Chapter 11: Under the Surface

The locker room was quiet after practice. The kind of quiet that only came when fatigue met tension and neither side wanted to speak first. The hardwood floor was slick with sweat and the scent of tape, socks, and effort filled the air. Jordan Carter sat on the floor, untying his sneakers slowly, letting the silence fill the space between him and his thoughts.

Across the room, Kyrie Blackwood sat on the training table, both knees wrapped in ice. He scrolled through his phone with his head down, earbuds in, nodding along to a beat no one else could hear. But something was different. There was no usual trash talk. No flexing. No noise.

Jordan glanced up. For the first time since arriving at Duke, Kyrie looked… tired. Not physically tired, though they all were. But something deeper. Something behind the eyes.

Coach Terry entered the locker room, clapping his hands once to signal attention.

“Film in twenty minutes. Let’s clean up and get moving.”

He walked past Kyrie and patted him on the shoulder. Kyrie flinched slightly but nodded without a word.

Jordan finished taping up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. As he walked past Kyrie’s corner, he paused.

“You good, man?”

Kyrie looked up, surprised. For once, he didn’t have a quick response.

“Yeah. I’m straight.”

Jordan didn’t believe it, but he didn’t press. He gave a small nod and kept walking.

Inside the film room, the team gathered around the projection screen as clips from last night’s scrimmage flickered to life. Coach Reynolds stood near the screen, remote in hand.

“Today’s focus: defense off the ball and help positioning. Watch how we recover on rotations. We’re better, but still not where we need to be.”

The first few clips played. Jordan was shown rotating over for help, taking a charge, then sprinting out to contest a three. Coach Reynolds paused it.

“This is what effort looks like. Carter’s not the biggest, not the fastest, but he moves with purpose. Watch number five here.”

A few heads turned toward Kyrie. Number five.

The next clip played. Kyrie failed to close out on a shooter, and the three dropped cleanly. Coach paused it again.

“No urgency. No communication. This is how we get beat.”

Kyrie stared straight ahead, saying nothing.

Coach Reynolds let it hang for a second, then moved on.

After film, Jordan and Kyrie ended up walking toward the weight room at the same time. Neither said anything at first. The hallway was narrow and forced them to walk side by side.

“You ever feel like you can’t win either way?” Kyrie asked, voice low.

Jordan looked over. “What do you mean?”

“Like… if I go off and score twenty five, they say I’m selfish. If I pass too much, they say I’m soft. If I make a mistake, it’s always louder. Every little thing is under a microscope.”

Jordan nodded. “Yeah, I get it. But you’re the one with the spotlight. Comes with the hype.”

Kyrie exhaled. “I didn’t ask for the spotlight, bro. It just came with the name.”

Jordan pushed open the door to the weight room. “So do something with it. Be the guy people can trust, not the guy they expect to blame.”

Kyrie didn’t respond, but he followed him in.

That day in the weight room, something changed. The team rotated through stations, lifting in pairs. Coach Reynolds walked the floor, correcting form, encouraging guys to push through. For the first time, Kyrie and Jordan partnered up.

They didn’t speak much, but they moved in sync. Kyrie spotted Jordan on incline bench. Jordan returned the favor on squats. It wasn’t brotherhood. Not yet. But it wasn’t war either.

Afterward, they walked out of the gym together, sweat clinging to their shirts.

“You play Madden?” Kyrie asked out of nowhere.

Jordan laughed. “Yeah. Why?”

“You tryna get cooked tonight?”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You talk like you’re not scared of cover two.”

Kyrie smiled, a real one this time. “Man, I will drop forty with Lamar on you. Bet that.”

Jordan smirked. “Alright then. Pull up.”

That night in the dorms, the mood was light. The game was close. Trash talk flew. Kyrie’s signature bravado returned, but this time it felt different. Less like a wall, more like a window. Something in him was reaching out, even if he didn’t know it.

Later, after the game ended with Jordan winning in overtime on a walk-off touchdown, Kyrie leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“You ever think about life after all this?”

Jordan sat down on the edge of his bed. “Like after college ball?”

“Yeah. Like… who are we when this is over? When the jerseys come off.”

Jordan thought for a second. “I guess… I want to be someone people respect. Not just for what I did on the court, but who I was when no one was watching.”

Kyrie nodded slowly. “Yeah. I don’t even know what that version of me looks like.”

Jordan didn’t answer. There was no easy fix to that kind of question.

The next morning, the team had a players-only meeting. No coaches. Just the guys. Seniors called it. The goal was accountability.

In the meeting, guys opened up. Some talked about the pressure. Others admitted they were struggling with classes. One player, DeShawn, admitted he was homesick and barely sleeping.

When it got to Kyrie, there was a pause. Everyone waited.

Kyrie cleared his throat. “I know I been acting like a jerk. I just… I put so much pressure on myself that I forget how to be a teammate. And I’m not above the team. I want to win. I just didn’t know how to carry all of it.”

No one clapped. No one cheered. But heads nodded. That was enough.

Jordan raised his hand. “Let’s do this together. Whole squad. No stars, no scrubs. Just Duke.”

That week in practice, the energy shifted. Kyrie boxed out like his life depended on it. Jordan kept barking out rotations and diving for loose balls. The bench got louder. The gym got tighter.

Coach Reynolds noticed.

“This is the group I’ve been waiting on. This right here is a team.”

The next game, they faced a gritty mid-major squad that came out punching. Down six at halftime, the locker room was tense. But it wasn’t fear. It was focus.

Kyrie stood up and spoke.

“We ain’t losing. Not tonight.”

Second half started. Jordan hit back to back threes. Kyrie got two steals and a chase down block. The bench exploded. They came back and won by eleven.

As the team walked off the floor, Coach Terry clapped them up.

“That’s how you respond. That’s Duke basketball.”

In the locker room, Kyrie sat next to Jordan, towel around his neck.

“You still trash at Madden though,” he muttered.

Jordan grinned. “But I still beat you.”

Kyrie laughed, louder this time.

That night, Jordan posted a team picture with the caption, “One game at a time. One squad.”

Kyrie reposted it.

No caption. Just the Duke logo and a blue heart.

But deep in his phone, in his notes app, Kyrie had something else written.

“Still feel alone sometimes. Even when I’m surrounded. I wonder if they see it. Or if I’m just good at hiding it.”

He closed the app. Locked the screen.

Went to bed.

Tomorrow was another day.

But the storm inside him never really slept.