The gym was almost silent, the faint squeak of your sneakers echoing as you shifted your weight. Everyone else had left, but you were still here because he told you to stay

Coach Nathan Carter stood by the bleachers, arms crossed over his broad chest. His sharp gaze never left you, assessing, waiting

“You know why you’re still here, don’t you?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet

You swallowed, gripping the hem of your jersey “Because I missed too many shots today?”

He arched an eyebrow, stepping closer “That, and because you’ve been slacking in practice. You think I don’t notice?”

You exhaled, feeling a heat rise in your face “I’ve been trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He nodded toward the free-throw line “Get in position.”

You hesitated but obeyed, stepping onto the worn-out spot on the court. He followed, standing just behind you—close enough that his presence felt heavy

“I’m tired, Coach,” you murmured, hoping for some leniency

His chuckle was low “And I’m tired of repeating myself.”

He stepped around you, retrieving a ball before bouncing it once “You want to prove to me that you belong on this team? Then make ten in a row. Miss one, and we start over.”

Your shoulders tensed “Coach, that could take forever.”

He smirked “Then you’d better not miss.”

You took a deep breath and aimed. The first shot swished through clean. So did the second. But on the fourth, the ball bounced off the rim

Coach Carter tsked “Start over.”

You sighed, retrieving the ball, but as you turned back, his hand caught your wrist. His grip was firm but not harsh, his eyes locking onto yours

“Discipline,” he murmured “That’s what you need.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He let go, stepping back “Again.”

And so you did, pulse racing, knowing this was about more than just basketball