however still had a problem with him. During a drill he fired a pass too hard and the ball slammed into Marcus's chest.
"Catch up old man" he said with a smirk.
Marcus caught the next pass clean and sent it back fast hitting the young man square in the hands. "Maybe pass like you mean it" Marcus said.
Walt's whistle cut through the tension. "Enough. Save it for the game."
After practice Walt pulled Marcus aside. "You're not here to fight them" he said. "You're here to show them you belong."
"I know" Marcus said. "But he's not making it easy."
"That's not his job" Walt replied. "It's yours. The best way to win over a doubter is to outwork him."
Marcus nodded. "So what's next?"
Walt smiled. "Next we see what you can do under pressure."
The next few days followed the same rhythm. Marcus woke early went to the park to shoot and showed up to practice on time. His body adjusted. His shot smoothed out. His passes sharpened.
One evening as practice ended Walt gathered the team. "We've got a friendly game next week against another local club. Think of it as a test. I want to see how you play together."
A knot formed in Marcus's chest. It had been years since he played in front of more than a handful of people. This was a chance. It could also be another failure.
That night Marcus sat alone in his apartment with a bottle on the table. His hand hovered over it. Then he pulled back and went to bed.
The road back was still long. But for the first time in years he felt like he was walking it.