July 22, 2021 – Kingston, Jamaica.
Kyle didn't sleep.
The words from the unknown caller replayed in his head like a broken loop: "Some stories not ready to be told yet."
He'd heard threats before—heckling fans in hostile arenas, drunk rivals in nightclubs, even anonymous messages online. But this wasn't that. This was personal. The tone wasn't meant to scare him; it was meant to warn him. And the way it had been said, heavy with that Kingston drawl, carried a weight he couldn't shrug off.
By sunrise, Kyle was sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, shirtless, sweat already rolling down his chest despite the morning breeze. His security staff had crashed a few doors down, but Kyle hadn't told them about the call. If he did, they'd file a report, and then Boston's front office would know. Then the headlines would follow:
"Celtics Star Linked to Father's Criminal Past?"
Nah. He wasn't feeding that fire.
