Chapter 25 - The Boy Who Wasn’t Chosen
Darius’s fourteenth birthday was held at a bowling alley.
Jordan almost did not go.
Then Darius texted:
If you skip I’m telling everybody I beat you one-on-one.
Jordan replied:
That lie deserves punishment.
He arrived carrying a pair of new basketball shoes.
Darius opened the box.
His eyes widened.
“Bro.”
“Don’t grow out of them in two weeks.”
Darius hugged him before Jordan could react.
Jordan laughed awkwardly.
“Okay. Enough.”
Marcus watched from across the room.
Keisha noticed his expression.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re doing the eyes.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Jordan says that.”
“He’s correct.”
The party was easy until Darius’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His smile disappeared.
Keisha saw.
“Who?”
Darius turned the phone over.
“Nobody.”
Jordan recognized the reflex.
Hide the thing that might make adults uncomfortable.
He sat beside him.
“Who?”
Darius whispered, “Andre.”
Keisha stiffened.
The protective order allowed certain communication only through designated legal channels, not direct calls to Darius.
Marcus immediately reached for his phone.
Jordan looked at him.
Marcus stopped.
Good.
Keisha sat beside her son.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Darius swallowed.
“What if he wants to say happy birthday?”
Keisha’s face softened.
Jordan looked away.
There was no simple villain in that question.
Andre could be manipulative and still be Darius’s father.
Darius could fear him and still want him to care.
Jordan understood wanting contradictory things from a father.
Darius answered.
“Hello?”
Everyone stayed quiet.
Andre’s voice was faint.
“Happy birthday, son.”
Darius’s eyes filled.
“Thanks.”
“You having fun?”
“Yeah.”
“Wish I was there.”
Keisha closed her eyes.
Darius looked at her.
Andre continued.
“Maybe someday your mom stops keeping me away.”
Darius’s face changed.
Jordan saw it.
The gift transformed into pressure.
Darius whispered, “I gotta go.”
Andre said, “Remember who your real father is.”
Darius hung up.
Then he walked toward the bathroom.
Jordan followed.
He found Darius leaning against the sink.
“You okay?”
Darius wiped his face angrily.
“I hate him.”
Jordan stood beside him.
Darius continued.
“But I wanted him to call.”
Jordan nodded.
“That doesn’t make you stupid.”
“It feels stupid.”
“No.”
Jordan leaned against the counter.
“You can want somebody to be better even after they keep showing you they aren’t.”
Darius looked at him.
“Marcus?”
Jordan smiled sadly.
“Yeah.”
“Did he get better?”
Jordan thought.
“He’s getting better.”
Darius wiped his eyes.
“How’d you make him?”
“I didn’t.”
Jordan shook his head.
“That’s the part I had to learn.”
Darius stared.
“You can tell somebody what hurts. You can leave. You can set rules.”
Jordan shrugged.
“But you can’t do their changing for them.”
Darius nodded slowly.
They returned to the party.
Keisha reported Andre’s contact to her attorney.
No screaming.
No retaliation.
Documentation.
Boundaries.
The adults were learning too.
That evening Marcus drove Jordan home.
“You were good with Darius.”
Jordan looked out the window.
“He needed somebody who wasn’t trying to fix it.”
Marcus nodded.
“I used to think fixing was the same as helping.”
“You still do sometimes.”
“True.”
Jordan smiled.
Marcus became serious.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“When I missed the championship…”
Jordan’s shoulders tightened automatically.
Marcus continued carefully.
“Did you think I loved Darius more?”
Jordan stared through the windshield.
“For a minute.”
Marcus’s face fell.
Jordan added, “Then I thought something worse.”
“What?”
“That you loved whoever needed less conflict.”
Marcus inhaled slowly.
Jordan looked at him.
“I didn’t think I lost to Darius.”
Marcus waited.
“I thought I lost to keeping Keisha happy.”
The words hit hard.
Marcus nodded.
“You were right.”
Jordan stared.
Marcus kept his eyes on the road.
“I wish you hadn’t been.”
“So do I.”
At home, Marcus went to his bedroom.
He opened a drawer.
Inside lay the youth-game wristband from the night of Jordan’s championship.
He had kept it.
At first because removing it felt like admitting guilt.
Later because it reminded him.
He carried it downstairs.
Jordan sat on the couch.
Marcus placed the wristband beside the trophy.
Jordan frowned.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus thought.
“I keep hiding evidence of things I don’t like about myself.”
Jordan looked at the wristband.
“You want it displayed forever?”
“No.”
“Then why put it there?”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Because I want you to decide.”
Jordan stared.
Then picked up the wristband.
He turned it over between his fingers.
Finally, he placed it inside the opened congratulations-card envelope.
Marcus watched.
Jordan folded the flap.
“Keep both.”
“Why together?”
Jordan looked at him.
“One was where you actually were.”
He tapped the envelope.
“One was where you promised you’d be.”
Marcus swallowed.
Jordan handed it back.
“Maybe remember the distance.”
Marcus took the envelope.
He placed it in his desk.
Not hidden.
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Stored.
There was a difference.
