Los Angeles | 2009
Alex's POV
The sun baked the asphalt, and the air was a thick mix of salt and hot dogs. I sat sandwiched between the Nairds, the metal of the bleachers hot against my legs. When the finals began, it was a blur of perfect execution. The teamwork him, Leo, and David had put in was on full display—a beautiful, logical system of movement and coordination. I felt a swell of pride in my chest, so fierce it almost hurt. This was the Bradley I understood: the strategist, the commander. How could they have possibly lost last week? I thought. The score at the end of the quarter was telling the truth I already knew: they were unstoppable.
Then the second quarter started, and the game's clean lines got messy. That massive boy, Caleb, started pushing against David and Brad, playing with his elbows and his weight. I could see him talking, a constant stream of what I could only assume was garbage. I saw the flash of annoyance in Bradley's eyes, a tightening in his jaw. For a second, I was scared he'd get drawn into a stupid, physical fight. But he didn't. He just got colder, sharper. He, David, and Leo as well, fought on, and my anxiety slowly morphed into a grudging admiration for their grit.
In the third quarter, something changed. Bradley hit another three, but this time he didn't just run back on defense. He held his follow-through an extra second, his eyes locked on Caleb, and then he smiled. It wasn't his usual smile. This one was sharp. It was mean. He and Leo weren't just playing to win anymore; they were playing to punish. I watched the confidence drain from the Bears, their shoulders starting to slump with exhaustion. A knot of unease started to form in my stomach.
The fourth quarter was when the unease curdled into something sick. The Bears were spent, their fight gone. And Brad seemed to realize that more than anyone else. He began toying with them. His movements became cold, detached, and ruthless. This wasn't the competitive boy I played Scrabble with. This was someone else entirely. The final, awful moment came with a minute left. Bradley dribbled slowly up to a completely exhausted and broken Caleb, who wasn't even guarding him anymore. And Bradley… he held the ball out. Pushed it right into Caleb's chest.
My breath caught in my throat. What is he doing?
I saw the look of pure, paralyzing fear on Caleb's face as he just stood there. I felt bad for the Bears. I was supposed to be happy. They were winning. But this felt… wrong.
A quiet voice beside me confirmed it. "That's not good, Mark," Mrs. Naird whispered to her husband. I saw the same deep concern on both their faces. Their reaction was a gut punch, a validation of the cold, ugly thought that had just crystallized in my own mind. The boy I had poured my heart out to, the one with the kind eyes and the brilliant mind, had a side to him I had never seen. A side that enjoyed this.
My boyfriend was a sadist.
I stood there, the ugly thought still echoing in my head. Sadist. Yet I couldn't bring myself to bring it up, not now. When he came off the court, the smile that formed on his face when he saw me and his family was so open and joyful that I couldn't bear to crush it. For a moment, I felt that the Brad I saw on court was just a delusion of my mind. He ran towards us, a picture of pure pride and confidence.
"Mom, Dad, we won! Did you see that?! We won!" Brad exclaimed as he joined us.
Mrs. Naird bent down towards him and cupped his face. "Of course you did, my boy, and we are so very proud," she said with gentleness.
But Mr. Naird didn't smile. He just looked down at his son, his expression unreadable. "You did great, son, but some of your methods were unorthodox and I don't quite agree with them." he said sternly.
The effect was instantaneous. The triumphant light in Brad's expression faltered, and his face fell. The sourness of victory had set in. He had been so completely caught off guard.
Mr. Naird placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice softening from stern to firm. "Brad, don't be disappointed. I am happy that you've won. But you now have an important responsibility to fulfill." Brad looked up at him. "You have conquered your opponent, Brad, but even in war, we treat the losing side with sympathy and fairness. You need to go back and shake their hands, resolutely. You must also apologize for your conduct with them. I don't care how you feel about it; I care that my son is raised right. You are not a barbarian, Bradley, and empathy is the most human thing one can do. Will you do it, son?"
Brad was silent for sometime.
"I-I'm sorry, Dad, Mom," Brad said, his voice quiet and thick with shame. "I didn't realize I had gone too far. I was just enjoying the game, and I wanted them to feel as bad as I had felt last week. I just wanted to show them that I was better. I didn't think about the hurt it might have caused."
Mrs. Naird held his palms firmly in a comforting gesture. "Oh, honey, it's okay to lose yourself in the game; it shows how much you enjoy it. But now you're off the court, and he is not your enemy. You realize that, right?" Brad nodded. "Good," she said, ushering him forward. "Then apologizing to him will not make you smaller and him greater. It is a way for you to accept your mistakes and carry on. Now go."
As he began to walk away, he looked at me, his eyes full of a new, vulnerable expectation. "Could you come along…?"
This wasn't the ruthless victor from the court. This was just a boy, humbled and scared, who was trying to do the right thing. I couldn't deny him when he was like this. I walked up and grasped his hand as we made our way to Caleb.
As we made our way toward the Bears' bench, I saw them. Caleb seemed to be getting a lecture from his father, a tall, imposing man with a severe expression. The father's voice was low but carried on the quiet air, and his words were like stones.
"You didn't just lose, you quit," he was saying, his voice dripping with disappointment. "You let that little punk get in your head. You disappointed me."
Caleb's Dad stopped when he saw us approaching, his eyes narrowing. I instinctively stood a bit back as Brad stepped forward, his expression calm and resolute.
"Sir," Bradley said politely. "I'm Bradley Naird. I was wondering if I could talk to Caleb for a moment."
"There is nothing left to talk about," the man said, his tone cold and dismissive. "You won, and you don't need to interfere anymore."
"I'd just like two minutes of his time, sir," Bradley requested, his voice unwavering.
The man stared at Bradley for a long, hard second before giving a curt, frustrated nod. "Fine." He turned to his son. "Go on."
Caleb walked over to us, his movements stiff, his face a mask of raw humiliation. He wouldn't meet my eyes, or Bradley's.
"Caleb," Brad began, his voice sincere. "I'm sorry." He waited until Caleb finally looked up. "The way I ended that game... it was wrong of me. It wasn't sportsmanship; it was about humiliating you, and I never should have done it. I hope that... I hope you're not too deeply hurt by the act. I know I can't take it all back, but I will try to be better."
I felt a swell of pride for him in that moment. It took incredible strength to apologize like that.
But Caleb, already sad and raw from his Dad's lecture, just looked at him with pure hatred in his eyes. "Knock it off," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You can take your sorry apology and shove it." He took a step closer, his whole body coiled with anger. "The next time we meet on a court, I will beat you. And just like you humiliated me today, I will do the same to you. You hear me?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He just turned and stormed away, leaving us standing in a stunned, heavy silence.
Bradley turned and looked at me as we walked, his face morphed in sorrow. "Hey, Alex?" he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah, Brad? I'm here. What is it?"
"We won, right?" he asked, the question sounding lost and confused.
"Yes, you did," I affirmed, squeezing his hand.
"Then why does it feel like I just committed a crime?" he said, his voice raw and defeated. "I'm supposed to feel joy and happiness, but all I feel right now is lost." His victory was tainted, and he couldn't live with that taint on himself.
I stopped walking, turning to face him. "I don't know what to say, Brad, but I can say that I am happy for your victory. And for the way you held yourself back there," I said, my voice soft but firm. "Many people would have thrown a tantrum or held a grudge. You're far more mature than that, and I like that… a lot."
"You—you really think so?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
In that moment, I didn't know why, but I just wanted him to be happy again. I wanted to see the jolly, quirky, confident Brad… my Brad. Before my logical brain could file a single objection, I leaned in and kissed his cheek. It was a quick, soft press of my lips against his skin. I felt his grip on my hand tighten the moment I did it.
When I moved away and looked at him, a smile was blooming again, breaking away the sadness. A deep, warm blush was spreading across his face, and I felt my own cheeks flush in response.
"It's still your day," I whispered. "And now that the difficult part is over, I think we can still enjoy it."
"I think I just started to feel a whole lot better just now. I'm at 60%," he said, a cheeky grin returning. He then tapped his cheek. "Maybe another recharge is in order."
I started blushing harder, but a strange, bold confidence possessed me. I inched closer and kissed him on the cheek again. Just as I was leaning back, his hand holding mine pulled me closer, and he kissed me on the cheek just the same. The touch was warm and quick, and it sent a jolt right through me.
I looked up and realized his smile had turned absolutely silly now, and he was as red as a brick.
"We should get back before Mom and Dad come looking for us," he said as he started walking again, pulling me along by the hand.
I liked that… him.
I was still blushing as we walked back to the group, his hand warm and solid in mine. His smile had turned absolutely silly now, and I couldn't stop my own grin from growing. We didn't have much time to revel in the moment, though. An organizer with a clipboard bustled over.
"Knights! You're up!"
Bradley and the Knights were ushered to the stage. I stood with his parents, watching as he, Leo, and David received their gold medals and the championship trophy. They were handed a comically oversized check for their victory, and I saw a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on David's face.
Then I saw Bradley lean in and say something to the other two. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw the look on Leo's face—a flash of his usual hot-headed protest—followed by a thoughtful, serious look from David. After a moment of what looked like a tense discussion, Leo let out a sigh and gave a reluctant nod. They agreed it was the right move.
As they came down the steps, trophy in hand, they didn't head for us. They walked directly toward the Bears. My breath caught. He's doing it, I thought, a wave of profound respect washing over me. He was doing the hard thing his parents had asked of him. He was going the extra mile.
I watched as they approached Caleb, Ricky, and Liam. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw Bradley speak, his expression sincere and his posture open. I saw Caleb completely ignore them, a rigid statue of wounded pride, staring straight ahead. But I also saw Ricky and Liam listen, their surprise giving way to a tired but appreciative nod of acceptance.
The boy on the court, the ruthless one, wasn't the whole story. The real Bradley was the one who could be a killer to win but also had the character to apologize when he went too far. That was a person I could admire. He finally came over to us, his face tired, but clear. The tainted feeling of the victory was gone.
The Nairds and I then headed home, the car filled with a quiet, comfortable satisfaction. When we pulled up to my house, Bradley walked me to the door. There was no need for another grand gesture. He just smiled.
"I'll text you tomorrow," he said.
"I know you will," I replied.
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Finally the tournament arc is at an end. I hope you liked it. Drop some powerstones to show support.