Not the part where I walked away all week. No. Not the paper in the rain. Maybe not. Jordan looked at him. That doesn't bother you?
It does. Coach Brooks turned onto Jefferson Avenue, but truth has a way of needing witnesses. Jordan looked away again. The scratched 417 key rested in his pocket. He could feel its edge against his leg.
By the time they reached Ruth's kitchen, the lights were still on. Rachel Hayes stood in the front window. Walter Brooks sat in his usual booth. Angela was there, too. Jordan stared through the windshield.
You called them? Coach Brooks put the car in park. No. Jordan looked at him. Your mother called Walter. Walter called Rachel.
Rachel called Miko. Jordan exhaled. That sounds right. Inside Ruth's kitchen, the dinner rush was gone. Only a few plates remained on tables.
Coffee steamed beneath warm yellow lights. Rachel took one look at Jordan's wet portfolio and pulled him into a hug. Sit. I'm fine. Sit.
Jordan sat. Angela touched his cheek. You hurt? No. That isn't what I asked. He managed a tired smile.
Not really. Walter had been silent. He watched Jordan from across the booth. Then his eyes dropped to Jordan's hands. "Steady, always steady."
"You used it?" Walter asked. Jordan knew what he meant. "Yes." Walter leaned back.
Rachel looked between them. "Used what?" Coach Brooks entered behind Jordan. Training. Rachel's eyes widened.
Jordan sighed. I didn't hit anybody. That is not the part I'm stuck on. She looked at Coach Brooks. What kind of training?
Brooks pulled out a chair. Jordan stared at the table. The story he had avoided for years was no longer going to stay quiet. Coach Brooks spoke carefully. Jordan wrestled for me.
Rachel nodded. I knew he wrestled. You knew he wrestled. Brooks looked at Jordan. You didn't know he went undefeated for three seasons.
Rachel stopped moving. Angela gave the faintest smile. She already knew. Walter did, too. Rachel looked at Jordan.
Three. Jordan nodded. Seasons. Yes, undefeated. Jordan looked embarrassed.