"Fuck!" I yelled out, the sound echoing throughout the airy gym.

"Bro, you say 'fuck' way too much."

"I'm aware. You go on and shower off, I think I'm going to the conditioning room for a few hours."

Wilt looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I probably had.

Three hours working on free throws and my arm was effectively shot, but I could still do some core work, maybe some more cardio and leg workouts.

"You've already worked out enough today, you don't need to stay here all night too, man. The conference games haven't even started yet. Don't get burned out too quickly, or we'll lose our biggest asset. Don't forget that, cap."

"I won't. Thanks man."

Wilt waved at me while walking backwards, hands placed over his head to catch his breath. We were both a little winded, but I planned on pushing my body to the limit, building up the lactic acid in my muscles until I physically couldn't go any further. It was how I made myself better, both physically and mentally.

The free weights room reeked of stale sweat and something akin to fresh mold, most likely due to the water spots staining the once white ceiling panels interwoven with rectangular fluorescent recessed lighting fixtures.

A half hour into my jog on the treadmill and my mind wandered about as fast as my feet hit the moving rubber beneath my tennis shoe clad feet.

What was I going to do if I didn't get Bruins as my coach? One step.

What was I going to do if Virginia told Bruins I was an asshole and he didn't want to coach me? Two steps.

How was I going to keep my little sister safe from my parents? Three, four five steps.

And who the hell had their music up so fucking loud? That time, my feet stopped on a dime, arms bracing the side of the still ricocheting treadmill.

The girl's voice on the song was loud, but not in a bad way, it just took away from my achingly clear focus that had me not falling over my own two feet, and if one second was lost-

Damn. That definitely wasn't a singer I'd heard on the radio lately, but it was a popular song. Maybe the person working out was listening to a cover of it on full blast?

Abandoning the treadmill after punching the numbers to bring the machine to a full stop, I also abandoned my concentration and focus on my workout for the night, though from the strain in my muscles, quitting then was most likely a good idea.

I'd have thanked the person cranking their music for saving me from hurting myself even further than I already had if they weren't obviously being completely obnoxious. Granted, it was past eleven o'clock at night, so they most likely assumed there was no one else in the gym, but still. It was open until midnight for a reason...

The music was coming from the basketball court, and the closer I ventured towards them, the more haunting and beautifully melodic the voice became, like it belonged more in heaven than here in a sweaty and poorly lit gym that held the distinct smell of slightly molding socks.

It was growing more obvious that this wasn't someone playing a song from their phone or speaker. No, this person was singing this live and in person, and they most definitely weren't working out while doing so, otherwise they'd have been much more out of breath.

She kept switching back and forth from different songs after stopping in the middle of the songs. She switched from a song talking about thinking about someone but only having their memory.

And then she immediately went into a different song, like that one was pissing her off. Like she definitely didn't want to be thinking about the person she had been singing about.

And then she just had to go and start singing a song I knew well, 'Impossible', and she was doing the different, lower version that I preferred, and I immediately stopped in my tracks, halfway to the third court that was separated by a divider which split up the courts.

Her voice was so full and almost raspy, but when she got up higher into the big notes at the end, my eyebrows went into my hair. She was doing crazy things with her voice that I'd never heard anyone do in person, only on those YouTube videos that I might've spent hours watching when I couldn't sleep.

I had always equated those people to being superhuman with their voices, not ever thinking any ordinary person could accomplish such things, but there this woman was, singing her heart out in a basketball gym thinking that no one would ever hear her.

My heart dropped to my sneakers the second the next song floated out of her mouth. 'Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls. One of my dad's favorite songs. They played the song at his funeral, and I knew every word by heart.

My feet began moving of their own accord, wanting to see for myself who she was that had been singing the song that spoke to me more than any other, but as I took a few steps, my sneakers squeaked and she immediately stopped singing. I was about to speak up and expose myself, but as I rounded the corner around the last divider where she'd once been, there was no one there.

I could've asked Maddie who had been there that night, demand the visitor logs, but that would betray the girl's trust. Even though I didn't know her, the fact that she had been singing my dad's favorite song, it was almost like she'd picked it specifically for me, like I needed to hear it. Like my biological father had chosen her in that moment, picked that song, and made sure that I heard it loud and clear.

I'd never much thought about messages and signs from heaven, but there in that instant I was an immediate believer. I wondered how much different things would've been had my father still been alive and my step dad hadn't started coaching me in basketball. What kind of person I would've been...

Would I have actually fallen in love before, kept a steady girlfriend, instead of all these meaningless hookups? Someone like the mysterious singing girl, or even Coach Bruins' daughter, Virginia. Because she was definitely someone I'd want, regardless of how fucked up I was or wasn't.

I only hoped I'd get another shot to hear her sing, because that sound...her voice was like a haunting salve on my wounded soul, a bandaid that patched me up long enough to keep going just a little bit farther. Because she'd shown me a way to see past the obstacles blocking me from opening myself up to what my dad might've been trying to tell me.

It wasn't impossible that he was looking down on me, even after all this time. It wasn't impossible to feel a spark of hope with a stranger that I'd never even laid eyes on before. Maybe this was him telling me that Coach Bruins was my way to make it, to finally put the past and my step dad behind me for good. It was him telling me he was proud, and even if I never saw or heard that girl again, I would be forever grateful to her for that.