Two weeks. That's how long it had been since Kyle stepped off American soil.
But the heat that hit him at Norman Manley Airport wasn't the same heat he left behind. It was thicker now. Tighter. Like hands around his throat.
The island didn't welcome him back.
It warned him.
Kyle stepped out of immigration with nothing but a duffle bag, a U16 letter, and growing shadows under his eyes. He stood taller now—6'5"—his limbs longer, his shoulders broader. But with every inch he grew, the target on his back stretched wider.
A black Honda pulled up. The window rolled down.
Dre was in the passenger seat, already grinning.
"Jah know star," Dre said. "Yuh look like you eat whey protein and pain."
Kyle managed a smirk and tossed his bag in.
"Mi feel like it too."
"Come, Coach B waiting."
National U16 Camp – Kingston, JamaicaThe gym was smaller than the one at Haverford, but the noise was ten times louder. The hardwood was old, lines faded, but the energy? Pure fire.
Thirty players. All killers. Most from Kingston, Spanish Town, MoBay.
Kyle walked in and felt the tension immediately.
They stared.
Not because he was tall.
Not because he was Kyle.
Because they had all seen the IG clips.
The slam.
The buzzer-beater.
The mentions of D2 and D3 schools sniffing around.
They thought he was coming in soft. Americanized. A star.
They didn't know Kyle had bled for every stat.
Coach Barrett clapped his hands once. The sound cracked through the gym.
"Welcome to war, youths."
Drills – Day OneThe first hour was hell.
Suicides, cone slides, rebounding battles.
Kyle was winded. Legs sore. But his eyes never left the court.
He knew the game wasn't to impress Coach Barrett.
It was to survive.
During a one-on-one defensive drill, a Kingston kid named Troy tried to drive on him.
Big mistake.
Kyle mirrored every move, slid like a shadow, and stripped him clean.
The gym erupted.
Troy got up pissed. Threw the ball at Kyle's chest.
Kyle caught it, stone-faced.
Coach whistled. "Wilson stays on defense. Next."
One by one, they came.
And one by one, they got locked down.
Kyle's defense wasn't finesse.
It was violence with control.
By the end of the drill, Coach muttered to his assistant:
"That boy ain't raw anymore. He's cooking."
Evening – National Housing QuartersKyle sat outside on a rusted bench, phone in hand.
Missed call: MOM
Missed call: UNKNOWN NUMBER 🇯🇲
Message:
"Hope yuh home for good. Some people still waiting on you."
Kyle didn't respond.
Dre walked out with two bag juices. Tossed one.
"Yuh alright?"
Kyle took a long sip.
"No. But mi focused."
Dre sat beside him.
"Coach told me today... Chino's cousin training at the same gym in Spanish Town. Word is he looking for yuh."
Kyle's knuckles tightened.
He didn't come home just for basketball.
He came to send a message.
Day Two – ScrimmageCoach Barrett split the top 10 prospects into two teams.
Kyle vs. Troy again.
It wasn't pretty.
Troy drove hard early and scored twice. Trash-talked with every breath.
"You soft now. Yankee life weaken yuh legs."
Kyle didn't reply.
Third play, Kyle picked his pocket.
Next—he blocked him so hard the ball bounced into the bleachers.
The whole gym stood.
Then he whispered back:
"Mi legs strong enough to end yuh night."
By the end of the scrimmage:
Kyle — 10 points, 5 rebounds, 4 steals, 3 blocks.
Coach blew the whistle.
"Wilson. Starting five. Congrats."
But not everyone clapped.
Night – Rose HeightsKyle returned home late. Mama was waiting on the porch, arms folded.
"Mi glad yuh back."
Kyle stepped forward and hugged her harder than expected. His hands trembled slightly.
"Mi sorry for leaving you alone with all this, Mama."
She kissed his forehead.
"Mi not scared of Chino. But mi scared for you."
Then she handed him a sealed envelope.
He opened it.
Inside: a printed email from a D2 program in Pennsylvania.
"We've seen your tournament footage. You have elite defensive instincts. We'd love to talk."
His mouth went dry.
He looked at his mother.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Same unknown number.
"One week. Come see me. Or your mother's house get lit."
Final Scene – DecisionKyle stared out the window, wind hitting his face like cold regret.
He had three things in front of him:
A national team tournament that could put him on the international map.
D2 and D3 schools watching.
A gang leader who wouldn't rest until blood stained the court.
He whispered:
"Mi not here for basketball alone."
He reached under his bed.
Pulled out Rico's old chain.
Put it around his neck.
And said one last thing:
"This ends with me."