Riding the brilliance of Durant and Westbrook, the Thunder raced out to a 3-1 lead, not just beating but bullying the reigning champs, knocking them around the lane like duckpins. Then suddenly, its stars ran out of gas against the three-headed monster of Steph Curry, Klay Thompson and Draymond Green. With a lead in the fourth quarter of what could have been a clinching Game Six, Durant and Westbrook began clanking up misses as Thompson and Curry caught fire, dropping three-pointers from the rafters while falling out of bounds. “It’s like the hand of God touched Klay,” says Durant. “He couldn’t miss. And then Steph went nuts and – well, day-umm …”

Yes, exactly: day-umm. Durant had wanted that game so bad, he did something he never did: let himself savor winning before it happened: “Man, I saw us in the ball caps and T-shirts, with our fans going crazy and dancing. That town was so good to us, showed us love even when we lost. I wanted it more for them than even me.” He went home crushed, replaying his every miss – and there’d been plenty. He acquitted himself better in Game Seven, but Westbrook was strictly on fumes then. Some part of Durant knew he’d already punched his ticket. “It felt like that whole thing was set up for me to leave,” he says, “especially after they blew a lead in the finals, because I damn sure wasn’t going there if they’d won. But after Game Seven, I called up my agent and said, ‘Damn, dude, Golden State – what if?'”

As close as people presumed he and Westbrook had been, they were never much more than work friends, he says. “We had our own cliques that we hung with on the road. Russell had his guys, I had mine. It was never a bad thing. Just how it was.” For the guy who’d grown up friendless through grade school and preps, the pull of [the Warriors’] stars and their shared affection must have felt like a welcome banner. All his life, he’d been walking alone, a party of one in the desert. Now, at last, his tribe called out to him. Who among us could have said no?

That Sunday, after everyone had had their say, including reps from the Thunder, whom he saw twice, he brooded alone in a hot tub for two hours, agonizing over the choice. Finally, he went to bed, unsure what to do. When he woke, at 5 a.m., he heard one word in his head: Warriors. He went and rousted Kleiman, then prepared himself to make the hardest phone call of his life. “It was rough, talking to [Thunder GM] Sam Presti and [owner] Clay Bennett. I cried and got emotional, I’ll put it like that.” He texted Westbrook the news, but didn’t call him – they hadn’t really talked through the process. Asked why, Durant gives a shrug. They’d had those years together, fought as hard as two men can when they’re outnumbered. Sometimes, when it ends, you let the silence speak; words just don’t seem adequate, for better or worse.

In the days that followed Durant’s departure, Westbrook was said to be angry and hurt, but he stayed largely quiet. Even now, months later, he’s careful with his words. He knows how things can sound, knows the value of striking a conciliatory tone.

“I mean, obviously in the NBA there’s a lot of different decisions that people make,” he says. “The whole thing in the NBA is that people sometimes have an opportunity to go where they want. And Kevin chose a place where he wanted to go.”

So, have they talked much since?

“Uhh, not much, no.” […]

“[Deciding to stay in Oklahoma City] wasn’t like that at all for me. There was no process. It was just very simple,” Westbrook says. “I wasn’t trying to figure out if I was leaving or not. I was happy where—I am happy where—I’m at. It’s very simple.”

During last year’s conference finals, it seemed that Westbrook was playing as though he were finally sick of hearing all the Steph Steph Steph business of the last couple of years. I told Westbrook that he was the favorite for league MVP, above even James and Curry—but that I had suspected he’d maybe felt he was the league’s best player for a while. That the Steph Steph Steph chorus might even be part of what’s pushed him to that place.

“The thing about me you have to know is, I don’t care what other people are doing. I. Don’t. Care. I’m so busy worried about how I can improve, I just don’t have time to worry about what any other person is doing.”

Westbrook didn’t disparage Durant. He didn’t judge him. All he did was take a picture. When Kendrick Perkins played center for the Thunder, he called teammates “cupcake” if he thought they were acting a little soft. Westbrook and Durant adopted the term in jest. Westbrook posted a bittersweet pic on Instagram: three plates of cupcakes topped by red and blue stars and sprinkles. […]

“This is professional sports,” Westbrook sniffs. “You have to live with it. I just continued about my day.”