She had expected he would reject the game attached to his father.
Instead he separated them.
Slowly.
Derrick helped.
At twelve, when Harrison first asked who coached Jamal, Renee said:
“His father did.”
Past tense.
That was not death.
It was boundary.
Years later, Marcus returned more regularly.
By then Jamal was sixteen.
Their first long conversation happened on public courts.
Marcus watched.
Did not coach.
After practice he said:
“Your toss drifts left.”
Jamal stared.
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Sorry.”
They both laughed.
That was their relationship in miniature.
Old habit.
Correction.
Try again.
Marcus attended tournaments.
Sat away from Derrick.
Did not shout instructions.
Hardest thing he had ever done.
At seventeen, Jamal asked him:
“Were you trying to make me pro?”
Marcus took time.
“Yes.”
Jamal nodded.
“Why?”
His father looked toward the empty court.
“Because I almost was.”
There.
Marcus had reached a career-high ranking low enough that newspapers never wrote about it but high enough that the dream felt rational.
Challenger qualifiers.
Futures.
Travel.
Debt.
A shoulder problem.
Then engineering job.
Marriage.
He spent years telling himself he chose stability.
Partly true.
Partly grief.
“When you were good young, I thought…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I thought I could finish the story correctly through you.”
Jamal looked down.
“That’s heavy.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jamal nodded.
“I know.”
Not forgiveness ceremony.
Enough.
College decision came in April.
Jamal chose North Carolina A&T.
That surprised tennis people.
Historically Black university.
Good engineering.
Solid tennis program.
Near enough for Renee to attend.
Scholarship combination.
Not full athletic.
Academic plus tennis plus need-based aid.
Harrison asked:
“Why not Wake Forest?”
Jamal looked at him.
“Why not A&T?”
Harrison smiled.
“Good answer.”
Jamal played four college seasons.
Freshman year:
Mostly lower lineup.
Sophomore:
Injury.
Wrist.
Missed two months.
Junior:
Best season.
Senior:
Team captain.
No NCAA singles title.
No sudden professional breakthrough.
After graduation, he tried professional tennis for eighteen months.
This part surprised Renee.
She thought he had chosen engineering.
Jamal said:
“I want to know.”
“Know what?”
“If I’m good enough.”
Renee hated the question.
Derrick corrected him.
“No.”
Jamal frowned.
“You’re going to find out how far you can go under the conditions you have.”
“That is different.”
Money mattered.
Travel mattered.
Ranking points.
Coaching.
Body.
Luck.
Draws.
He played lower-level events across the United States.
Qualified for some.
Lost early in many.
Won one small title.