Twenty Three
It's Saturday morning, 9:21 to be exact. And if you're from around here, from Tree Hill that is, you'd know that at around this time there's always a young family that spends their morning here.
In fact, they're here right now.
A tall young man with dark hair is standing at the middle of the court holding a basketball in one arm staring at the basket. Beside him is a little boy, wearing a red cape, looking up at him.
They paint an adorable picture and you feel strangely lighter. All that stress from the work week disappearing as you observe them in silence.
He stands there for five whole minutes, silent, unmoving.
If you're watching him from a far, like the way you're watching now, you'd find yourself wondering if he's still breathing. You can't be sure. He's is so still that way. And then at 9:26 you know this, since you've just glance at your watch, he puts his right foot forward, twists his ankle, then moves his left foot, turn in a half circle, dribbling the ball to the left and then to right and he spins and fakes, dodging an invisible opponent. He's really quick. And graceful. He makes it look like he's doing some fancy footwork, an athletic almost aggressive kind of waltz. He drives forward to the basket and it looks so effortless, the way he bends his knees, puts all of his weight, well somewhere, you're not exactly sure where and then he's flying. He really is. The takeoff is awesome. Amazing. He stretches his arms and slams the ball in.
The little boy squeals in delight. He claps his head, "He shoots, he scores!" He zooms and flies around the court, his red cape catching the wind and for a moment, it really seems that he is about to take off, screaming: "Momma! Momma!"
That's when you notice her. And you wonder why you didn't at first because she looks like she has her own spotlight. Now that you've seen her, it difficult to take your eyes from her.
She's wearing a yellow dress and her hair is cut short, almost to her chin. The morning light streaming down on the court plays tricks on your eyes so you're not sure if the color of her hair auburn with golden streaks. But it looks like she's wearing a halo as she moves her head, giving the little boy Eskimo kisses.
The little boy jumps into her arm planting a kiss on her cheeks and she laughs out loud, letting go of the boy as he starts to run back to the middle of the court.
The woman settles back on her seat at the wooden bench, beaming at the kid and then at the man. And the she playfully yells, her voice echoing around you, filled with laughter and joy: "Your turn baby, show Daddy what you've got."
The tall dark-haired man walks over to the little boy, kneels down and hands him the ball, "Go on James Lucas Scott, let's see what you can do." He says this in an affectionate teasing voice, his smile is huge, infectious. His blue eyes the same shade as the little boy.
James Lucas, he is five years old today. That's right. It's his birthday. Later they will have a party where all of his friends are invited. He is especially looking forward to seeing Jenny and his Uncle Jake and Aunty Peyton. They always bring him the best gifts. But the bestest is always from his Aunt Brooke, who writes him a check with a lot of zeroes.
His Uncle Tim promises that he can convince his momma that he can get a pet this year. A bunny. He wants a bunny. He already has a name for it. But it's still a secret. He'll wait until he actually has one.
James Lucas Scott is happy about turning five. He's officially the only kid his age who knows how to dribble a real basketball.
He runs around the court, without the fancy footwork, or the sharp spins, but he's able to dribble the ball all the way underneath the basket, almost near the free shoot line.
He aims, he shoots and the arc is perfect, although a little short. It does not make it to the basket but there's loud cheering everywhere. And he jumps up and down, tells his father: "Again, dad, again!"
This time, he gets the ball inside with a little help from his dad who holds him up, up, up – until it feels like he can reach the sky and then he just needs to tip the ball over and it goes in.
His momma gives the loudest cheer and his dad laughs and tickles him as he brings him back down on the ground.
It's 10:23 and Nathan Scott carries his first-born son in his arm, tucks a stray strand of Haley James Scott's hair behind her hear. He bends down, tells her how much he loves her and their little family and together, they walk home.
THE END
Author's Note: OMG. IT'S DONE.
It is short and sweet and this is the absolute original ending. Well almost. It was around 400 words at first, I just added a little bit more and it ended up with another 400+ words.
I had the first chapter written and then this, which I know sounds weird but that is how this story was born.
I realize that this might be a bit of a letdown after all the angst, but that was why I wanted it to be this breezy ending. I hope it did not disappoint and I'm truly sorry if it did. Feel free to let me know what you think, but please be kind. And as always, my many wonderful thanks for everyone who have been with me on this journey over the course of 14 years. LIKE WHAT?! I am forever grateful for letting me share this story.