Chapter 4 - Darius Was Never the Rival
Jordan read the message three times.
Then he typed:
Can we talk?
Darius answered almost immediately.
Yeah.
Jordan glanced at Keisha.
Her expression had become guarded.
“You’ve been talking to my son?”
“He texted me.”
“About what?”
Jordan put his phone in his pocket.
“That’s between us.”
Keisha’s mouth tightened.
“That’s funny.”
“What?”
“You were furious about private conversations five minutes ago.”
Jordan nodded.
“You’re right.”
He pulled the phone back out.
Then read the message aloud.
“I think you should know I told your dad to go to your championship.”
Keisha looked away.
Jordan watched her.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“He’s thirteen. Why did he feel like he needed to tell me that?”
Keisha picked up the grocery bag.
“Ask him.”
“I plan to.”
She stopped.
“Do not put Darius in the middle.”
Jordan’s anger sharpened.
“I didn’t.”
Keisha met his eyes.
He finished quietly.
“You did.”
Jordan left before she could answer.
He met Darius that afternoon at a neighborhood outdoor court two blocks from Keisha’s apartment.
Darius sat alone on a bench wearing a black hoodie over basketball shorts.
He looked nervous when Jordan approached.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
For several seconds neither spoke.
Jordan sat at the opposite end of the bench.
Darius stared at his sneakers.
“Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
“You had twenty-eight?”
Jordan glanced at him.
“Yeah.”
“That’s crazy.”
Jordan almost smiled.
“Coach makes us run if I take too many bad shots.”
Darius nodded.
“My mom says I shoot too much.”
Jordan looked at him.
Darius immediately regretted mentioning her.
Jordan noticed.
“You don’t have to be scared to say her name.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You look scared.”
Darius rubbed his palms together.
“I just don’t want you mad at me.”
Jordan’s anger disappeared for a moment.
“I’m not.”
Darius finally looked at him.
“For real?”
“For real.”
Darius nodded.
“My game wasn’t important like yours.”
Jordan hesitated.
“It was important to you.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a championship.”
“That doesn’t mean nobody should show.”
Darius looked down.
“My mom said Marcus promised he’d come.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened.
“Did he?”
“I guess.”
Jordan took a slow breath.
“What did you tell him?”
Darius thought.
“He picked us up. I asked if he was going to leave early for your game.”
Jordan went still.
“He said maybe.”
“And?”
“My mom said he couldn’t keep running every time you needed something.”
Jordan stared at the empty court.
Darius continued.
“I told him he should go.”
Jordan looked back.
“Why?”
Darius shrugged.
“Because you’re his son.”
Simple.
No accusation.
No strategy.
Just truth.
Darius kicked lightly at the pavement.
“Then my mom got mad.”
“At you?”
“Not really. She said I didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
Darius’s voice dropped.
“That she’s tired of always being second.”
Jordan frowned.
“Second to who?”
“You.”
Jordan sat back.
Darius rushed to clarify.
“I don’t think that. She does.”
Jordan’s chest tightened.
“She said that?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
Darius hesitated.
Jordan saw the conflict on his face.
“Forget it.”
Darius looked relieved.
Jordan stood.
“You don’t owe me evidence against your mom.”
Darius looked up.
“Are you gonna hate Marcus?”
Jordan stared across the court.
“I don’t know.”
“He talks about you all the time.”
Jordan laughed without humor.
“That’s becoming his favorite way to support me.”
Darius stood too.
“My dad barely calls.”
Jordan looked at him.
Darius swallowed.
“When Marcus comes to my games, it feels good.”
Jordan nodded slowly.
“I get that.”
“I didn’t ask him to choose me.”
“I know.”
The words mattered.
Jordan repeated them.
“I know.”
They bumped fists awkwardly.
As Jordan turned to leave, Darius called after him.
“There’s something else.”
Jordan stopped.
Darius pulled out his phone.
“My mom left hers in the car last week and asked me to send Marcus an address from it.”
Jordan waited.
“I saw a message.”
Darius looked ashamed.
“I wasn’t snooping. It was open.”
“What message?”
Darius unlocked his own phone.
“I took a picture because it was about you.”
He held out the screen.
A photograph showed a text conversation between Keisha and Marcus.
Keisha:
If you keep treating Jordan like every basketball event is a family emergency, we are never going to build our own life.
Marcus:
He got invited because he’s good enough.
Keisha:
He has plenty of chances. Darius needs stability now.
Marcus:
I already turned Atlanta down.
Keisha:
Good. Then stop feeling guilty.
Jordan stopped breathing for a second.
He zoomed in.
The timestamp was eight days before the championship.
Marcus had canceled Atlanta before choosing Darius’s game.
The two betrayals had not happened separately.
They were part of the same argument.
Jordan gave the phone back.
Darius watched him carefully.
“You okay?”
Jordan nodded automatically.
Then stopped.
“No.”
He looked at Darius.
“I’m really not.”
For once, saying it felt better than lying.
That evening, Jordan returned home.
Marcus was sitting alone in the living room.
Keisha was gone.
On the coffee table lay the unopened congratulations card.
Marcus held it in his hands.
“You met Darius.”
Jordan stopped.
“Yeah.”
Marcus looked wounded.
“You’re dragging him into this?”
Jordan’s voice stayed calm.
“No.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Actually, he’s the only person who tried to stay out of it.”
Marcus looked confused.
Jordan opened the photograph.
Then placed the phone on the table.
Marcus read the messages.
The color slowly left his face.
Jordan spoke quietly.
“You didn’t miss one night.”
Marcus looked up.
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Jordan’s eyes were cold.
“You were already practicing choosing me last.”
