Always Fighting // Kyrie Irving

2015 NBA Finals- Game Six

Sabrina- 

"Da-da?"  The little girl asks, her eyes wide as she looks at the face of the father she never knew. 

"That's right, baby girl." Her mother's eyes fill with tears. "That's your daddy."  

The girl waddles over to her mom and presses her chubby little hands against her face, trying to wipe her tears away. 

"It okay, momma." She looks closer at the photo laying on the floor. "Daddy, mommy, me!" She says happily, pointing to the two adults in the picture, and then at the woman's belly. 

Fresh tears roll down her mother's face, not from the pressure of the bills piling up on the broken kitchen table or the sore neck and tired back from her two jobs, but from the happy expression on her daughter's beautiful face, and the innocence it resembled. 

I shake my head from the memory, my breath rattling out. My mom told me that story when I graduated. Said how proud she was that I never lost my happiness, that I never held a grudge against my father for not being there was I was little. 'After all,' she told me. 'He came eventually, it was just a little bit late. He had some growing up to do,' 

Mom never knew I went through a really rough time when I was a sophomore. Seeing all the kids with their parents and their happy lives. By that time, Steve had entered back into our lives, but it wasn't the same. I didn't have same stories that everyone else seemed to have. I was mad. Hatred seeped into my being, at how cruel life was, how cruel my father was. 

But then I grew up, and I realized love isn't so easy to come by and I saw first hand just how many people have kids from flings. I also saw how many times the father doesn't come back, or the mother aborts her child. So all I all, I realized I couldn't be angry anymore. 

I didn't have to like what Steve did to my family, our family, but ultimately he did the brave thing and came back to apologize and ask for our forgiveness. He hasn't left again, so maybe he grew up after all. 

It's highly unlikely things will ever be perfect with Steve and I. The only thing that really matters is that, although I won't forget the pain he caused me, I forgave him. And that is why I can look at him like I am right now. 

"Hey, dad," I say, trying to place a big smile on my face. 

 "Hey, Sab." He pulls me into a side hug as we greet each other by the bus early Tuesday morning. I know I don't usually ride with the team to a game, but for some reason I didn't want to hail a taxi or call and uber. We're leaving pretty early for considering the game is at six- it's currently one ish- but this way it'll be pretty empty when we arrive. Besides, warm ups, pep talks, game plans, and player introductions take a while, it'll be here soon enough. And Cleveland will either be one step closer to winning their first title... or going home empty handed. 

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Klay looks at me from underneath his long eyelashes, a smirk playing on his face. 

"Hey. Haven't seen you around in a looong time. When was the last time you traveled with the team?" He asks, shoving my legs off the hallway bench so he can sit down and tie his shoes. 

"Ahem. Woman reading here!" I say, calmly flipping the page of my book. "And actually, it was a week ago. Airplane, remember? You threw a paper airplane at me." 

"Ohhhhh! That's right!" He cracks his neck, then reaches his arm all the way across his body so it's blocking my view. "Must've slipped my mind. Everything kinda, you know, disappeared when you kissed me in your hotel room." 

"Klay!" I exclaim, slapping his arm away from my view and slamming my book closed. "I will have you know that I-" Can I say it? I mean, I think Kyrie likes me... we went on a date... but can I say I'm seeing someone? Oh, whatever, it's not like Klay will know it's Kyrie. "-I'm seeing someone right now." 

He huffs and shakes his head. 

"Dad!" I call out. "Is there somewhere more quiet I can go?" I hear him yell something back, but I'm not quite sure what it is, so I get up to go find him. Looking a Klay one last time I mouth the words I'm sorry. 

Kyrie- 

"All we got, boys. All. We. Got. Give me forty-eight minutes of hard work, this is do or die for us right now." The team huddles up in a tight circle, right arms raised together, standing in unity as we listen to Coach Blatt's speech. "Share the ball, shoot the ball, steal the ball. Look for opportunities to score, not necessarily by yourself, but by giving another guy the open look. We've beat this team before, we can do it again. You play your best game today, leave everything on that floor." 

"1,2,3 Cavs!" The entire team yells with him, hands pumping, bodies jumping, warm up shirts being ripped off. We're in our arena now. This is our crowd. This is our moment. 

"Cavalier fans.... are... you... readyyyy!!!!!" The announcer rumbles past the steady beat and chanting crowds. "Cavs fans!" He repeats, making the screams louder. "Are you ready?!?!" Then. Boom. The lights go out and for a split second we are surrounded in darkness. Pure. Black. Moments later, tiny lights flicker across the crowds, thousands of them, vibrating back and forth. The entire arena rocks with the sounds of cheers, all from the power that moment of darkness holds. 

The music fades as the announcer steps into the middle of the court. "Make some noise for your starting five! From Saint Mary's University at 6'4 Matthew Dellavadova! Froommm Georgia Tech, your 6'5 shooting guard Iman Shumpert! Number 20, the big man... Timofey Mozgov! Number 13, Tristannnn Thompson!" 

The screams amp up as the announcer pauses, the entire crowd waiting for LeBron's name. 

"Finally, number twenty-threeeee, the King from Akron............ LeBron Jamessssssssss!!!" 

Everyone loses it, the building shaking, the lights pulsing, the people dancing, the music blasting. It is electric. This is for us. 

Tip off begins, the crowd chants of 'let's go Cavs' dying down as the ball is tipped into Harrison Barnes' hands. Every play we make will determine the course of this game. From here on out, Cleveland's fate is decided by the ten guys playing on the Quicken Loans Arena. 

Shumpert splits a pair. LeBron drives and flicks it to Mozgov, who kisses it off the glass. LeBron drives again, and slips it into the basket with a beautiful scoop layup. This is how I see the game. Play by play, score by score. The eyes of every person in this building belong to the guy with the ball. 

"Let's go!" I say, clapping my hands for emphasis. "Bounce back! We got this!" End of the first quarter and we're down by thirteen. 

I was right. We got this. 

Jones is fouled and goes to the line to shoot three and makes every single one. 18-28. 'Bron drills a three pointer. 21-28. That pumped up the crowd, but the energy drains slightly when Barnes comes down the other end and rattles in the three. 

Shumpert splits another pair, 22-31, then Jones slips in a bank shot bringing us 24-31. 

Before I even know it, it's the end of the second, Cleveland clawing their way up. It's 43-45 and twenty-four minutes left to play. We're still in this, baby. 

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I look up at the scoreboard. 105- 97. I faintly make out a voice announcing the Golden State Warriors as the 2015 NBA champs. How? This belonged to us. All around me, teammates stand, their face in shock, trying hard to put on an emotionless face. We lost. We actually lost.