Chapter 34: The Same Four Guys Bonus Chapter

The Forum parking lot was still mostly empty when Kobe pulled in.

Overnight rain had left the pavement dark beneath the security lights, and the cool morning air carried the faint smell of wet concrete.

He grabbed his bag, locked the car, and made his way through the employee entrance with the same easy pace he’d settled into over the past few mornings.

The security guard behind the desk looked up from his newspaper and gave him a quick nod.

“Morning, Kobe.” “Morning.” The hallway was quiet except for the echo of his own footsteps.

A week ago he still had to think about which turn led to the practice locker room.

Now his feet found the route on their own.

He keyed in the code, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Empty.

Kobe smiled to himself.

So Fisher finally slept in.

He dropped his bag beside his locker and started changing.

By the time he’d finished taping his fingers and lacing his shoes, the locker room door swung open.

Fisher froze in the doorway.

He looked from Kobe to the clock on the wall, then back again.

“…You serious?” Kobe didn’t even look up.

“Took you long enough.” A minute later the locker room door opened again.

Bowen walked in carrying a sandwich and cup of coffee.

He looked from Kobe to Fisher.

“…Who won?” Kobe answered first.

“I did.” Bowen nodded once.

“About time.” Fisher shook his head as he pulled his practice shirt over his head, still smiling despite himself.

“Three damn minutes,” he muttered.

“That’s all it took.” Kobe tightened the tape around the last two fingers on his right hand before glancing over.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s three minutes or thirty.

You were late.” “You’ve been waiting all week to say that.” “I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the chance.” Bowen chuckled as he set the sandwich on the bench and peeled the lid off the coffee.

“Hell, I thought Fish was gonna retire undefeated.” Fisher looked at him.

“You too?” “I’ve been rooting against you since day one.” “Y’all are cold.” “You talk too much,” Bowen replied.

“Somebody had to shut you up.” Fisher laughed and pointed between the two of them.

“One loss and everybody forgets the streak.” “The streak was to the locker room,” Kobe said.

That got another laugh out of Bowen, who took a bite of his sandwich before looking back at Fisher.

“You’re really upset about this.” “Damn right I am.” “I can tell.” Before Fisher could answer, the locker room door opened again.

Wallace stepped inside carrying his duffel over one shoulder and the same gallon water jug he’d been bringing every morning.

He gave the room a quiet nod before setting both down beside the locker he’d naturally claimed over the last few days.

Without saying anything, he sat down and started working the knot loose from one of his shoes.

Bowen smiled toward the water jug.

“You refill that thing or just carry the same water around all week?” Wallace looked at it for a second.

“I refill it.” “When?” “When it’s empty.” Bowen blinked once before shaking his head.

“Can’t argue with that.” Fisher laughed loud enough to echo off the cinderblock walls.

“Ben only says about ten words a day, but somehow they’re always the right ten.” Wallace shrugged as he finished lacing his shoes.

“Saves time.” The room settled into a comfortable rhythm after that.

Locker doors opened and closed.

Tape tore cleanly from the roll.

Bowen folded the wrapper from his sandwich into a tight square before tossing it toward the wastebasket.

It caught the front rim, bounced once, and fell through.

“Called it,” he said.

“You call every shot after it goes in,” Fisher replied.

“Confidence.” “Luck.” “Jealousy.” Kobe shook his head, smiling to himself as he finished getting ready.

A week ago every conversation had felt careful.

Now nobody thought twice before giving somebody shit.

Fisher grabbed a ball from the rack outside the locker room and bounced it once before catching it.

“Come on,” he said.

“If I’m gonna lose today, I’d at least like to do it on the court instead of the parking lot.” Bowen stood and picked up his bag.

“That’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said all week.” “Don’t get used to it.” The four of them filed out into the hallway together.

The jokes faded as they reached the practice court, replaced by the familiar quiet that always settled in before the first ball hit the hardwood.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After practice, Fisher tossed his towel over one shoulder and looked around the locker room.

“I’m starving.” Bowen zipped up his duffel.

“You’re always starving.” “That’s because we keep working out before normal people are awake.” Kobe zipped up his bag.

“So where are we going?” “The Serving Spoon,” Fisher said.

“Cheap, fast, and they don’t care if we show up looking like we just crawled out of the gym.” The diner sat only a few minutes from the Forum, tucked between a laundromat and an auto parts store.

It wasn’t much to look at, but it was clean, the coffee was hot, and the waitress recognized them before they reached the booth and waved them toward their usual table.

She set four mugs on the table before anyone ordered.

“The usual?” Fisher grinned.

“I feel important.” “You ain’t.” She walked away before he could answer.

Bowen smirked.

“I like her.” “So do I.” The food came quickly.

Fisher ordered pancakes with eggs and bacon, Bowen settled on oatmeal and toast, Kobe went with an omelet, and Wallace asked for scrambled eggs.

Bowen glanced at Wallace’s plate after it arrived.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Wallace glanced down at his plate.

“Yeah.” “You serious?” “I’m eating, ain’t I?” Fisher blinked in surprise.

For a while the conversation drifted wherever it wanted.

Fisher complained about Los Angeles traffic even though he’d lived there less than a month.

Bowen said he’d take traffic over twelve-hour bus rides in Europe any day.

“Was France any good?” Bowen shrugged.

“I got paid.” “So I guess that’s a yes.” Wallace stayed mostly quiet, listening while he worked through his eggs.

Every now and then Fisher tried pulling him into the conversation.

“What about you?” “What about me?” “You ever been outside Alabama?

Wallace thought for a second.

“Virginia.” “That’s it?” “So far.” Fisher leaned back.

“Damn.” “What?” “You make my life sound exciting.” That earned the smallest smile from Wallace.

“You talk enough for both of us.” Bowen nearly spit out his coffee laughing.

“There he is.” Wallace shook his head and went back to eating, but the smile stayed for another second before disappearing.

Nobody made a big deal out of it.

The conversation moved on.

When the waitress dropped the check on the table, Kobe reached for it automatically.

“I got it.” Kobe slid his card underneath before Fisher could touch the folder.

They stepped back into the morning air together.

Fisher was already talking about tomorrow’s workout before they even reached the cars, Bowen kept telling him to shut up until after coffee, and Wallace simply followed behind, hands in his pockets.

Kobe listened to them as he unlocked his car.

Summer League was right around the corner.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The call came just after lunch.

Kobe was finishing treatment on his right knee when one of the basketball operations assistants stepped into the training room.

“Jerry’s looking for you.” Kobe shrugged, grabbed his gym bag, and headed upstairs.

Jerry West’s office overlooked the empty Forum floor.

Without the echo of basketballs or the sound of voices bouncing through the arena, the building felt strangely still.

From up here, the court looked smaller than it ever did.

Jerry looked up from the papers spread across his desk as Kobe stepped inside.

“Come on in.” Kobe closed the door behind him and took the chair across from the desk.

Jerry slid a folder toward him without another word.

“Summer League.” Kobe opened it and flipped through the pages.

The first few covered travel plans, hotel information, practice schedules, and team meetings.

Another page listed the roster.

His eyes settled there for a moment, reading through the names until they reached Fisher, Bowen, and Wallace.

Jerry noticed.

“You like what you see?” Kobe looked up and nodded.

“I do.” “I figured you would.” Jerry leaned back in his chair, studying him for a second before speaking again.

“I’ve been hearing about those morning workouts.” Kobe shrugged.

“Word gets around.” “It does around here.” A faint smile crossed Jerry’s face.

“I’ve had more than one person stop by my office this week asking when we started scheduling extra practices.” Jerry tapped the edge of the folder with one finger.

“They just kept seeing the same four guys walking into the gym before everybody else.” The room grew quiet after that.

Neither of them seemed bothered by the silence.

Jerry had never been the type to talk just to fill the space, and Kobe had long since learned there wasn’t much point in speaking unless he had something worth saying.

Jerry stood, signaling the meeting was over.

“Bus leaves Friday morning.

Don’t miss it.” “I won’t.” “I know.” They shook hands.

Kobe tucked the folder beneath his arm and stepped into the hallway.

The building had quieted considerably since lunch.

Most of the coaches were back in their offices, and the few staff members still moving through the corridors carried clipboards instead of basketballs.

He walked slowly toward the stairs, opening the folder one more time.

Summer League.

Three games.

Four days.

He scanned the roster again.

Derek Fisher.

Bruce Bowen.

Ben Wallace.

Travis Knight.

None of them knew what the next decade would bring.

He did.

They did not know where basketball would eventually take them.

Fisher would become one of the league’s most respected leaders.

Bowen would spend years making life miserable for the best scorers in the world.

Wallace would go from undrafted to the best defensive player of his generation.

For now, they were simply trying to make a roster.

Kobe closed the folder.

Outside, the afternoon sun had dried the pavement from the night’s rain.

Employees crossed the parking lot carrying equipment, and somewhere in the distance a forklift backed into a loading dock, its warning alarm echoing through the empty arena grounds.

Everything felt ordinary.

That was what made it special.

Nobody outside the building had any idea what was beginning to take shape.

Kobe smiled to himself as he unlocked his car.

Summer League was only a few days away.