Chapter 2
Jordan refused dinner.
That frightened me more than the argument.
The kid could eat after basketball practice like he had been stranded on an island for a month.
But that evening, his plate stayed untouched.
Tasha knocked on his bedroom door twice.
"Jordan?"
No response.
"Baby, please open the door."
Nothing.
She turned toward me.
"Do something."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Talk to him."
The irony almost made me laugh.
Six hours earlier, I wasn't his father when it came to discipline.
Now I was supposed to repair the emotional damage caused by the man who was.
I didn't say that.
Jordan mattered more than winning.
I knocked.
"It's Marcus."
Silence.
"I'm not coming in unless you say yes."
A few seconds passed.
Then:
"Okay."
I entered.
Jordan sat on the floor beside his bed.
His phone was facedown.
The sneaker page was gone.
I closed the door halfway.
"You okay?"
"No."
Fair answer.
I sat on the floor across from him.
For a minute, we said nothing.
Then he asked:
"Did you know?"
"About the birthday money?"
He nodded.
"No."
"So Dad didn't send anything."
"I don't know everything he's sent."
"You know what I mean."
I did.
"I don't think the five hundred came from him."
Jordan stared at his sneakers.
Ordinary white ones.
Still clean.
"Mom always says he's trying."
I chose my words carefully.
"Maybe he is."
"Do you believe that?"
I hated the question.
I wasn't going to lie.
"I believe trying has to show up eventually."
His eyes filled.
"He told me work was bad."
"Maybe it was."
"He said he'd take me to the Lakers game when they came to town."
I remembered.
Jordan spent a month talking about it.
Darren canceled the morning of the game.
Tasha told Jordan Darren had food poisoning.
Later, I took him myself.
"Was he really sick?"
I didn't know.
"I can't answer that."
Jordan wiped his face quickly.
"He misses everything."
"I know."
"But Mom always has a reason."
That was the pattern.
Car trouble.
Job trouble.
Phone trouble.
Money trouble.
Stress.
Bad relationships.
Bad luck.
There was always a reason.
Some were probably true.
The result was still the same.
Jordan waiting.
I leaned against the bed.
"Can I tell you something?"
He nodded.
"None of this is because you're not worth showing up for."
His mouth tightened.
"I know."
But he didn't sound like he knew.
"Your dad's choices are about him."
He looked at me.
"Then why does Mom keep lying?"
That question wasn't mine to answer.
"She loves you."
"That doesn't answer it."
Smart kid.
"No."
I sighed.
"It doesn't."
He looked at me carefully.
"Do you want me here?"
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"Because you said you're not my ATM."
There it was.
I had known my words could hurt him.
Still, hearing how he interpreted them felt awful.
I moved closer.
"Jordan, look at me."
He did.
"I was angry with your mother."
"But you said it to me."
"You're right."
I swallowed.
"I shouldn't have."
His eyes filled again.
"I'm sorry."
He looked away.
"I don't care about the shoes."
"I know."
"I just wanted the same ones Malik has."
"That's normal."
He nodded.
Then:
"Are you my dad?"
That question landed harder than anything Tasha had said.
I didn't answer quickly.
He deserved truth.
"I don't know what word you want to use."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"I've never tried to replace Darren."
"I know."
"I've also loved you since you were nine."
His face softened.
"I've taken you to school, practices, hospitals, tournaments, parent conferences."
"You came to career day."
I smiled.
"Wore a tie too."
"You looked weird."
"That's disrespectful."
A tiny smile appeared.
Good.
Then I said:
"I don't need you to call me Dad."
He stared.
"But I need you to know I don't stop loving you because your mother and I argue."
His chin trembled.
"Even if you leave?"
I froze.
"Why would you think I'm leaving?"
"You guys fight about me."
"Not about you."
"It sounds like me."
"No."
I shook my head.
"We're fighting about rules between adults."
He was quiet.
Then:
"If you leave Mom, do you leave me too?"
I had no good answer.
Because legally, Jordan wasn't mine.
If my marriage ended, Tasha could prevent me from seeing him tomorrow.
That thought had terrified me for years.
Maybe that fear was why I tolerated so much.
"I don't want to leave you."
He noticed the wording.
"That's different."
"Yeah."
I hated admitting it.
"It is."
We sat quietly.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
His face changed.
"Who?"
"My dad."
I felt my muscles tighten.
"What did he say?"
Jordan turned the phone toward me.
Hey champ. Heard Marcus is acting funny about the shoes. Don't worry. I'll handle him.
My anger rose immediately.
I forced it down.
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
"Then your mom did."
Jordan stared at the message.
Another appeared.
A real man takes care of his family.
That one almost got me.
I stood.
Jordan grabbed my wrist.
"Don't fight him."
I looked down.
Fear.
Real fear.
"Why would you say that?"
His fingers loosened.
"I've seen him mad."
My stomach tightened.
"When?"
"At Mom."
Everything inside me went still.
"What do you mean?"
Jordan realized he'd said too much.
"Nothing."
"Jordan."
"I shouldn't have said that."
I sat down again.
"You can tell me."
He looked toward the door.
"Before you guys got married."
"What happened?"
"Dad came to our old apartment."
I listened.
"He was yelling because Mom started dating you."
"Did he hurt her?"
Jordan hesitated.
"Not really."
That was not an answer.
"What does not really mean?"
"He grabbed her arm."
My jaw clenched.
"Anything else?"
"He punched the wall."
I breathed slowly.
"Did you see it?"
He nodded.
"Mom told me he was just upset because he loved us."
I closed my eyes.
Of course she did.
Even his anger had been turned into proof of love.
"Has he done anything like that recently?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Then another message arrived.
Tell Marcus I want my money back.
I stared.
Jordan looked confused.
"What money?"
So was I.
"What money?"
I repeated.
Jordan shook his head.
We both heard Tasha's voice downstairs.
She was on the phone.
Her tone was sharp.
"Why would you text him that?"
Pause.
"Darren, stop."
I stood.
Jordan followed.
We walked downstairs.
Tasha saw us.
Her face changed.
"I'll call you back."
She ended the call.
I looked at her.
"Why does Darren want his money back?"
She folded her arms.
"It's nothing."
Jordan laughed bitterly.
"Everything is nothing."
Tasha looked at him.
"Watch your tone."
"No."
I stepped between them before it escalated.
"Tasha."
"What?"
"Answer the question."
She looked trapped.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message appeared across the screen before she could hide it.
I saw the name.
DARREN.
And the preview.
You promised me Marcus would cover the rest.
My stomach dropped.
"The rest of what?"
Tasha grabbed the phone.
"Marcus."
"What did you promise him I'd pay?"
"Nothing."
"I just read it."
"It's complicated."
"There is that word."
Jordan stared at her.
"Mom."
Tasha began pacing.
"Darren has some debt."
"How much?"
She didn't answer.
"How much?"
"Seven thousand."
I stared at her.
"And what does that have to do with me?"
"He borrowed money."
"From who?"
"Someone he knows."
"Why?"
"Car repairs. Rent."
"Seven thousand dollars?"
"He had problems."
"And you promised I'd cover it?"
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"I promised we'd help."
"We."
I nodded slowly.
"Did I agree?"
"No."
"Did I even know?"
"No."
Jordan whispered:
"Mom, why?"
She looked at him.
"Because he's your father."
Jordan shook his head.
"So?"
The word shocked her.
She stared.
Jordan continued.
"Why does being my dad mean everybody keeps saving him?"
Tasha looked like she'd been struck.
Then the doorbell rang.
Nobody moved.
Again.
Three hard knocks.
I checked the camera.
Darren stood outside.
Hands in his jacket pockets.
Angry.
Tasha went pale.
"Don't open it."
That told me everything.
I looked at her.
"You invited him?"
"No."
Another knock.
Then Darren shouted through the door.
"Marcus!"
Jordan stepped backward.
I noticed.
I put one hand out.
"Go upstairs."
"No."
"Jordan."
"I'm staying."
Darren knocked again.
"Open the door, man."
Tasha whispered:
"Please don't make this worse."
I turned toward her.
"I haven't done anything."
Then Darren said something through the door that made all three of us freeze.
"I know you got my eighteen hundred. Give it back."
I looked at Tasha.
She looked confused.
"You sent him eighteen hundred."
"I did."
Darren shouted again.
"She pulled it from my account this morning!"
My head slowly turned toward her.
"What?"
Tasha's face drained of color.
The money hadn't gone from us to Darren.
It had gone the other direction.
And suddenly the bank transfer I thought I understood became something much stranger.
"Tasha."
May you like
She backed toward the island.
"What did you do?"
