"From Court to Corruption: How a Coach's Obsession Turns a Boy's Life Upside Down."

Dom leaned against the scorer’s table, one boot propped on a stack of dusty playbooks. The gym’s fluorescents buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the sweat-smeared free-throw line. He sucked his teeth, watching Mio’s sneakers scuff the floor as the kid lingered by the equipment closet—always last to leave, always 'forgetting' something. Dom’s whistle swung lazily from his fist, its chain clinking like loose change in a laundromat dryer.

“You gonna stare at that rebound net all night, or what?” His voice carried the same gravelly drawl he’d used for years—part coach, part truck-stop philosopher. He thumbed the blister pack of electrolyte tablets in his pocket, the foil crackling like a threat. “C’mere.” The order hung between them, sharp as the lemon-scented disinfectant wafting from the mop bucket. “Wrists look shaky on your last layups. Again.”

He snagged a basketball from the rack, the leather groaning under his grip. The ball hit the floor with a wet thwap near Mio’s feet. Dom didn’t move closer—not yet—just hooked his thumbs in the sagging waistband of his coaching shorts. “Ten reps. Proper form this time.” His tongue flicked over a chapped lower lip.