“I promise.”
Leon squeezed his hand.
Then:
“And teach Nia how to fall.”
Jordan laughed through tears.
“She’s eight.”
“She’s clumsy.”
“She got that from Mom.”
From the kitchen doorway Saturday morning, Nia said:
“I heard that.”
Jordan spun.
She stood in pajamas holding cereal.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
“You’re creepy.”
“You’re doing karate.”
“No.”
“You literally are.”
Jordan sighed.
“Go eat.”
Nia grinned.
“Open mat at ten.”
“No.”
“Coach Thomas said.”
“No.”
“He said siblings can come.”
“No.”
“Mom said you have to drive me.”
Jordan stopped.
“What?”
Nia smiled wider.
At nine-forty, he was parking outside Northstar.
“You manipulated this entire situation.”
Nia unbuckled.
“Dad would be proud.”
“Dad would ground you.”
“Dad never grounded me.”
“You were eight.”
“Exactly.”
Inside, open mat was busier than Jordan expected.
Adults rolling lightly.
Teenagers practicing kicks.
Parents drinking coffee.
Thomas stood near the office.
Derek was already there.
Of course he was.
Jordan carried Nia’s bag.
Derek spotted him immediately.
“You came.”
“For her.”
“Right.”
Jordan sat.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Nia worked with Leah.
Thomas helped another student.
Derek sparred with a purple-belt kickboxer.
Fast.
Sharp.
Technically excellent.
Jordan watched despite himself.
Derek had good timing.
Heavy rear kick.
Fast lead hook.
Strong wrestling base.
His problem was not lack of skill.
It was what happened after he landed.
He always looked around.
Checking who saw.
Leon had warned Jordan about fighters like that.
Some men fight the person in front of them.
Some fight the room.
The second type gets dangerous when the room stops admiring them.
Derek finished his round.
Saw Jordan watching.
“See something?”
Jordan shook his head.
“No.”
“Come on.”
Derek pulled off one glove.
“Light round.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
A teenager nearby smirked.
Derek heard.
His pride rose immediately.
“What belt are you?”
Jordan looked at him.
“I’m not training here.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Thomas appeared.
“Derek.”
Derek ignored him.
“What belt?”
Jordan took a breath.
“Black.”
Silence.
Nia closed her eyes.
She had not wanted him to say it.
Derek laughed.
“In what?”
“Karate.”
“Of course.”
The kickboxer beside him smiled.
Derek asked:
“What style?”
“Shotokan originally.”
“Originally?”
“Some Kyokushin.”
“Judo.”
“Wrestling.”
“Boxing.”
Derek stared.
“At seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“Who gave you the black belt?”
“My father’s instructor.”
“Convenient.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“Enough.”
Derek turned.
“Coach, I’m asking.”
“And he answered.”
Jordan stood.
“Nia.”
She looked over.
“We’re leaving.”
Derek smiled.
“There it is.”
Jordan stopped.
Thomas said:
“Derek.”
But Derek continued.
“Black belt who won’t spar.”
Jordan looked at him.
Derek shrugged.
“People buy belts online now.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened.
Thomas saw it.
So did Nia.
She whispered:
“Jordan.”
That one word mattered.
Jordan picked up her bag.
Derek stepped into his path.
“Just one round.”
“No.”
“You afraid?”
Jordan looked directly at him.
“No.”
“Then prove it.”
Jordan breathed.
Four counts.
His father had been right.
Pride wanted an audience.
Jordan moved around him.
Derek caught his shoulder.
That was the mistake.
Jordan stopped.
Looked down at Derek’s hand.
Then up.
Derek let go slowly.
Thomas was already crossing the floor.
“Derek.”
Derek stepped forward again.
Thomas’s voice cut through the gym.
“You’re making a mistake.”
The same words.
This time everyone heard them.
Derek turned.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
Thomas looked at Jordan.
Then made a decision Jordan did not want him to make.
“Because Leon Hale trained me before you were born.”
Jordan’s eyes widened.
The room went quiet.
Derek frowned.
“What?”
Thomas continued.
“And if Jordan trained under Leon for even half as long as I think he did, you’re not dealing with somebody who bought a belt online.”
Jordan’s face hardened.
“Coach.”
Thomas stopped.
Too late.
Derek looked between them.
“Your dad trained Coach?”
Jordan picked up Nia’s bag.
“Come on.”
This time nobody blocked him.
Outside, Nia had to jog to keep up.
“Jordan.”
He did not answer.
“Jordan.”
“What?”
“You’re mad.”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
“Coach Thomas?”
Jordan opened the truck.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t ask him to tell everybody.”
Nia climbed in.
“He was defending Dad.”
“I don’t need Dad used to defend me.”
“That’s not what he did.”
Jordan slammed the door harder than intended.
Nia went quiet.
Jordan immediately softened.
“Sorry.”
She looked at him.
“You miss him too.”
Jordan stared through the windshield.
“Every day.”
“Then why do you act like we’re not allowed to talk about him?”
That hit harder than anything Derek had said.
Jordan looked at his sister.
Nia’s eyes filled.
“You put all his stuff away.”
“You never watch the old videos.”
“You don’t train.”
“You don’t tell me stories.”
“You act like if nobody says his name, maybe it won’t hurt.”
Jordan could not answer.
Nia wiped her cheek angrily.
“I barely remember his voice now.”
Jordan looked away.
His own eyes burned.
“I do.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
“Tell me something.”
Jordan closed his eyes.
Then:
“He hated raisins.”
Nia stared.
“What?”
“He absolutely hated them.”
“Dad ate oatmeal raisin cookies.”
“He picked the raisins out.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“He said they were grapes that made bad decisions.”
Nia laughed through tears.
Jordan did too.
Another memory.
Then another.
“He sang horribly.”
“I remember that.”
“He cheated at Monopoly.”
“I knew it.”
“He cried when you were born.”
Nia stopped laughing.
Jordan continued.
“He held you and cried so hard Grandma thought something was wrong.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”