Chapter 8 - The Man Marcus Wanted to Be
Marcus did not go home immediately.
He drove to the recreation center where Jordan had played his first organized game nine years earlier.
The building looked smaller than he remembered.
Marcus sat in his parked car staring at the entrance.
He could still see eight-year-old Jordan running toward him with a plastic trophy.
“Dad! Dad! I scored six!”
Marcus had lifted him high enough that Jordan’s sneakers almost touched the ceiling.
Back then showing up had been easy.
Jordan needed rides, sandwiches, shoelaces tied, encouragement.
Marcus understood those things.
What he had never learned was how to parent a son old enough to remember promises word for word.
His phone buzzed.
Keisha.
This time he answered.
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“We need to talk.”
Marcus leaned his head against the seat.
“I know.”
“Darius heard everything last night.”
“I know.”
“He thinks this is his fault.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“It isn’t.”
“Then stop letting Jordan treat him like evidence.”
Marcus sat upright.
“Jordan isn’t doing that.”
Keisha went quiet.
Marcus continued.
“Darius contacted him.”
“What?”
“He showed him messages.”
Keisha’s voice sharpened.
“He went through my phone?”
“He saw something.”
“That is not okay.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“What?”
“The part where your thirteen-year-old felt guilty enough to collect proof that Jordan shouldn’t hate him.”
Silence.
Keisha spoke carefully.
“You’re blaming me.”
“No.”
Marcus looked through the windshield.
“I’m blaming me.”
That answer seemed to disturb her more.
“Marcus.”
“I missed my son’s championship.”
“We decided—”
“No.”
He cut her off.
“You told me what you wanted. I decided.”
Keisha became quiet.
Marcus continued.
“I keep saying ‘we’ every time I don’t want to own something.”
“Are you saying I manipulated you?”
“I’m saying you pushed.”
“So I’m the villain now.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Marcus rubbed his face.
“This is exactly what I do.”
“What?”
“I start telling the truth, you get hurt, and then I rush to make you feel better so I don’t have to finish.”
Keisha inhaled sharply.
Marcus stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He looked exhausted.
“I’m finishing.”
Keisha’s voice dropped.
“Fine.”
“You were wrong to make Jordan’s relationship with me feel like competition.”
Silence.
“And I was wrong to let you.”
Keisha hung up.
Marcus sat motionless.
For the first time, losing the conversation did not feel worse than avoiding it.
Across town, Jordan arrived at his mother’s apartment.
Alicia had driven three hours from Raleigh after deciding one weekend was too long to wait.
She hugged him hard.
Jordan stiffened at first.
Then he let himself lean into her.
“You got taller again,” she said.
“You say that every time.”
“Because you keep doing it.”
She held his face between her hands.
“You look tired.”
Jordan shrugged.
“I’m fine.”
Alicia raised one eyebrow.
He sighed.
“I know.”
Inside, Coach Reed left them alone.
Alicia placed a folder on the kitchen table.
Jordan frowned.
“What’s that?”
“Divorce papers.”
He sat.
“I’m not trying to make you choose sides.”
“Then why bring them?”
“Because there are facts you deserve.”
She opened the settlement agreement.
“The house was appraised at three hundred twelve thousand when we divorced.”
Jordan listened.
“I had a legal claim to roughly half the equity.”
“How much?”
“About seventy thousand after the mortgage.”
Jordan stared.
“You gave that up?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“For stability.”
Alicia tapped one paragraph.
“In exchange, your father took full ownership and agreed to remain responsible for the mortgage.”
Jordan read.
There was no clause requiring Marcus to keep the house.
Legally, it was his.
Alicia noticed.
“He didn’t violate the settlement by refinancing.”
“But you thought—”
“I trusted what he said.”
Jordan gave a bitter laugh.
Alicia looked at him.
“What?”
“Seems contagious.”
She squeezed his wrist.
“Your father loved you when we divorced.”
“Loved?”
“Loves.”
Jordan looked away.
“That’s what makes this confusing.”
Alicia nodded.
“Love doesn’t automatically make people brave.”
Jordan thought about Marcus.
Then about the empty seat.
“What was he afraid of?”
Alicia leaned back.
“Being rejected.”
Jordan frowned.
“Dad?”
“Your father grew up watching his own father leave whenever there was conflict.”
Jordan knew little about his grandfather Calvin except that Marcus rarely discussed him.
Alicia continued.
“Marcus promised himself he’d never walk out.”
“So instead he stays and agrees with everybody?”
“Sometimes.”
Jordan stared at the papers.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if the thing you fear most is someone leaving.”
Jordan suddenly remembered Marcus’s expression every time Keisha threatened to sleep at her apartment after an argument.
He remembered Marcus apologizing even when he had been angry first.
A pattern appeared.
Jordan hated that understanding his father made him feel sympathy.
He wanted anger to remain simple.
Alicia seemed to read his face.
“Understanding somebody is not the same as excusing them.”
Jordan nodded.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
I called the bank. I canceled the new equity application.
Jordan stared at it.
Another message appeared.
I also called Atlanta.
Jordan’s heartbeat changed.
Marcus continued:
They told me only you should decide now.
Jordan read the sentence twice.
Then one more arrived.
I should’ve said that the first time.
Jordan put the phone down.
Alicia watched him.
“What did he say?”
Jordan looked toward the window.
“For once?”
He swallowed.
“The right thing.”
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But he did not answer Marcus.
Not yet.
