January 7 – Practice Facility, KingstonSweat dripped from the rafters.
Kyle ran another sprint, ignoring the fire in his knees. His body begged for rest, but his mind?
His mind was somewhere else.
Coach Whitmore yelled, "That's it, Wilson! Rest now—game's tomorrow!"
Kyle didn't stop.
He grabbed another rebound.
Hit a fadeaway from the elbow.
Then sprinted baseline to baseline.
He needed the noise.
He needed the ache.
He needed anything louder than the voice in his head:
"You think this done? Chino got brothers…"
In the Locker Room – A Message in His BagAfter practice, Kyle opened his duffel.
Wrapped in his towel was a folded paper. Plain. No name. No signature.
"Next time, it won't be a warning. You think you untouchable, baller boy?"
His hands clenched.
His vision blurred.
Zion Dorsey, now playing in the States, texted that night:
"You good, fam? Heard something weird went down after that last game."
Kyle didn't reply.
He crumpled the note and flushed it.
But he couldn't flush the fear.
Game Day – Jamaica vs. Antigua U17Kyle taped his knees tighter than usual.
Coach Whitmore gave him a look before tip-off.
"You locked in, Wilson?"
Kyle nodded once.
"Always."
First Quarter – A Different KyleHe played colder.
More calculating.
No emotion.
He didn't dunk.
Didn't flex.
Just executed.
Backdoor cuts
Defensive switches
Quick outlets
Box-outs like his life depended on it
By halftime:
11 points, 7 rebounds, 2 steals
But his eyes?
Darting.
Scanning.
Watching the corners of the court like the danger was coming from the bleachers, not the players.
Second Half – SabotageThird quarter, up by 12.
Kyle went up for a routine rebound.
When he came down?
His left shoe exploded.
The sole ripped completely off.
He stumbled, twisted, fell hard.
Crowd gasped.
Bench jumped.
Coach Whitmore ran out.
Kyle sat up, heart pounding.
Trainers helped him off. Ice on the ankle. Nothing torn. But the damage?
Mental.
He looked at the shoe.
It didn't make sense.
These were fresh Nikes.
Back in the Locker Room – A Pattern FormsSame note.
Same handwriting.
Folded into the toe of the new replacement shoe.
"Told you. You next."
Kyle froze.
Coach Whitmore saw the look in his eyes.
"What happened?"
Kyle didn't speak.
"Wilson," Whitmore said, firmer, "what's going on?"
Still nothing.
The locker room filled with celebration.
Jamaica won by 17.
But Kyle?
He was miles away.
Later That Night – The Call to DreKyle stepped outside the hotel.
Phone to his ear.
"Mi getting messages. Inside mi gear."
Dre was quiet.
Then said:
"Yuh know Chino's cousin still in Kingston, right?"
Kyle's hand clenched.
"I don't care. Mi done with warnings. If mi drop before I reach the draft, it don't matter to them."
Dre warned:
"This ain't basketball no more. This is war."
Kyle looked at the skyline.
"Them started it."
January 8 – National Team HotelSecurity was beefed up.
Players were told not to wander.
Kyle sat in the corner of the lobby, hoodie up, headphones in.
But no music played.
His eyes watched every entrance.
Every man who walked too slow.
Every shadow that lingered near the elevator.
Coach Whitmore finally sat beside him.
"You're not safe, are you?"
Kyle whispered:
"Mi don't think mi ever was."
Practice Gets IntenseKyle took out his paranoia on the rim.
Dunk after dunk.
Block after block.
Even slapped a teammate's shot into the wall and barked, "STRONGER THAN THAT!"
The gym grew quiet.
He was unhinged.
Coach Whitmore pulled him aside.
"Talk to me, Kyle."
Kyle's eyes flicked to the doorway.
"Mi can't talk, Coach. Mi just need to play."
Flashback – His Mother's KitchenHe remembered her chopping callaloo. Singing.
He remembered her braiding his hair.
He remembered her arms around him before he left.
"Stay sweet. Stay smart. Don't let the world change you too much."
He blinked tears away.
"Mi sorry, Mama. Mi trying."
Final Scene – The DecisionThat night, another note under his hotel door:
"You're not untouchable. Next game, maybe the pain ain't fake."
Kyle stared at it.
Burned it in the bathroom sink.
Then made a call.
"Scully. I need a meet. One last time."