Officer Mercer interpreted the hesitation instantly.
“Right.”
Jordan looked up.
“What?”
“You don’t know.”
“I know.”
“Then answer.”
Jordan stared.
“He asked me to hold it while he got the display case.”
Mercer laughed softly.
“A display case.”
“Yes.”
“For the jersey you’re currently sitting outside with.”
“Yes.”
Mercer reached again.
This time Jordan let him take it.
Not because he agreed.
Because refusing felt like the moment everything could become worse.
The officer unfolded the jersey fully.
Number 32.
SHEPARD.
The name was faded from years of storage.
There was a repaired tear near the shoulder.
A grass stain still darkened one corner of the white number even after more than a decade.
Jordan knew that stain.
He had touched it when Coach Brennan gave him the jersey inside the locker room.
Malik’s final game.
October 16, 2014.
Jordan had been five years old.
He remembered almost nothing about the game itself.
He remembered sitting beside his mother beneath a purple blanket.
He remembered Malik carrying him across the track afterward.
He remembered the smell of sweat and grass.
He remembered asking why his brother’s face looked angry even though Pine Valley had won.
Three days later, Malik Shepard was suspended from the football team.
By Friday, half the town believed he was a thief.
Officer Mercer held the jersey out in front of himself.
Jordan’s stomach twisted.
“Give it back.”
Mercer ignored him.
“You know why this hasn’t been displayed, right?”
Jordan stared.
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The officer’s mouth pulled to one side.
“My older brother played here.”
Jordan said nothing.
“He was two years behind Shepard.”
Jordan continued staring.
Mercer glanced down at the number.
“I remember hearing about this.”
“I’m sure.”
“Booster money disappeared.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened.
“Give me the jersey.”
“Four thousand dollars, wasn't it?”
“Give it back.”
Mercer looked up.
“That why you don't want me asking?”
Jordan stood again.
This time he forgot the instruction.
Mercer stepped back.
“Sit down.”
“That's my brother’s jersey.”
“Sit.”
“Give it back.”
“Jordan.”
The voice did not come from the officer.
Both turned.
Coach Thomas Brennan stood at the stadium tunnel.
Sixty-two.
Broad.
Gray beginning at both temples.
Navy Pine Valley polo tucked into khaki pants.
He looked first at Jordan.
Then Officer Mercer.
Then the jersey in Mercer’s hands.
His face changed.
“Officer.”
Mercer immediately straightened.
“Coach.”
Brennan walked toward them.
“What are you doing?”
Mercer held up the jersey.
“Found this young man with school property.”
Brennan stopped.
“Found?”
Jordan laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Mercer glanced toward him.
Coach Brennan did not.
He looked at the jersey.
Then at Mercer.
“That is not school property.”
The officer’s expression shifted.
“It’s Pine Valley equipment.”
“No.”