Chapter 30: Clocking In

Word count: 2297 Morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, casting long bands of light across the hardwood floor.

The house already felt different.

Boxes had been pushed against the walls, the smell of fresh coffee filled the room, and somewhere upstairs Sharia and Shaya were arguing over whose turn it was to use the bathroom.

Kobe was already dressed when the doorbell rang.

Joe looked up from the newspaper and answered it.

Rob Pelinka stood on the porch carrying a leather briefcase and a garment bag over one shoulder.

He had traded the tie from draft night for an open collar, though he still looked every bit the attorney.

“Morning,” Rob said.

“I hope I’m not too early.” Joe smiled.

“You’re right on time.” Pamela greeted him from the kitchen, where breakfast was spread across the table: toast, eggs, fresh fruit, and a pot of coffee that had barely finished brewing.

“Come in,” she said.

“You can eat while you work.” “I won’t say no to that.” Rob set his briefcase beside one of the empty chairs before accepting a cup of coffee.

“This is already better than my office.” Once everyone had settled, Rob unclasped the briefcase and began laying folders across the table.

“Most of this is routine,” he said.

“League paperwork, insurance forms, Players Association documents, and the rookie contract.

The contract itself is set by the collective bargaining agreement, so there’s nothing for us to negotiate there.” Kobe skimmed the first few pages before setting them aside.

Nothing surprised him.

Rob reached for another folder.

“This is where we actually have decisions to make.” Joe leaned forward.

“The endorsement offers?” Rob nodded.

“I’ve already had calls from every major shoe company, along with several national brands.

Nobody’s asking for an answer today; they want meetings.” Pamela looked at Kobe.

“What are you thinking?” Kobe rested a hand on the folder but didn’t open it.

“Schedule every meeting.” Rob raised an eyebrow.

“But don’t sign anything.” Joe looked over the top of his coffee mug.

“You want to wait?” “I do.” “Why?” Kobe shrugged.

“Right now they’re betting on potential.” He looked down at the unopened folder.

“I’d rather see what they offer after a few games.” The kitchen fell quiet.

Rob studied him for a second before nodding.

“We’ll do it your way.” He made a note in the margin of his legal pad.

“No commitments.

Meetings only.” Kobe nodded.

“Exactly.” Rob closed the folder and slid it back into his briefcase.

“That should make the shoe companies nervous.” A smile tugged at the corner of Kobe’s mouth.

Rob closed the last folder and set it beside his briefcase.

Breakfast had long since replaced business.

Plates were nearly empty, coffee cups were half full, and the conversation had drifted into the comfortable rhythm of a family no longer rushing to unpack.

“That should take care of everything for now,” Rob said.

“Anything else on your mind?” Kobe thought for a moment before nodding.

“Actually, yeah.” Rob looked up.

“There are a couple guys I’d like you to look into.” Joe raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve already got teammates.” “I’m talking about camp invites,” Kobe clarified.

“Players who still have something to prove.” Rob reached for his legal pad again.

“Go on.” “Derrick Fisher.” Rob smiled.

“That one shouldn’t be hard.

He’ll be in Los Angeles before Summer League.” Kobe shrugged.

“I want to spend as much time with him as possible before camp.” Kobe continued without hesitation.

“Ben Wallace.” This time Rob’s pen stopped moving.

He looked up, a hint of curiosity crossing his face.

“The kid from Virginia Union?” Kobe nodded.

“He wasn’t drafted.” “I know.” Rob studied him for a second.

“I’ve only heard his name a couple of times.

How’d you come across him?” Kobe shrugged.

“One of the scouts mentioned him before the draft.

I got curious.” He leaned back in his chair.

“I asked around.” “He’s undersized for a center, but he rebounds everything, defends, and never takes a possession off.

Guys like that usually stick around.” Joe chuckled quietly.

That sounded exactly like his son.

Kobe had always paid attention to players everyone else overlooked.

Rob wrote the name down before looking back up.

“Anyone else?” “Bruce Bowen.” Rob chuckled softly.

“Now you’ve really been doing your homework.” “You know him?” “I know of him,” Rob said.

“He bounced around after college and spent last season in France.

Last I heard, he was still trying to find his way back into the league.” Kobe nodded.

“I think he’s worth a look.” There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in Kobe’s voice.

Rob tapped the notebook against the table.

“You’re not asking me to sign these guys.” Kobe shook his head.

“No.

Just get them in front of Jerry and Coach Harris.

If they earn a spot, great.

If not, nothing lost.” “Fisher’s easy.

Wallace might take a little digging, and I’ll have to find out who’s representing Bowen overseas.” “If they’re serious about making the league,” Kobe said, “they’ll at least listen.” Rob closed the notebook with a small smile.

“I’ll make some calls.” Rob glanced at his watch before closing the clasps on his briefcase.

“We should get going,” he said as he rose from the table.

“Gary’s expecting us, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep him waiting.” Kobe carried his empty plate to the sink before slipping on the Lakers jacket draped over the back of his chair.

Joe watched him over the rim of his coffee mug, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“So this is really the first day,” he said.

“The first of a lot of them,” Kobe replied.

Joe nodded, the smile lingering.

“Just remember you’ve got two ears and one mouth.

Listen more than you talk.

Those coaches have been around this league a long time.” “I will.” Pamela stepped beside Kobe and instinctively straightened the collar of his jacket, just as she had before countless high school games.

She brushed an invisible wrinkle from his shoulder before meeting his eyes.

“And don’t forget to hydrate,” she said.

“Working hard doesn’t do much good if you forget to take care of yourself.” Kobe nodded.

“I won’t.” She studied him for another moment before giving a satisfied nod.

They stepped outside into the warm California morning.

The neighborhood was still waking up, sprinklers ticking across freshly cut lawns while a cool breeze drifted in from the Pacific.

Rob unlocked the rental car as Kobe turned back toward the house one last time.

Joe stood in the doorway with one hand tucked into his pocket, Pamela beside him with an arm folded across her waist.

Neither of them waved.

They simply watched, the same quiet confidence they’d carried throughout every major step of his life.

Kobe nodded once before climbing into the passenger seat.

A moment later, the engine came to life, and they pulled away from the curb toward the Lakers’ practice facility, where the first day of his NBA career was about to begin.

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By the time Rob turned into the Lakers’ practice facility, the morning rush had started to build around Los Angeles.

A few staff cars already filled the front row, and a delivery truck was backed up to one of the side entrances, workers unloading boxes without paying much attention to who drove past.

Rob parked near the players’ entrance and killed the engine.

“Ready?” he asked.

Kobe looked through the windshield at the building for a second before opening the door.

“Let’s go.” Rob smiled to himself as they walked inside.

The security guard behind the front desk looked up from his newspaper, recognized Rob immediately, then did a double take when Kobe stepped through the doors.

“So it’s true,” the guard said with a grin.

“We really drafted a kid.” Kobe laughed.

“Seems to be the first thing everyone says.” The guard shook his head, still smiling.

“Welcome to your first job.” They continued down the hallway.

Framed photographs covered the walls, with Magic leading the break, Kareem releasing another skyhook, and James Worthy hanging from the rim after a dunk.

Kobe glanced at each one as they passed.

He’d seen every highlight a hundred times growing up, but standing beneath the pictures felt different.

Rob stopped outside a pair of double doors.

“Gary should already be inside.” “And you?” “I’ve got a meeting with Jerry before the coaches get here.” Kobe nodded.

“I’ll see you later.” Rob started down the hall, then stopped and looked back.

“Oh—and don’t let Gary fool you.” Kobe raised an eyebrow.

“He smiles while he’s trying to kill people.” Kobe couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rob disappeared around the corner.

Kobe pushed through the doors and stepped onto the practice court.

The gym smelled exactly the way every basketball gym should: freshly finished hardwood, leather, and athletic tape.

Ball racks sat neatly along one sideline, and the Lakers logo stretched across center court beneath the overhead lights.

Near one of the baskets, a man was adjusting equipment beside the weight area with a mug of coffee resting on the scorer’s table.

Without turning around, he spoke.

“You’re late.” Kobe looked at the clock on the wall.

“I’m three minutes early.” The man turned, looked up at the clock himself, then back at Kobe.

A smile spread across his face.

He walked over and offered his hand.

“Gary Vitti.” “Kobe.” Gary gave him a quick once-over, taking in everything from his shoes to the way he carried himself.

“Jerry says you don’t mind hard work.” Kobe shrugged.

“That’s why I’m here.” Gary smirked.

“We’ll see if you still think that in a couple hours.” He picked up his clipboard, tucked the coffee under one arm, and nodded toward the court.

“Grab a ball.” Gary gave a small nod and uncapped his pen.

“Let’s start with how you move.” He led Kobe through a series of mobility tests, watching more than talking.

Deep lunges gave way to shoulder rotations, balance work, and single-leg squats.

The only sounds in the room were the squeak of Kobe’s shoes against the rubber floor and the occasional scratch of Gary’s pen across the clipboard.

Twice Gary stopped him once to adjust the angle of his lead foot, another time to square his hips before lowering into the movement.

Both corrections were met with an immediate adjustment.

Gary noticed.

Most players needed to be told the same thing three or four times.

Not this one.

They moved onto the turf next.

Short accelerations turned into longer sprints, then shuttle runs that demanded quick changes of direction.

Gary watched Kobe’s stride instead of the stopwatch, paying close attention to how his body absorbed each cut.

“Tight left hamstring,” he said, making another note.

Kobe glanced down instinctively.

“Never gave me any trouble.” Gary shrugged.

“Doesn’t have to.

My job’s catching things before they become problems.” Kobe rolled his shoulder once, testing it himself before nodding.

The testing continued: broad jumps, vertical leaps, and medicine ball work, each drill revealing another small detail.

Gary offered very few compliments and even fewer corrections, but Kobe treated every word the same way he treated a coach’s playbook: listen once, fix it immediately, and move on.

By the time they reached the weight room, Gary had already filled half a page with notes.

He pointed toward the first rack.

“We’ll keep today simple.

I want to see how you move under load before we worry about how much you can lift.” Kobe nodded and stepped under the bar.

As Gary explained the circuit, Kobe asked questions not about the weight, but about the purpose behind each exercise.

“Why squats before deadlifts?” “Transfer to the court.” “What are we trying to improve with the bands?” “Hip stability.

It’ll help protect your knees.” Kobe absorbed every answer, filing each one away before beginning the first set.

“Take ninety seconds between rounds,” Gary said.

Kobe finished his first set, paced a slow circle around the rack, then reached for the bar again barely a minute later.

Gary looked at the wall clock, then back at Kobe.

“I said ninety.” Kobe shrugged.

“I felt ready.” Gary shook his head, though he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So this is what Jerry was talking about.” He stepped over and nudged the bar back onto the rack before Kobe could lift it again.

“My job isn’t just making you stronger,” Gary said.

“It’s making sure you’re healthy enough to do this again tomorrow.” Kobe nodded.

“Fair enough.” Gary studied him for another moment before closing his clipboard.

“That’s enough for today.” Kobe glanced toward the court.

“I could get some shots up.” “I know you could.” Gary smiled.

“And I know you will.” He picked up his coffee and headed toward the door before stopping halfway across the room.

“Oh, one more thing.” Kobe looked up.

“Tomorrow…” “Yeah?” “Show up five minutes later.” Kobe frowned.

“Why?” Gary chuckled.

“So I don’t have to feel guilty for being the second one in the gym.” Kobe laughed.

“Not promising anything.” Gary shook his head, still smiling, and disappeared into the hallway.

Kobe waited until the door closed before grabbing another basketball from the rack.

The workout might have been over.

His morning wasn’t.

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Welcome to Day 2 of the bonus chapters.

As promised, here are today’s two bonus chapters.

Thank you all again for making this possible.

Yesterday was another great day for the novel.

As always, the goal remains: