But then something happened.
Nolan looked at the stands. He looked at the place where his friends were cheering for him, and suddenly, all the noise and smells and the reality of being in the final minutes of a state championship basketball game faded. In their place was just one thing, one thought.
The way he missed Ellie Tucker.
Chapter Six
Her dad didn’t talk to her, not the way her mom had always done back when they were a family. But that Saturday night, Ellie felt more restless than usual. She wasn’t sure if this was the week, but she’d checked on the Internet at the library and found out that Nolan and the Bulldogs were in the state play-offs. If they won last week, then tonight they’d be in the final game. Winning a state title.
She sat on her bed cross-legged, facing the window. The base was crowded and noisy. Soldiers and uniformed people everywhere. Her father had enrolled her at the base school, but Ellie hated it. Only a handful of kids talked to her. Two girls in her history class were nice, but they had their own friends.
Her heart hurt as she stared at the night stars. Nolan in the state play-offs and she wasn’t there? The truth made her so mad, she could’ve walked to Georgia. Day and night without a break—whatever it took to find him. She had sent him three letters, but he hadn’t responded. At the bottom of each one, she had written their new address. She found stamps in one of the kitchen drawers, and she would always ride her bike across the base to mail them. So that nothing could get in the way of it reaching Nolan.
But he hadn’t written back.
Ellie propped her elbows on the windowsill. Maybe he was too busy. Maybe now that she was gone, he’d forgotten her. All his attention must be on basketball. She sighed. Of course. That’s what it was. He was starting on the varsity team. He wouldn’t have time to think about writing to her. Not till after the season.
The longer Ellie thought about how much she missed him, the more images of her mother filled her mind. Her mom hadn’t written, either. So was that it? Her mom didn’t love her anymore? After all they’d been through, she could let Ellie leave without a fight? Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Maybe she would never see either of them again.
Her mom and Nolan.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before a small rock hit the window. It made a sharp sound, and Ellie jumped back, her heart racing.
Who would . . . She looked out the window. She recognized the group of teens, the girls from history class and a few guys they hung out with.
Her dad was in the living room, the Lakers turned up loud on the TV. She eased her window open and stuck her head out. “Hey.” She kept her voice to a loud whisper.
“Ellie, hi!” One of the girls giggled and came closer. “We’re going to the beach. Come with us.”
Ellie glanced over her shoulder toward the living room. Her father would never let her go. She looked at the kids. “When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.” The other girl laughed. There were four of them—the girls and two guys from the baseball team. “Maybe twenty minutes. Come on, Ellie!”
She hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Her dad could take her away from Nolan and haul her across the country to a place where she knew no one. He could ruin her life and spend his nights watching TV. But he couldn’t keep her locked in her room.
Without saying another word, she found her tennis shoes and a light jacket and slipped out the window. She closed it halfway behind her and then set off with the group. The notion of disobeying and running wild on the beach with her classmates was exhilarating. The first time she’d felt alive since they moved to San Diego.
They didn’t do anything bad or illegal. Thirty minutes of laughing and running on the beach. When she crept back into her bedroom, she could still hear the game on in the other room. Her father hadn’t even noticed. As she fell asleep that night, she didn’t pray like usual. Praying hadn’t gotten her anywhere. It hadn’t changed her father or prompted Nolan to write to her. So maybe this was better. The new Ellie would figure out life on her own—without God.
Because by now it was clear: God didn’t care about her, anyway.
The game raged on and Nolan tried to shake the feeling, tried to find the control he’d played with seconds earlier. But he felt half as fast, half as sharp as before. Get it together, Cook, he ordered himself. Time kept melting off the clock. We have to do this . . . come on. Please, God . . . Nolan made his usual pass, the one through the key to the Bulldogs’ big guy. But this time the other team intercepted it. Before Nolan could turn around, they threw the ball full court and connected with a player streaking up the sidelines. Bulldogs down by one.
All season Nolan had pictured himself in this game, leading it, winning it. But now he couldn’t stop missing Ellie, couldn’t stop thinking about how nothing made sense without her. Focus . . . you have to focus. He glanced at the clock. Fourteen seconds left. He doubled his concentration and intensity and went in for a layup. Bulldogs by one. But the other team scored a three and grabbed a two-point lead. Time-out, Bulldogs. Again Nolan noticed his father. He looked pale, clammy. Something was wrong. Nolan would ask him about it after the game.
The time-out seemed to last only seconds, and Nolan walked back out onto the court, not sure what play they were supposed to run. Rage flooded his bloodstream. They weren’t going to lose this game because of him. He wouldn’t let it happen. His teammate inbounded the ball, and the five of them worked it around until only two seconds showed on the clock.
Nolan ran to his spot, the place where he’d hit more shots and won more games than any other. Left side, three-point line. He clapped his hands, calling for the ball, and it came flying to him from one of the Bulldogs at the top of the key. The basket was all Nolan could see as he set up and released the shot. But something didn’t feel right. The way his thumb lay against the ball, maybe, or the slightest interruption in his concentration. Nolan held his breath, watching the ball. It was going in, it had to. When it mattered, Nolan always hit this shot.
The whole arena seemed to freeze as the ball arced and fell toward the rim. But instead of slipping through the net, instead of even hitting the rim, the ball fell short and slapped against the gym floor. Air ball. Before the reality sunk in, the buzzer sounded. And like that, pandemonium broke out across the arena.
Red jerseys flew past him from every direction, players chest-thumping and jumping into each other’s arms. Atlanta’s East Jefferson High had won the state title. Nolan dropped to the ground where he’d missed the shot. Where he’d lost the game.
His teammates reacted the same way, covering their faces with their jerseys and shuffling back to the bench. Nolan pressed his fists to his eyes. How could he have missed that shot? The win was theirs. Savannah High was a better team. He shut out the sounds of celebration around him. This was his fault. All his fault. He clearly wasn’t as strong as he thought, not as experienced. A true champion would’ve blocked out everything but the game. Especially in the final minutes.
He stayed there, crying angry tears, until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. “Son, come on.” His father’s voice spoke straight to him, louder than every other noise in the arena. “You did your best. Come on.”
Nolan lowered his hands and dragged himself to his feet. Then, in a moment he would remember all his life, he fell slowly into his father’s arms. “I let you down, Dad . . . I blew it. I’m sorry.”
His dad didn’t say anything, just let Nolan cry while he held him. Control came eventually, but until then, his father held on. His dad said only one thing before he released him: “I love you, son. There will be other games.”
Together they walked back to the bench where the team sat, towels draped over their necks, eyes on the ground, cheeks tearstained. The huddle was another moment, a glimpse of the greatness of his father—both as a man and a coach.
“No matter what that trophy says, no matter that it won’t sit on the shelf at Savannah High, you are c
hampions. You played like champions; you won all season like champions. And today you lost like champions—fighting until the final shot.” He nodded, looking each of them in the eyes. “We will be back here next year, and we will win it all.”
Only two players were seniors. Nolan watched the look in everyone else’s eyes go from utter defeat and despair to the first glimpses of hope. They would win next year.
By the time his father was finished talking to them, they all believed it.
Next year belonged to them.
The bus ride home was quiet. Nolan figured the guys were doing the same thing he was—trying to imagine starting over, summer workouts, a million jump shots and free throws, countless hours in the gym.
Back at the school, his dad talked to him again. “Nolan, we play as a team. We win or lose as a team. No one player can be blamed tonight.” He sat beside Nolan on a bench in the locker room after everyone else was gone. “A true champion can’t be defined by his wins or losses—except in life.”
Another quote Nolan would never forget. “Thanks, Dad.” He paused. If only he had one more chance at that last shot. “You coming home?”
“In a little while.” His dad wiped his brow. “I have to wrap up a few things here.”
Nolan had driven his mom’s car, since she went to the game with the neighbor. He helped his dad to his feet, and they hugged again. “You’re the best coach in the world. You did everything you could tonight.”
“We all did.” He patted Nolan’s shoulder. “See you at home.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.”
His father’s words rang through his mind on the way home and even after he’d showered and come downstairs to be with his mom and sisters. No one was ready to sleep just yet. He helped his mom make grilled cheese sandwiches, a late dinner. But thirty minutes became an hour, and still his dad didn’t come home.
Finally, at the two-hour mark, his mom grabbed her car keys. “He isn’t answering his cell.” Her words ran together, and she kept her voice down. Nolan’s sisters were watching a movie in the TV room. “I’m gonna check on him.”
She never got that far. She found her purse and, as she headed for the front of the house, the doorbell rang. Nolan followed her, and as soon as she opened the door, they saw two uniformed police officers with their hats in their hands.
Nolan felt his heart stop, felt it skid into a beat he didn’t recognize. What was this? What . . . what was happening?
One of the officers stepped forward. He identified himself and looked at Nolan’s mother. “Are you Mrs. Cook?”
“Yes.” Panic rang in her voice. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“I’m sorry.” He paused, but he didn’t look at Nolan. Not once. “Your husband . . . he was found at the high school by the janitor. I’m afraid he had a heart attack. He didn’t make it.”
“Not my dad!” Nolan couldn’t bear the possibility. “No, he didn’t. No!” Whatever came next, Nolan didn’t hear it. He ran past his mother, past the officers, running . . . running as fast as he could across the street and into the park. Through the trees to the place that belonged to him and Ellie. And there, with his back against the rough bark and his head in his hands, the sobs came. Deep sobs racked his body, and he let the truth fall down around him like deafening hail.
His father was gone.
The news was crazy . . . insane. Impossible. But it was true. There wouldn’t be another chance to see him or hug him or play basketball for him. In that place beneath the old oak tree, in that single moment, he stood at the greatest crossroads he’d ever known. God had taken Ellie, and now he’d taken his father—his two best friends in all the world.
When he couldn’t cry anymore, Nolan walked slowly back to his house, back to the place where the officers remained and where other cars were now parked along the curb and in the driveway. Before he reached the front door, Nolan realized something. He couldn’t give up on God. Like his father, his faith was woven through him. He couldn’t remove his beliefs any more than he could remove his DNA. Nolan stopped on the front porch. He was his father’s son and he would survive. He breathed in and faced the rest of his life. In a few seconds his entire future had been reduced to two purposes.
Playing basketball for his dad.
And finding Ellie.
Chapter Seven
Spring 2013
Nolan Cook placed an extra pair of Nikes in his Atlanta Hawks bag and zipped it shut. He didn’t need to leave home for half an hour, enough time to clear his mind, maybe figure out why lately the past felt like a dark cloud he couldn’t step out from underneath. He sat on the edge of his bed and breathed in deep. What is it, God? Why won’t yesterday leave me alone?
Sometimes Nolan wondered where the seasons had gone. One year had blended into two, and two somehow became a blurry decade. His life looked almost exactly as he had pictured it, how his dad had believed it would look. His Hawks were in the play-offs, and his role as leading scorer was one he had prepared for. He did what he could to help his community, and his faith still meant more to him than anything. Teams wanted to acquire him, kids wanted to be him, and girls wanted to marry him. After yesterday’s game, the ESPN announcer told the TV audience that Nolan was the only pro player he knew with a heart bigger than his bank account.
All of that was great. His father would be proud, for sure. But for all that Nolan Cook had obtained, and for all that people held him up as someone who had it all, he didn’t have what mattered most. He didn’t have his dad. And he hadn’t accomplished the only goal that really mattered.
He hadn’t found Ellie.
Twenty minutes remained before his ride would be there. The one that would take him to the airport, to a private jet for the trip to Milwaukee. It was May 3, first round of the play-offs. The Hawks had already taken the first two games at home. They could advance by winning the next two on the road. He sat down on the plush bench at the end of his bed and looked out the window. He never tired of the view, of the rolling green acreage that made up his estate. He lived in a remote gated community out of necessity. Too many people clamoring for him.
At first it seemed a little pretentious. Too much for a kid from Savannah. But he’d come to this place. He could be alone here and then, in thirty minutes, be suiting up at the Atlanta Hawks locker room. Where he spent most of his time.
You should be here, Dad. You and Ellie.
A sigh rattled through his body. His father had been gone nearly eleven years, and still he missed him every day, every time he picked up a basketball. The whole world knew the story. If anyone had missed it years back, ESPN had done a feature on Nolan last week, how he played to honor his dad, and how he never left a gym without making the shot.
Left side, three-point line.
He pulled his Bible from beneath the bench, where he’d left it the day before. Without hesitating, he turned to Philippians, chapter four. The place he and his dad were studying the week of his death. The text was familiar even back then. But he didn’t want to rely on memory. He wanted to see the words. He started at the beginning of the chapter and read past the greeting from Paul and the admonition to rejoice always. At all times. Past the verses about God’s peace and right through to the thirteenth verse. “ ‘I can do all things though Christ, who strengthens me,’ ” he whispered.
It was a verse that had gotten him through the past decade, in moments when he was angry at God for all he’d lost and on days when he was ready to give up. Basketball had filled the empty spaces, and his faith had given him a purpose, but nothing had eased the pain of losing his dad. And nothing had helped him find Ellie Tucker.
He closed the Bible, stood, and crossed his room to the dresser with the mirrored hutch. Almost never did he allow himself a few moments to do this, but today seemed special. First time they’d made the play-offs since he’d been traded to the Hawks three years ago. He opened the narrow glass door and looked closely at the contents inside. A pic
ture of him and his dad taken after they won the conference, weeks before the heart attack. The photo stood propped up, simple and without a frame. Slightly curled and yellowed around the edges. But Nolan kept it here, raw and untouched. The way he kept the image in his heart.
On the next shelf down was the stuffed rabbit. The one Ellie gave him the night before she left. He brought it to his face and breathed deep. Then he slowly walked to the window, the one that made up the far wall of the bedroom. He leaned his forearm against the glass and clenched the rabbit in his other fist. How could she still be missing from his life? With familiar ease he felt himself going back, slipping through the yesterdays to that spring.
Back to the days after his father’s death. He was just a kid back then, so much growing up still ahead of him. Weeks passed before Nolan stopped heading to the gym to find his dad when school let out. A lifetime of sheer habit didn’t break easily. Long after his dad’s funeral and the touching show of sympathy from the whole school, Nolan would wake up certain his dad was alive. Somewhere, he had to be alive. He would sit there in bed, desperate and confused, and picture his father in his study down the hall. He had to be there, dreaming up defenses and outlining plays in his old notebook. Or reading his worn, cracked leather Bible the way he did every morning.
Over time, Nolan came to realize he would spend the rest of his days fighting against God or fighting for Him. Finding his own way or holding tight to the faith he’d claimed the day police showed up at his house with the news. He wrestled with the choice, desperate for one more day with his dad. Desperate to find Ellie. In the end, there was no real choice at all. His father’s faith was his own. Period. He wouldn’t fight against the one true God, the One who held both his father and his precious Ellie. He would serve Him all the days of his life, no matter what. He made the vow the first summer after losing his dad. He had never wavered on his decision since.
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