The rec center was buzzing with the usual Sunday energy. Kids running around, parents watching pickup games, older cats playing dominoes in the corner. I'd been coming here every day for three weeks now, working with Coach Holloway's youth program, and it was starting to feel like home again.
"Alright, little man, show me that crossover again," I said to DeShawn, a twelve-year-old who reminded me way too much of myself at that age. Kid had heart but no discipline.
DeShawn bounced the ball between his legs, stumbled a little, but recovered and drove to the basket. His form was getting better, but he was still trying to do too much.
"Good. But remember what I told you about keeping your head up. You can't see the defense if you looking at the ball."
"I know, I know," DeShawn said, but he was smiling. These kids had been skeptical of me at first - probably heard about my reputation. But three weeks of showing up every day, working with them, actually caring about their development, and they were starting to trust me.
"Run it again. This time, I want you to see me the whole time."
I was feeling good. Really good. Three weeks clean, working out every day, helping these kids, slowly earning Coach Holloway's respect. My body was getting back to where it used to be, and my mind was clearer than it had been in months.
The gym doors opened and Marcus walked in, looking around like he wasn't sure he should be there.
"Yo, Dre!" he called out.
"Marcus! What you doing here, fool?" I dapped him up, genuinely happy to see him. "I thought you had soccer practice today."
"Finished early. Coach wanted to work on conditioning, but I been putting in extra work all week." Marcus looked around at the kids I was working with. "This is dope, man. You really doing it."
"Trying to. These kids keep me honest."
"Coach Dre!" DeShawn called out. "You gonna finish working with us or what?"
I laughed. "Y'all go run some scrimmage. I'll be right back."
Marcus and I walked over to the side of the gym where we could talk without the kids hearing.
"How you really doing, bro?" Marcus asked. "Like, for real."
"Good. Better than I been in a long time. Waking up early, working out, helping these kids. It feels right, you know?"
"That's good to hear. Rico said you been staying clean too."
"Twenty-three days. Taking it one day at a time, but yeah."
Marcus nodded, but something in his expression made me think he had more on his mind.
"What's up? You look like you got something to say."
"Nah, just... you know how the neighborhood is. People talking."
"What kind of talking?"
Before Marcus could answer, the gym doors opened again. This time, three dudes walked in who made the whole atmosphere change. Conversations got quieter, parents started watching their kids closer, and I felt that familiar knot form in my stomach.
Malik Thompson, Jerome "J-Money" Washington, and Terrell "T-Mac" Collins. Three members of the Black Disciples set that me, Jakari, and Marcus had gotten caught up with last year. The same crew that had beef with the North Side boys who killed Tayshawn.
The same crew that had helped us get revenge.
They spotted me immediately and started walking over with that slow, purposeful stride that meant business.
"Shit," I muttered.
"You want me to stay?" Marcus asked, tension creeping into his voice.
"Nah, man. Take the kids to the other court. Keep them busy."
Marcus nodded and jogged over to DeShawn and the other kids. "Y'all come with me. We gonna work on free throws."
I watched as Marcus led the kids to the far court, then turned to face Malik and his crew.
Malik was about my height but thicker, with gold teeth and tattoos covering his arms. He'd always been cool with us before everything went down, but that was when we were useful to him.
"Well, well, well," Malik said as they approached. "Look who decided to come back to the neighborhood."
"What's up, Malik," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"What's up is you been MIA for a minute, Dre. Been hearing you trying to go straight, working with kids and shit."
Jerome and Terrell flanked him, not saying anything but making their presence felt. Jerome was tall and skinny with dead eyes. Terrell was shorter but built like a linebacker.
"Just trying to do something positive," I said.
"Positive," Malik repeated, like the word tasted bad in his mouth. "That's interesting. 'Cause I remember when you came to us crying about your boy Tayshawn. Talking about how you needed our help to handle them North Side niggas."
The mention of Tayshawn's name made my jaw tighten. "That was different."
"Was it? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you used us to handle your business, and now you think you too good for the streets."
I could feel eyes on us from around the gym. Parents were starting to look nervous, and I saw Coach Holloway emerge from his office, sizing up the situation.
"It ain't about being too good for nothing," I said. "I'm just trying to move different."
"Move different," Jerome spoke up for the first time, his voice flat and cold. "That's what y'all Chicago niggas do. Use the set when you need us, then try to disappear when it's time to show loyalty."
"I showed loyalty when it mattered."
"Did you?" Terrell asked, stepping closer. "Because word is you been telling people you done with the street life. That you trying to be some kind of role model now."
The conversation was heading somewhere I didn't want it to go. I could see Marcus on the other court, pretending to work with the kids but keeping one eye on us.
"Look, Malik," I said, trying to keep things calm. "I appreciate what y'all did for me when Tay got killed. But that situation is over. I'm just trying to focus on basketball now."
"Basketball," Malik laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Man, you think this is some fucking movie? You think you just get to walk away from the life because you decided to coach some kids?"
"I think I get to make my own choices."
The wrong thing to say.
Malik's expression hardened. "See, that's where you wrong, Dre. When you came to us for help, you became part of something bigger than yourself. You can't just decide you done when it's convenient."
"What you want from me, Malik?"
"What I want is respect. What I want is for you to remember that you owe us. And what I want is for you to stop telling these kids that the streets ain't shit when the streets is what helped you get justice for your boy."
Coach Holloway was walking over now, and I could see he was trying to decide whether to intervene.
"I never said the streets ain't shit," I said quietly. "I just said they ain't for me no more."
"Well, maybe that ain't your choice to make," Jerome said.
"Maybe we need to remind you what loyalty looks like," Terrell added.
The threat was clear, and I felt that familiar surge of adrenaline and fear. These weren't just words - these dudes were serious about protecting their reputation and their authority in the neighborhood.
But something had changed in me over the past three weeks. Working with these kids, seeing their potential, remembering what it felt like to have purpose beyond just surviving - I wasn't the same person who'd been desperate for revenge three months ago.
"Look," I said, standing up straighter. "I respect what y'all did for me. And if you ever need me to return that favor in a way that don't involve hurting nobody or selling drugs, I'm here. But I can't go back to that life."
"Can't or won't?" Malik asked.
"Both."
The gym had gotten quieter now. Even the kids on the other court were watching, sensing the tension.
Coach Holloway reached us just as Malik stepped closer to me.
"Everything alright over here?" Coach asked, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd dealt with street politics before.
"Just catching up with an old friend," Malik said without taking his eyes off me.
"That's good," Coach Holloway said. "But this is a youth center. If y'all want to catch up, maybe you could do it outside."
Jerome started to say something, but Malik held up a hand.
"Nah, Coach, we was just leaving." He looked back at me. "But Dre, we gonna continue this conversation real soon. You feel me?"
"I feel you."
Malik, Jerome, and Terrell walked toward the exit, but at the door, Malik turned around one more time.
"Oh, and Dre? You might want to let your boy Marcus know that just because he playing soccer now don't mean we forgot about him either. We remember everybody who was involved in that North Side situation."
The threat was clear - they weren't just coming for me. They knew about Marcus, probably about Rico too, maybe even about Jakari being in California.
After they left, the gym slowly returned to normal volume, but I could feel people still watching me.
Coach Holloway walked over.
"You want to talk about that?"
"Not really."
"Dre, I been in this neighborhood longer than you been alive. I know who those boys are and what they represent. If you got problems with them—"
"I can handle it, Coach."
"Can you? Because I got twenty kids in this program, and I can't have street business following anybody into my gym."
That hit me hard. These kids trusted me, looked up to me, and now I might be putting them in danger just by being here.
"Coach, I swear I didn't know they was gonna show up. I been clean for three weeks, staying away from all that."
"I know you have. That's why this is a problem. They feeling like you abandoning them, and that makes you a liability."
Marcus jogged over, the kids still playing behind him.
"Everything cool?" he asked, but his voice was tight with worry.
"For now," I said. "But Marcus, you might want to be careful. They mentioned you too."
Marcus's face went pale. "Fuck. I got that soccer tryout next week. I can't be dealing with this shit right now."
"What y'all gonna do?" Coach Holloway asked.
I looked around the gym at the kids I'd been working with, at Marcus who was finally getting his life together, at the positive environment we'd all been building.
"I don't know, Coach. But I can't let them mess up what we got going here."
"Those boys don't make empty threats, Dre. If they say they gonna continue the conversation, they mean it."
After Coach Holloway walked away, Marcus and I sat on the bleachers while the kids finished their scrimmage.
"What we gonna do, bro?" Marcus asked.
"I don't know. But I can't go back to that life. Not after seeing what's possible when you actually try to do something positive."
"But if we don't... what they gonna do to us?"
I thought about that. Malik and his crew had a reputation for making examples out of people who disrespected them. But they also had to be smart about it - too much heat would bring police attention they didn't want.
"Maybe we need to talk to Rico," I said. "Figure out what our options are."
"And maybe we need to let Jakari know what's going on. Just in case."
I looked at the kids still playing, full of energy and hope and potential. Three weeks ago, I was just like Malik and his crew - angry, desperate, using violence to solve problems. Now I was watching twelve-year-olds work on their fundamentals and feeling proud of their progress.
"Marcus, I can't go back. I won't go back."
"Then we gonna have to find another way forward."
"Yeah. We are."
But as we left the rec center that evening, I couldn't shake the feeling that Malik and his crew weren't going to make it easy for us.
The streets had a way of pulling you back in, even when you thought you were done with them.
The question was: how far were we willing to go to stay free?