Make Me Moan Mr Therapist. Chapter 109: Basketball game

anwhile, dressed in blue jersey shirts and matching blue shorts, Alex, Lucas, Roo, and Damien were already on the court, stretching and passing the ball around as they waited patiently for Gabe and Fred to arrive.

Soon enough, Fred appeared, pushing Gabe’s wheelchair steadily toward the basketball court.

Alex noticed them first.

"We almost thought you two weren’t playing," he called out, a warm smile spreading across his face as his gaze fixed on Gabe.

Gabe didn’t return the look. His eyes stayed glued to the ground, his fingers curling slightly against the armrest of the wheelchair.

Alex jogged closer, lowering his voice just a little. "You don’t have to play, okay?" he added quickly, seriousness edging into his tone even though a familiar smirk tugged at his lips. "Roo and I will handle it. I’ll make sure our team wins."

"Yeah," Roo chid in smoothly from where he stood near the three-point line. His voice was thick—calm, deep, effortless.

That single word made Gabe’s body stiffen.

A sharp chill ran down his spine before he could stop it, his breath hitching for half a second. He forced himself to relax, schooling his expression before anyone could notice.

Maybe I should just pay this motherfucker his money, Gabe thought darkly.

Yeah, he’s dangerous. And yeah, he’d definitely send assassins after if he felt like it.

Even if Gabe had n who could fight for him, there was no guarantee how that would end. And honestly? He had no interest in starting a war with soone like Roo.

Not now. Not ever.

"Alright then," Gabe finally said aloud, lifting his head. His voice was calm, controlled. "Best of luck."

Without waiting for a response, he wheeled himself away from the court, positioning himself on the sidelines where he could watch. Fred hesitated for a mont, then jogged onto the court to join Alex, Damien, Lucas, Roo, and the six servants who would be playing.

The whistle pierced the air—sharp, clean.

The ga began imdiately.

For a so-called friendly match, the pace was intense. The ball moved fast between hands. Sneakers squeaked against the concrete court, sharp and rhythmic. Bodies collided with dull thuds, laughter mixing with grunts of effort as the ga settled into motion.

Alex took control early.

He dribbled with an ease that made it obvious basketball wasn’t just a hobby for him. His movents were fluid, confident. At one point, he shot Gabe a quick glance before passing the ball to Damien—as if silently saying, watch this.

Damien caught it cleanly and drove forward.

Gabe rested his hands on the wheels of his chair, eyes following the ball despite himself. He tried—really tried—not to think about Roo. Or Lucas. Or the fact that he was sitting on the sidelines while everyone else moved freely.

Focus on the ga, he told himself.

Then Roo moved.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t show off.

He played like a predator conserving energy—asured steps, sharp turns, eyes constantly tracking everyone on the court. When one of the servants tried to take a shot, Roo blocked it effortlessly, the impact echoing across the court with a sharp crack.

For half a second, the laughter died.

Then the ga resud—faster, rougher.

Gabe’s fingers tightened on the armrests.

Yeah... definitely dangerous, he thought grimly.

"Nice block!" Lucas called out, forcing a grin, clearly trying to keep the mood light.

Roo didn’t reply.

Instead, he stole the ball.

In one smooth motion, he passed it to Alex, who caught it mid-run and finished with a clean layup. The ball dropped through the hoop with a satisfying swish.

"Yes!" Alex whooped, pumping his fist. He turned imdiately toward Gabe, flashing him that bright, boyish grin—as if the entire play had been done just to impress him.

Gabe scoffed quietly and looked away, suddenly very interested in a thin crack running through the concrete beneath his wheels.

Fred, anwhile, kept glancing over from the court. Every ti soone got a little too aggressive—every hard shove, every sharp elbow—his shoulders tensed, instincts screaming at him to step in, even though there was technically nothing to protect Gabe from right now.

As the minutes passed, the score stayed close.

Sweat darkened the jerseys. Breath ca heavier. Shoes scuffed louder.

And beneath the casual banter, sothing sharper brewed.

Competition turned into dominance especially between Alex and Roo, even though they were on the sa team. Their passes were precise but aggressive, their movents deliberate, like two alphas silently testing each other without ever crossing the line into open conflict.

Then Roo ran toward the basket.

No hesitation.

He leapt and dunked the ball hard enough to make the hoop rattle violently.

The servants erupted in cheers.

Roo landed smoothly, barely making a sound as his sneakers hit the ground. He turned his head—and his eyes t Gabe’s from across the court.

Just for a second.

His lips curved, not quite a smile. Not quite anything friendly either.

Gabe’s stomach dropped.

Why the fuck is he looking at ? Gabe thought sharply as he shifted his gaze away. He forced himself to look back at the court instead—specifically at Alex, who was playing like his life depended on scoring another goal.

The ball hit the hoop.

Swish.

"Two–zero!" one of the servants in charge of keeping score announced loudly.

Alex’s team exploded into cheers again.

Alex glanced toward Gabe mid-run and threw him a quick wink, his face glowing with unrestrained happiness as he sprinted across the court.

Gabe frowned faintly. Just what the fuck?

"When exactly are we going to score a point?" Fred muttered under his breath as he dropped briefly to a crouch, hands braced on his knees, frustration written all over his face.

He’d been playing hard since morning—harder than usual—and yet his team hadn’t managed a single score until now.

"I knew it was a bad idea when Alex and Roo got paired up on the sa team," Damien said, irritation creeping into his voice as he straightened. "Those two are the best basketball players in our entire group. At least Roo should’ve been on our side. Then it would’ve been fair."

Lucas, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up as he adjusted his stance. "The housekeeper allowed it because Gabe—who’s technically part of their team—can’t play," he said calmly. "So it balances out. Our side has more people."

He paused, then added matter-of-factly, "If we remove the servants, it’s basically three against two."

Lucas glanced toward the center of the court. "The ga’s not over yet. We can still score two or three goals before the match ends."

With that, he walked away to take his position.

Fred and Damien exchanged looks before pushing themselves back onto their feet, forced to rejoin the match.

The whistle blew again—sharp and impatient—announcing the restart.

The ball was tossed back into play.

This ti, Fred took it personally.

The mont the ball hit the ground, he lunged forward, intercepting a sloppy pass ant for one of the servants. His jaw clenched as he dribbled hard, ignoring the burn screaming through his calves. Damien flanked him imdiately, cutting across the court to create space, while Lucas shifted back, blocking Alex’s advance.

"Pass!" Damien shouted.

Fred did—

But Roo was already there.

He moved like he’d predicted the play seconds ago, cutting in smoothly and stealing the ball with almost insulting ease. Groans rose from the servants watching from the sidelines as Fred swore under his breath.

Roo pivoted and sent the ball straight to Alex.

Alex laughed.

Actually laughed—bright and unrestrained, like this was the most fun he’d had all week.

He sprinted down the court, Damien chasing him relentlessly this ti. Damien jumped, arms raised high, desperate to block the shot—

Alex twisted mid-air and passed instead.

Roo caught the ball cleanly.

For a split second, everything slowed.

Roo didn’t shoot right away.

He glanced at the hoop... then, almost lazily, his gaze flicked toward the sidelines.

Toward Gabe.

Gabe felt it like a physical touch.

His spine stiffened, breath catching in his chest before he forced his expression into sothing unimpressed. He lifted his chin slightly, posture straightening as if to say, I’m not intimidated.

Roo’s lips twitched.

Then he shot.

The ball swished cleanly through the net.

"Three–zero!" the servant announced.

Groans erupted from Fred and Damien’s side.

"You’ve got to be kidding ," Fred muttered, dragging a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Are we even playing the sa ga?"

Damien bent forward, hands braced on his knees, chest heaving. "This is ridiculous."

Alex jogged past Roo and bumped his shoulder lightly, grinning. "Nice one."

Roo only humd in response, already scanning the court again—focused, sharp, unreadable.

On the sidelines, Gabe exhaled slowly.

Stop looking at , he thought irritably. Play your damn ga.

The match continued, rougher now.

Fred played more aggressively. Damien blocked harder. Lucas took a nasty elbow to the ribs but waved it off, refusing to slow down. Finally—finally—Damien managed to break through and score.

"One–three!" the servant called.

Fred pumped his fist. "About damn ti!"

Gabe found himself smiling faintly despite everything, the tension easing just a little.

Alex clapped for them anyway, genuine applause, before bouncing the ball again. "Alright, alright," he said with a grin. "Let’s see if you can keep up."

Roo cracked his neck once, rolling his shoulders, his gaze sharpening.

The whistle lifted—

And suddenly the ball was already in Roo’s hands.

He surged forward, steps powerful and controlled, and just as he was about to score, Damien slamd into him from the side.

The impact knocked the ball loose.

Everyone’s heads turned at once.

The ball bounced—once, twice—rolling straight toward the sidelines.

Toward Gabe.