**Grace on the Highway**
A Novel in 50 Chapters
**Chapter 5: Sirens in the Distance**
(Word count: 2,789)
Saturday arrived cold and clear.
The sky over Denver was sharp blue, the kind that made the snow on the ground look almost blinding. David woke at 6:30 a.m.—earlier than usual for a weekend—because Jamal was already up, bouncing a basketball against the apartment floor in nervous rhythm.
"Easy, kid," David called from the kitchen. "Neighbors gonna complain."
Jamal caught the ball mid-bounce. "Sorry. Just hyped. First home game of the season."
David poured cereal into two bowls. "You'll do fine. You always do."
Jamal sat at the small table, shoveling spoonfuls. "You think she'll really come? Elena?"
David kept his voice casual. "Said she would."
Jamal grinned around a mouthful. "She gonna bring more of those cinnamon rolls?"
"Focus on the game, not the snacks."
Jamal laughed. "Can't help it. She's cool. And she likes you."
David shot him a look. "Eat."
By 3:30 p.m., David and Jamal were at East Denver High School. The gym smelled of polished wood, sweat, and popcorn from the concession stand. Bleachers filled slowly—parents, students, teachers, a few alumni. The home team's side wore red and black; the visitors wore green.
David found seats halfway up, near the exit in case Elena needed to leave early. He spread a blanket over the hard bench for her leg. Jamal had already disappeared into the locker room with his teammates.
At 3:50, David saw her.
Elena moved through the crowd on crutches, winter coat open over a simple red sweater—school colors, he realized with a quiet smile. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. No driver this time; she'd taken an Uber. She scanned the bleachers until her eyes found him.
David stood, waved her over. She climbed the steps carefully, refusing help from a couple of teenagers who offered. When she reached him, she was breathing a little hard.
"Made it," she said, smiling.
"Made it," he echoed. He took her coat, folded it on the bench, helped her sit. "Blanket for the leg. Bleachers get cold."
"You thought of everything."
"Just trying to keep you comfortable."
She looked around the gym—banners hanging from the rafters, scoreboard dark for now, players warming up on the court. "This is… exciting. I've never been to a high-school game."
"First time for everything."
The buzzer sounded for warm-ups to end. Teams lined up for the national anthem. Everyone stood. David noticed Elena place her hand over her heart, eyes forward. When the anthem finished, she sat slowly, crutches propped beside her.
The game tipped off.
Jamal started at point guard. He was quick, smart with the ball—dribbling between legs, passing behind his back, sinking a three-pointer in the first minute. The crowd roared. David clapped hard. Elena clapped too, eyes wide.
"He's good," she said.
"Best on the team."
Halfway through the first quarter, Jamal stole the ball, drove the length of the court, and laid it up with a soft touch. The bench erupted. David stood, whistling.
Elena laughed. "You're proud."
"Damn right."
During a timeout, Jamal glanced up into the stands. He spotted David—and Elena beside him. His face split into a huge grin. He pointed at them, then tapped his chest twice and pointed again. Thank you. David tapped his chest back.
Elena waved. Jamal waved back, then jogged to the bench.
"He likes you," David said.
"I like him."
The game rolled on. East Denver led by eight at halftime. During the break, David offered to get popcorn. Elena shook her head.
"I'm fine. Just sit with me."
They talked low while the pep band played. About Jamal's jump shot. About how she'd canceled her Aspen rehab plan and told her father she was staying in Denver for "personal reasons." About how Harlan had gone quiet on the phone last night—too quiet.
"He'll come around," David said.
"I hope so."
The second half started rough. The visitors rallied. East Denver's lead shrank to two. With three minutes left, Jamal got fouled hard on a drive. He hit the floor. The whistle blew. The ref called a flagrant. Jamal stayed down a second too long.
David tensed. Elena reached over, touched his arm lightly. "He's okay."
Jamal stood, shaking it off. He made both free throws. The crowd cheered louder.
In the final minute, the score tied. Jamal brought the ball up. Double-teamed. He passed to a teammate, cut to the basket, got the ball back on a backdoor pass. He went up for the layup. Blocked. The ball bounced loose. Jamal dove, tipped it to a teammate who sank a three at the buzzer.
The gym exploded.
Final score: 68–65, East Denver.
Jamal was mobbed by teammates. He looked up into the stands, found David and Elena, and pumped his fist.
David stood, clapping until his palms stung. Elena stood too, balancing on one crutch, clapping with her free hand.
After the handshakes and coach's talk, Jamal jogged up the bleachers, sweaty, beaming.
"Uncle D!" He hugged David hard. Then turned to Elena. "You came."
"I told you I would." She smiled. "You were incredible."
"Thanks. You're Elena, right? The one my uncle saved."
"That's me."
Jamal looked between them. "Cool. You staying for pizza? Team always goes to Marco's after wins."
David glanced at Elena. "Up to you."
"I'd love to," she said.
Marco's Pizza was a hole-in-the-wall three blocks from the school—red booths, checkered tablecloths, neon beer signs. The team took over the back room. Parents, players, a few girlfriends. Laughter loud, pizza disappearing fast.
David and Elena sat at a side table. Jamal joined them after grabbing slices.
"You play like that every game?" Elena asked.
"Nah. Just when pretty ladies come watch." He winked.
David rolled his eyes. "Watch it, kid."
Elena laughed. "Flattery will get you extra pepperoni."
They talked—easy, light. Jamal told stories about school, teammates, the time he tried to dunk and hung on the rim too long. Elena listened like every word mattered. David watched them, chest warm in a way he hadn't felt in years.
Around 8 p.m., Elena's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, face tightening.
"Everything okay?" David asked.
"Dad. He wants to know where I am."
Jamal stood. "I'll give you guys a minute. Thanks for coming, Elena. Seriously."
He hugged her quick—careful of the cast—then disappeared back to his teammates.
Elena typed a reply: At a friend's son's basketball game. Home soon. Love you.
She hit send. Then looked at David.
"He's checking in more since I canceled Aspen."
"He's worried."
"He's controlling."
David didn't argue. Just said, "You're grown. You get to choose."
She nodded slowly. "I'm choosing this."
The word hung between them—simple, heavy.
They left soon after. David walked her to her Uber. The night air was crisp, stars sharp overhead.
"Thanks for today," she said.
"Thanks for coming."
She hesitated. Then leaned in and kissed his cheek—soft, quick, warm against the cold.
"See you Tuesday?"
"Tuesday," he said.
The Uber pulled away.
David stood on the sidewalk until the taillights vanished. Then he walked back to the pizza place, found Jamal waiting outside.
"She kissed you?" Jamal asked, grinning.
"Cheek."
"Still counts."
They walked home together, shoulders brushing.
That night, in his bed, David stared at the ceiling. The kiss lingered on his skin like a promise.
Across town, Elena sat in her condo, leg propped, phone in hand. Harlan had texted back:
Friend?
She didn't answer.
Instead she opened her photos, scrolled to one she'd taken secretly during the game: David standing, clapping, proud smile on his face as Jamal scored.
She saved it to her favorites.
Then she whispered to the empty room, "Yeah. Friend."
But the word felt too small.
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance—another emergency, another night in the city.
But for the first time in a long time, Elena didn't feel alone.
The routine is solid now.
Jamal has met her.
The kiss on the cheek is the first physical spark.
And Harlan's questions are about to get louder.