The hospital room was quiet, filled with the soft beeping of machines and the distant murmur of activity in the hallway.
Coach Morrison lay in the bed, looking smaller than Marcus had ever seen him. The cancer had taken most of his weight and left his skin a grayish color. But when the team filed in, all seven players plus Marcus, his eyes opened wider.
"My boys," Morrison whispered. "You came."
"Of course we came," Darius said. "You're Coach Morrison."
"I'm a dying old man in a hospital bed."
"You're our coach," Malik said firmly. "You started this. We're going to finish it."
Morrison smiled, weak but genuine. "Tell me about the playoffs. I've been watching on the little TV, but it's not the same as hearing it from you."
They gathered around his bed, taking turns describing the games. Darius talked about the Central victoryâhow they'd stayed composed under pressure, how TJ's block had sealed the win. Kevin described Malik's dominance in the paint. Jayden admitted he'd been nervous but had made his shots when they mattered.
"You're really doing it," Morrison said when they finished.
"We learned from you," Marcus said. "You laid the groundwork."
"I maintained a building. You built the team." Morrison's voice was getting weaker. "Don't give me credit I don't deserve."
"You deserve more credit than you know," Malik said. He moved closer to the bed, his large frame seeming to fold in on itself. "Coach Morrison, I never told you what you meant to me. When I was a freshman, before everything got bad at home, I used to watch film of your old teams. The 2015 squad that went to state. The 2008 team that won it all."
"Ancient history."
"History that showed me a team from our neighborhood could compete with anyone." Malik's voice cracked. "You gave me something to believe was possible."
Morrison reached out with a trembling hand and took Malik's. "You're going to be alright, son. Better than alright."
"I hope so."
"I know so." Morrison looked at Marcus. "Take care of him. Take care of all of them."
"I will."
---
They stayed for an hour, telling stories and coaxing laughs out of Morrison. TJ talked about his sister Maya, who was recovering well from her accident. Kevin mentioned the compromise he'd reached with his parents. Jayden talked about his anxiety, how he was getting better at handling it.
When it was time to go, Morrison asked Marcus to stay behind.
"Close the door," he said once the players had filed out.
Marcus did, then returned to the bedside.
"I'm not going to make it to the final," Morrison said. His voice was matter-of-fact, accepting. "I can feel it. The doctors won't say it outright, but I know my body."
"Don't talk like that."
"I have to. Because there are things I need to say." Morrison's grip on Marcus's hand tightened. "You're going to win. I feel it in my bonesâwhat's left of them. And when you do, I need you to remember something."
"What?"
"The championship isn't what matters. What matters is what you've built with those boys. They trust you. That's worth more than hardware."
"I know."
"I need you to actually know it, not just say it." Morrison's eyes were intense despite their exhaustion. "When the season ends, win or lose, don't lose sight of that."
Marcus felt tears streaming down his face. "I don't want you to go."
"Nobody does." Morrison smiled tiredly. "But I'm okay with it. I got to see you become the man I knew you could be. That's enough."
"I'm not ready to do this without you."
"Yes, you are. You have been for a while." Morrison released his hand. "Now go. Win that championship."
"I love you, Coach."
"I love you too, son. I always have."
---
Marcus drove home in a daze, barely aware of the streets passing by.
He'd known this was coming. Knowing hadn't made it easier.
At the apartment, Malik was waiting.
"How bad is it?" he asked quietly.
"Bad. He won't make it to the final."
"I figured." Malik sat down heavily. "When my brother Jerome died, I thought I'd never feel anything that bad again. But this... watching Coach Morrison, knowing what's coming..."
"It doesn't get easier. You just learn to carry it."
"How?"
"You keep going. You do the things they taught you to do." Marcus looked at him. "Morrison spent his life looking after other people. Best thing we can do is keep that going."
Malik nodded slowly.
They sat in silence for a while, the visit still weighing on both of them.
"Coach," Malik finally said, "I know this is hard timing, but my mom reached out again. She wants to come to the semifinal."
Marcus blinked. "Your mother?"
"Yeah. Since my father and I had that conversation, she's been more... present. I think seeing that I'm okay, that I've got people looking out for me, made her feel like she could be part of my life again."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Complicated. She left me, you know? But..." Malik shrugged. "People change. Maybe she has."
"And you want to give her a chance?"
"I want to see. If she shows up, if she's actually thereâthat means something. If she doesn't..." He trailed off.
"Then you'll have your answer."
"Exactly."
Marcus considered this. "Invite her. But protect yourself. Don't expect too much."
"I'm trying not to. But it's hard not to, you know?"
"Yeah. I know. Just keep your eyes open."
Malik nodded slowly. "Thanks, Coach. For everything."
"Thank yourself. You're the one who's doing the work."
---
That night, Marcus lay awake, thinking about Morrison, about Malik's mother, about how none of this had gone the way he expected.
Two more games. The semifinal against Oak Park was tomorrow.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It took a long time.
