“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
Jordan looked toward his mother.
“Because I want him to lose to me wearing these.”
Ward’s mouth twitched.
It was almost a smile.
“Then make sure you don’t get hurt.”
Jordan tightened the tape.
Chase called from behind the plate.
“Come on! Are we racing or shopping?”
Rafael shook his head at the joke.
He had stopped smiling.
Not because he disliked Jordan.
Because he recognized something dangerous in the boy.
Jordan was learning between pitches.
Every attempt made him better.
Rafael walked around the mound.
He rubbed the baseball and thought.
Then he returned to the rubber with a quicker rhythm.
Jordan noticed immediately.
Rafael was changing his timing.
Smart.
Jordan needed to change his own.
He took one step farther from first.
Ward leaned forward.
Chase flashed a signal.
Rafael nodded.
In the upper deck, Tamara finally heard someone shouting her son’s name.
She turned.
And saw Jordan standing between first and second, surrounded by professional athletes.
Her cleaning cloth slipped from her hand.
“What is he doing?” she whispered.
A nearby security guard smiled.
“Your boy’s about to race Chase Dalton.”
Tamara’s heart dropped.
She remembered the last time Jordan had raced anyone in public.
It had been the regional youth showcase.
Jordan had beaten five sponsored academy players in a timed sprint.
Two days later, Blake informed her that Jordan’s financial-assistance application had been denied.
She had spent months thinking she had somehow failed her son.
Now she could see the same man standing by the dugout, glaring at Jordan as though his presence were an offense.
Tamara headed toward the stairs.
Meanwhile, at the players’ entrance, another teenager had arrived carrying a canvas equipment bag.
Noah Carter.
He was there to collect practice gear before the championship.
He stopped when he saw Jordan on first.
“What did he do now?” Noah asked a groundskeeper.
The man laughed.
“Bet himself a Ferrari.”
Noah stared.
Then he saw the red car parked beyond the stadium gates.
He knew exactly what Jordan’s family had been struggling with.
He also knew Jordan.
And Jordan never accepted a challenge unless he believed he had a chance.
Noah dropped his bag and hurried toward the fence.
“Jordan!”
Jordan turned briefly.
Noah raised two fingers to his eyes.
Their old signal.
Watch everything.
Jordan nodded.
Rafael came set.
Jordan extended his lead.
This time he didn’t watch one heel.
He watched the relationship between Rafael’s shoulders, hips, and glove.
He remembered the failed pickoffs.
The quick deliveries.
The pitcher’s breathing.
Rafael shifted.
Jordan waited.
A fraction longer.
Then he saw it.
The tiny forward commitment that meant Rafael could no longer make a legal pickoff without disengaging or changing his movement.
Jordan exploded toward second base.
Rafael fired home.
The fastball screamed through the air.
Chase Dalton caught it cleanly.
His glove snapped toward his throwing hand.
The professional players shouted.
“THROW IT!”
Chase rose.
His arm whipped forward.
The baseball shot toward second like a bullet.
Jordan ran harder than he ever had.
Sixty feet.
Seventy.
His left shoe began to split.
The tape snapped loose.
A section of rubber folded beneath his heel.
He stumbled.
Recovered.
And launched himself forward.
The second baseman dropped toward the bag.
His glove opened.
The ball came down.
Jordan’s fingertips stretched toward the white corner.
From the upper deck, Tamara screamed.
At the fence, Noah gripped the metal so hard his knuckles whitened.
Chase Dalton was already celebrating.
And as the second baseman swept his glove toward Jordan’s reaching hand, a sharp cracking sound rose from the dirt.
Jordan’s ankle twisted beneath his collapsing shoe.
He cried out.
The glove came down.
Ward rushed toward second.
And before anyone could make the call, Jordan stopped moving.
