Special thanks to TeddyMo, who has done a great job of encouraging me to get back to writing, and to the others who have gently pushed me as well. I have so much respect for all of you who are able to work through your obstacles and keep writing regularly or semi-regularly. For those who struggle like me, keep plugging! I appreciate you too. This is the last full chapter of "Holding Court," but I do have a little epilogue planned. I hope you share in Bobby's happiness!
Chapter 36: To the Victor …
A few more seconds and the swirling mass of joyous 1PP teammates had engulfed Bobby. Like Mike, they were careful not to jar his shoulder, but they still managed to sweep him into the middle of the celebration, hugging him, patting him on the back or swatting him on the rear, and showering praise on him. "Way to go, Bobby!" "Serious guts out there." "Awesome dunks!" "Great job, big man."
Bobby soaked it all in, marveling at how wonderful the praise felt. And the winning. The realization just kept washing over him – "We're champions! I'm a champion!" – and every time it hit him, his grin just grew. He tried again to make eye contact with Alex, but this time he saw she was busy getting hugs and pats on the back in the stands. Even though Alex and Bobby's romance was a secret, their partnership wasn't, and apparently being the partner of a champ brought congratulations too. Realizing that made Bobby even happier.
After a few minutes of bedlam, the officials moved in and herded the players back to their benches. It was time for the trophy presentation. Commissioner Reagan, looking quite relaxed in a maroon sweater and gray casual slacks, stepped down out of the stands and huddled at the scorer's table with members of the brass who oversaw the NYPD athletic program.
Soon Reagan had a microphone in hand, and he stepped to center court, where a table with some glittering hardware perched on it had materialized. He faced the sideline with the two benches and the scorer's table, and the crowd quieted.
"First, I want to thank everyone who bought a ticket and came here tonight to support our officers and help raise money for youth sports all over the city," Reagan said. A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth below his bushy mustache. "I think it's safe to say that we all got our money's worth."
The crowd clapped and cheered in hearty agreement.
"I've been attending these games for more years than I care to admit, and I have never seen two teams go at it with more passion than these fellows did tonight," the commissioner continued. "The talent and the heart on display here made me proud to know that off the court, we are all on the same team."
Again, a burst of cheering interrupted him. He waited until the crowd calmed and then resumed, "Though one team finished second, there are no losers here tonight. So we'll present each member of Brooklyn's Finest with silver medals – to honor their tremendous accomplishments throughout the season as well as their determined play tonight."
One by one, the disappointed players in red and gold were called up, and a red and white ribbon with a silver disc dangling from it was placed around each neck. The team formed a line on court to Reagan's right. Patterson kept his head down as he trotted out for his medal, and so he didn't notice the hard look the commissioner gave him along with it. When the line was complete and the crowd applauded the team, he still couldn't lift his gaze from his shoes.
Reagan raised the mike again. "And now it's time to honor this year's champions – first-time NYPD basketball champions – from One Police Plaza!"
Thunderous applause cascaded down as each member of the team was called to center court and received a gold medal hanging from a blue and white ribbon. As Bobby trotted out, the cheers and stomping feet sounded so loud he couldn't help but look up, astonished that such an ovation could be for him. Then he was standing before the commissioner, who, also at 6-4, could look him right in the eye. Bobby shyly ducked his head, and Reagan carefully lifted the ribbon, guided it around his neck and let the heavy metal disc settle on his chest. When Bobby looked up, the commissioner was smiling warmly. "Great game. Truly remarkable," he said with a nod.
Bobby replied, "Thank you, sir." Then he quickly bowed his head again and trotted off to find his place in the line to Reagan's left. As the rest of his teammates received their medals, he stared at his in awe, running his fingers over the word "CHAMPION" in the inscription on the front. He did remember to look up when Mike Logan's name was called, and as his buddy passed him to find his own spot in line, they exchanged the grins of boys on Christmas morning.
Next, it was Coach Hunter's turn. He had the honor of receiving the 2-foot-tall championship trophy, a golden basketball mounted atop a gold cylinder rising from a strong wooden base. Decades of champions' team names were engraved on the base's plaque, and soon "One Police Plaza" would be etched alongside the others. The traveling trophy would spend the next year on display at police headquarters, and a smaller replica would take up permanent residence there.
As Hunter held the trophy high and more cheers filled the arena, Bobby thought he couldn't possibly be happier in a public setting than he felt at that moment. (Of course, private time with Alex was another matter, he mused, his grin widening.)
Then Reagan raised the mike again, holding up his hand to quiet the lively audience. "We have one more trophy to hand out tonight, and I am truly honored to have the opportunity to do this. Never have I witnessed a gutsier performance in an athletic contest than I saw tonight by the man who has been unanimously selected as Most Valuable Player.
"His statistics – 22 points and 19 rebounds – would be impressive even if he hadn't missed a large portion of the game because of an injury. But this is about much more than statistics," the commissioner said. "This is about character, about determination, about fighting through pain and coming through in the clutch. This is about having the will to win no matter what the obstacles.
"And it's about doing it the right way. Not just playing the game the right way, but also showing true sportsmanship and refusing to retaliate when an opponent's harsh tactics go too far." Reagan paused and turned for a quick glare at two of the Brooklyn players.
Patterson felt his cheeks color in embarrassment and his throat constrict in fear. He hadn't expected to be chastised – even if not by name – by the police commissioner … and in such a public setting. Romano also was red-faced and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Both looked down when Reagan's steel-eyed gaze found them.
The commissioner turned back to address the crowd again, his smile returning. "So, here's to our Most Valuable Player on this memorable night, from 1PP, Detective Robert Goren!" As the crowd roared, Reagan turned and grinned at Bobby, who was staring in open-mouthed disbelief.
As his achievements had been described, he had been the one person in the building who hadn't grasped that he was about to be honored. He hadn't realized that he had that many points or rebounds, and even when the injury was mentioned, the thought that he might be the recipient somehow hadn't made its way to his brain. When he heard his name, his jaw dropped in astonishment.
But now the commissioner was smiling broadly and the people in the stands were rising to their feet. "Come on up and get this trophy, Bobby," Reagan said.
With a little push from a couple of his teammates, Bobby stumbled forward. The cheers rose in volume, and in numb wonderment, he shuffled to center court. Reagan handed him a beautiful foot-high golden statue – a player dunking the basketball. Covering the mike, the commissioner told him, "We'll have to borrow it back later to get your name engraved." Bobby managed to nod, still overwhelmed. "Think you can say a few words?" Reagan asked him. "The crowd would love it."
Bobby's face paled, but he realized he had a responsibility to acknowledge the fans. "I-I c-can try," he said. Reagan handed him the mike, and he turned to look at a sea of faces in the still-packed stands. His vision blurred momentarily, but then it cleared as his eyes settled on Alex, dancing lightly on her feet, wearing a huge smile of pride, with her arms in a self-hug of delight. The pounding of his heart calmed a little, and he took a steadying breath. The crowd fell silent.
"Th-this game tonight … a-and this whole season … are a dream come true for me," he said, his voice growing more confident as he spoke. "Just to be a part of this team, to be welcomed by a great group of guys, has been an experience I'll never forget. And then to play for a championship … and to win … it feels … well, I don't even have the words to describe it," he said, shaking his head. The crowd laughed and clapped for him again.
"As for this …" he looked at the trophy cradled in his left paw, "I don't feel worthy of it. All of these guys to my left are my MVPs … and the special people in the stands who mean so much to me. You know who you are." He met Alex's eyes again and smiled shyly. "I'm humbled and honored. Thank you all!"
He handed the mike back to Reagan, who patted him on the back and nodded as the cheers started another crescendo. With the applause ringing in his ears, he raised the trophy high for the side of the arena he was facing to see and then turned to acknowledge the opposite side, still holding the hardware high. Another chant began behind the 1PP bench and spread quickly through the crowd: "M-V-P, M-V-P, M-V-P!" Bobby suddenly realized that even his teammates were clapping and yelling. Embarrassed but with a smile of joy that he couldn't contain, he kept his head down as he returned to his spot in line.
Eventually the crowd settled down, and Reagan brought the festivities to an end with words of caution for everyone to celebrate soberly and drive home safely. Bobby and Mike headed to the locker room with the rest of the team, but they managed to exchange grins and waves with their partners before disappearing into the tunnel.
The players' shouts, laughter and horseplay slowed the process of showering and getting dressed. No one was in a hurry for the championship celebration to end. While the others lingered and relived their triumph, a freshly soaked and dried Bobby reported to Stitch and Doc Hadley for another check.
This time he acknowledged his wrist problem to the doctor, so another set of X-rays was done, and sure enough, there was a small crack in one of the bones. Hadley just shook his head and sighed. "Goren, I don't know what we're going to do with you," he said.
"Whatever you decide, it's OK now," Bobby told him. "The game's over. I got what I wanted, so I'll cooperate."
"Let's start with a trip to my office. I want to get a cast on that wrist. You're lucky that's no worse than it is, especially considering the fall you took."
"I was trying to protect it."
"That's probably why you hurt your shoulder," Stitch told Bobby while adjusting the sling that was now helping to protect both his shoulder and his wrist.
Bobby nodded, then added, "I appreciate everything you guys did to help me keep playing. It was worth it."
After promising to meet Hadley in a half-hour at the address the doctor had given him, Bobby returned to the locker area. As he was gathering his gear, he filled Mike in.
"Man, you can't miss the celebration!" Mike told him. "You and Alex have to come to O'Halloran's Bar when you're done. Everybody's going there, and I'm sure we'll close the place down."
"Hey, I forgot. We're your ride," Bobby said, frowning, as he put his left arm in his coat sleeve.
"No problem," Mike replied with a grin, helping Bobby get the other side of the coat around his injured shoulder. "There are plenty of guys here who can get Carolyn and me to the party. But you need to be there too. We can't celebrate without our MVP … and his MVP!"
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, this is all too much fun to miss. I've been waiting a long time to be a part of something like this. We'll call you when we leave the doctor's office so you'll know we're on our way."
He left his bag partly unzipped and slipped his trophy and medal just inside. Nodding to Mike and waving to his happy teammates, he picked up the bag and left the locker room.
Outside, in the dim hallway, he found Alex leaning against a wall, talking quietly with Carolyn, a little beyond the knot of relatives and friends awaiting the rest of the team. Bobby set down his bag, pulled out the trophy and handed it to his partner, and the two women admired it. "You two and Mike all had a huge hand in this," he told them. Carolyn hugged him, and Alex risked a quick kiss.
"Mike will be out in a minute," Bobby told Carolyn. "Everybody's going to O'Halloran's, but I need to stop and get a cast on my wrist first."
"It's broken?" Alex asked, eyes wide.
"Just a little crack. Nothing to worry about," he said reassuringly. "I could use some help getting to the doctor's office, though."
"What about Mike and Carolyn?" Alex asked.
"Mike said they can catch a ride with someone else, and then we'll take them home later."
"Don't worry," Carolyn said with a laugh. "You two get going so you can meet up with us faster."
"OK. See you there," Alex said with a smile, and the two partners headed off down the hall, arm in arm.
Just before they reached the metal doors leading outside, a man stepped out of the shadows of an adjoining hallway to their left. "Goren?" he asked quietly.
Bobby and Alex stopped, and Bobby turned to peer at the deeply lined face of an elderly gentleman in a worn but well-kept gray overcoat. His stooped frame was just a few inches shorter than Bobby's.
"Remember me?" the man asked.
Bobby's brow wrinkled as he tried to place the voice and the slightly familiar face in the dim light. After a few seconds, realization dawned. "C-Coach Donovan?"
"Yeah," the old man said, nodding slowly. "I wasn't sure you'd recognize me after all these years."
Bobby recovered quickly. Motioning to Alex, he said, "Alex, this is Glenn Donovan. He was the varsity basketball coach at my high school. Coach, this is Detective Alex Eames, my partner … a-and my best friend." Bobby wasn't quite sure why he'd added that, but he felt a need to let his former coach know he was cared for as more than just someone's co-worker. Something about being worthy, perhaps. Maybe he would analyze it later.
The old man reached to shake Alex's hand. Her narrowed eyes told him she knew something of the role he had played in Bobby's life. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. I've read a lot about you."
Startled, Alex hesitated and then shook the offered hand. "You've read about me?" she repeated uncertainly.
"Yes, ma'am. I've followed Goren's career in the papers, and so, of course, I've read about both of you," he said, his weathered face wrinkling into a smile. "You two are quite the crime solvers."
"We do what we can," Alex said modestly and a bit warily.
Bobby stood silently, unsure what to say. Donovan turned to him again. "I probably should have made an effort to contact you before this, but it's one of many things in my life I was too slow to realize and too selfish to do," he told the big detective. "I come to this game every year, and I was surprised to see you playing. So I decided I wouldn't put it off any longer."
Bobby's eyebrows rose, but still he said nothing.
Clearing his throat, the old coach continued, "I made a huge mistake a few decades ago. It wasn't until years later that I heard enough neighborhood news and gossip to understand what was going on and guess what had probably happened to you."
Bobby frowned and looked at his feet.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," Donovan told him quickly. "Goodness knows, I did enough of that when you were in high school. I just wanted to say I'm sorry I was so angry at your brother that I jumped to the wrong conclusions about you so long ago. And I wanted to tell you I am really impressed with how you turned out. You sure made something of yourself. Seems like as far as your NYPD career goes, you are one of the finest of the Finest."
That brought a light to Bobby's eyes. Alex could see the hurt melting away, replaced by surprise and a bit of pride. "Thanks, Coach," he said softly. "It means something to hear you say that."
The old coach grinned. "Not only that, but you are one helluva basketball player. I may have cost myself a couple of championships with my own stupidity."
Bobby met his eyes appreciatively. "It's kind of you to say that. You won plenty of them without me, though."
"Coulda won more with you," Donovan said. Then he looked sad. "Maybe coulda helped a young man find his way a little easier if I'd looked at the situation a little more carefully."
"It's OK, Coach. I guess I've gotten enough help along the way. Things have turned out pretty well, all in all," Bobby said. He took a deep breath, looked at Alex and smiled. "Right now I can't say I have any complaints."
"Well, it's sure good to hear that," the coach told him. "Congratulations on a great game tonight and a well-deserved MVP trophy."
"Thanks, Coach. Thanks a lot," Bobby said with a grin. "I heard you retired a few years ago. Are you doing all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Just fine. My wife and I each have a nice little pension, and we're in good health. I still scout a bit too, on a free-lance basis. See all sorts of games whenever I can. Everybody knows me, so I get in free most places. … I paid tonight, though," he added. "It's a great cause."
Bobby smiled and nodded. He realized he felt genuinely glad that his old coach was well. A weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders.
"Well, I'd better get going," Donovan said. "I reckon you've got some celebrating to do." He shook Alex's hand again, clasped Bobby's good left hand in both of his and then turned to leave.
As Bobby watched him walk away, Alex slipped her arm in his and leaned lightly against him. "How about that?" she said softly.
"Yeah. How about that?" Bobby shook his head, amazed. He stood silently for a moment, then took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Wow. This is definitely a night to remember."
Alex grinned up at him and poked him lightly in the ribs. "And just think … it's not over yet."
All that's left is the epilogue. If you want to know whether Bobby has surgery and whether Alex makes it to the Boston Marathon, stay tuned!