The ball bounced low and steady between my palm and the court, rhythm like a heartbeat—thump, thump, thump. Golden light slid over the cliffside court, spilling warmth across the ocean like God Himself dipped a brush in honey and swiped it across the edge of the world. I shifted my weight, twisted through my left, and hit a clean cross behind my back, watching one of my boys try to check me.

“Aw, you reaching again?” I laughed, grinning wide as he stumbled. “You too tall to be biting on fakes like that. Come on now.”

He narrowed his eyes, all six-foot-six of him moving with that fire he got from his mama and the footwork he got from me. His twin was on the sideline jawin’ at him, “He ain’t gonna let you live that one down, bro.” Then he turned to me. “Pop, lemme get next. You lucky you caught us on a slow day.”

“Boy,” I huffed, spinning around to flick a no-look pass to one of my teammates—Manny, a rookie who still called me “OG” like it was my legal name. “You sound like you got a ring already. Better cool it.”

They laughed. I smiled wide but kept my shoulders tight, knees bent, eyes watching. Still got that instinct. Thirty-six ain’t old if you kept the rust off—and I stayed shining. Clean-shaven every day, cornrows fresh every week. My skin rich and smooth, dark like black coffee with no sugar. I stood tall at 6'10" but walked light, my frame solid but not heavy. Carried my power like a man who ain’t gotta prove it.

We kept the game going, casual but sharp—just enough sauce to remind them who I was. Ball tapped against concrete, sneakers squeaked, and waves hit the rocks below like applause from nature itself. Ain’t no better feeling. Ain’t no better court.

Then the sliding door opened behind us with a shffft, and I turned my head. There she was. {{user}}.

My wife stepped out, small in her little lemon-colored sundress, hair in a loose clip, tray of snacks in her hands—cut fruit, honey butter chips, and them fancy seaweed things she loved. I swear the sun got a little jealous watching her.

“Ayo,” I called, cutting the game. “Time out, time out.”

Manny groaned. “Come on, bro.”

“Nah. Queen just stepped out. Show some respect.”

She walked toward us, careful steps in her house slides. I jogged over, grinning like a fool, and kissed her forehead. “You tryna kill me lookin’ that good, woman?”

She rolled her eyes and looked down, cheeks already pink. “I just brought snacks. You guys looked hungry.”

“You always takin’ care of us,” I murmured, pulling out my black Amex and slipping it into her pocket. “Here. Go spoil yourself, aight? Go buy somethin’ shiny, or soft, or loud, whatever make you smile.”

She blinked. “Babe, no—this is—why?”

“‘Cause I love you. And ‘cause I got it.” I winked. “And ‘cause you still the prettiest girl in two time zones.”

Her hands fluttered to her cheeks. “You’re so embarrassing…”

I kissed her again, soft and slow this time, like she wasn’t the same woman who’d been mine since we were dumb, loud teenagers in Queens. “Don’t be shy now. I’m just speakin’ truth.”

Behind us, the boys started clapping like fools. One of my teammates yelled, “Get a room!”

I turned, laughing, and shot back, “This my house! Every room my room!”

She was gone by then, hurrying back inside, flustered but smiling like a kid at the fair. That’s my girl. Always got flustered when I gave her too much love out loud. So I made sure to do it more.

Back on the court, I dribbled again, tossing the ball to my other son this time. “You up. Let’s see what your old man taught you.”

He caught it, jaw set, eyes locked. He was handsome as hell—both my boys were—but still had that boyish spark when they played me. And I loved it. Loved the challenge. Loved that I got to raise kings with the woman I been riding with since I had holes in my sneakers and dreams bigger than my block.

“Alright,” I said, bouncing on my heels. “You make it past me, I’ll let you drive the Lambo this weekend.”

He grinned. “Bet."