Chapter 30 Possession Confirmed
Dante POV
Micah walked off the court after practice, shoulders rising and falling with the tired kind of breath you can’t fake. He didn’t notice how long I watched him go. He’d gotten used to being under my eyes so used to it that he expected it now. And I liked that more than I should.
Coach Rivera clapped a hand to my shoulder.
“Your boy’s improving fast.”
“He’s not my boy,” I said.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He walked off before I could respond. Not that I needed to. Everyone could see it, Micah gravitated toward me, looked for my approval, measured himself against my reactions. Today it wasn’t subtle anymore. Today he’d fought through drills like each point belonged to me.
Everyone saw it, he was mine.
I planned our afternoon session like a chess match, every drill designed with one purpose: Micah. When he walked back onto the court shirt slightly damp, curls sticking to his forehead, he straightened the moment he noticed me watching. Automatic. Instinctive.
Perfect.
Alex jogged up to him. “Micah, you with us today?”
Before Micah could answer, I said, “No. He’s with me.”
Alex blinked, nodded, backed off. Micah didn’t argue; he only gave me a questioning look—as if he still didn’t understand the threads I’d been pulling since the day he walked into the gym.
He would soon.
“Defense,” I told him. “Eyes on me.”
He nodded and locked in. I drove left, cut right, changed direction sharply every movement faster than the last. He kept up, mirroring me with that quiet intensity that made my chest tighten.
“Again.”
We repeated it. Again. Again. His focus sharpened until he wasn’t watching the court, the ball, or the team. Only me.
Whispers floated from the sideline.
“Why’s Dante pushing him so hard?”
“Micah keeps staring at him, man. It’s weird.”
It wasn’t weird. It was intentional.
When Micah finally bent over, breathing hard, he muttered, “Can we… break?”
I stepped into his space until his breath hit my jaw. “Look at me.”
His eyes lifted instantly, drawn without hesitation.
Good.
“Why are we doing this?” he asked quietly.
“What’s the point today?”
“Focus conditioning,” I said. “You lose it easily.”
“I don’t.”
“Prove it.”
I lunged. He reacted too quickly, overcorrected, slipped and I caught him by the waist. His hands landed on my shoulders before he realized what he was doing. His breath stuttered.
For a second, neither of us moved then Alex shouted from across the court, “Yo, Micah, you good?”
Micah jerked back. I let him go slowly.
“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking before he steadied it. “I’m good.”
He stepped away too fast. It felt wrong. But distance was temporary. Distance always ended in gravity and he never resisted gravity with me.
Scrimmage groups were easy to rearrange. No one questioned when I shifted positions mid game to put myself opposite Micah again and again. No matter where he moved, I forced him to look at me.
A reflex, a habit and a claim. Max noticed. His stare burned between us like a warning. Let him look. Let him suspect. Micah wasn’t going anywhere.
After practice, while the team staggered toward the locker room, Micah lingered on the free-throw line, rubbing his forearm.
“You did well today,” I told him.
“You kept pushing me,” he said, not turning around.
“And you kept up.”
“That’s not the point.”
I stepped closer. “Then what is?”
He hesitated, jaw tight. “You don’t… train anyone else like that.”
“Do you want me to?” I asked softly. “Because I won’t.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
He finally faced me, eyes searching like he wanted answers he wasn’t ready to hear. “Why do you always look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like… like I’m supposed to look back.”
I didn’t let the silence bail him out. “Maybe you are.”
His breath hitched.
“Dante…” he whispered half warning, half plea.
I loosened my grip on his wrist but didn’t step back. “You think too much. Just play. Just look at me when you need to.”
“I already do,” he said too fast to take back.
A confession. A confirmation.
Later in the locker room, he tried not to stare. He failed. Every time his eyes drifted back to me, he caught himself then looked again anyway.
Possession didn’t need chains. It needed instinct. Trust. Dependency and Micah already had all three.
When he walked out, shoulders tense, avoiding my gaze, I felt nothing but certainty. The moment he said I already do, the moment he froze in my hands, the moment he searched for my approval in every movement, that was it.
The proof, no one else could have him, not Max, not Alison, not anyone on this team and if someone tried? I would take care of it. Quietly. Completely, because Micah was looking at me now. And I wasn’t letting him look anywhere else.
Not now, not ever.