Twelve
I need to go on a damn diet.
It wasn’t even negative self-talk this time – it was just the damn truth. I tried – and failed – one more time to button my favorite pair of jeans, but it wasn’t happening unless I wanted to walk into the Connecticut Kings box looking like a can of Pillsbury.
I did not.
Nor was I interested in potentially fainting because all my organs were compressed in weird ways, in my pursuit of squeezing into a damn pair of jeans. I dropped onto the end of my bed and laid back, spreading my arms out in defeat.
The last month and a half had finally caught up to me.
Ever since Ramsey reported to training camp – and I ended up in the middle of a sex-scandal – I’d been eating every feeling I had, when I actually had an appetite. My accidental intermittent fasting had probably ruined my metabolism, and the fact that I hadn’t set foot in a gym or on a track definitely hadn’t helped either. I was paying for it.
Luckily for me, it was summer, and I had a closet full of cute dresses.
Ramsey loved me in dresses.
And with the way pre-season had been going so far, I didn’t feel a shred of hesitation about dressing solely to please him. If nothing else, his woman could look good, and if this game went like the rest… the sight of me might be a needed win.
It wasn’t that Ramsey had played badly, not at all. He just hadn’t been… great. Those were words that would never come out of my mouth, if I could help it, but there were plenty of people saying it for me. One of the harsher critics had referred to his performance as “disappointingly average”.
I desperately wished I didn’t agree.
But I knew what it was – nerves, plain and simple. Ramsey got out there on the field, in front of a roaring crowd, for the first time in years, and did exactly what he was supposed to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. For a rookie, that probably would have been fine. But he was goddamned Ramsey Bishop.
We all wanted to see magic happen. But making that magic required risks, and for some reason, Ramsey’s head just wasn’t there yet.
I wished I knew what it would take to get him there.
Instead of dwelling on it though, I just sent up a prayer that today would be the day those jitters cleared, and he was able to play at the level we all knew he could. Shifting my head to see the clock, my eyes widened when I saw the time. I needed to be moving.
As soon as I sprang up to my feet, intending to push the too-small jeans down my hips, my head started spinning, like I’d gotten up too fast. I tried to turn and put my hands on the bed for balance, but ended up tripping on one of the pairs of shoes I’d pulled from the closet in my quest to find something to wear to the game.
The next thing I knew, I was twisting and falling backward. My hand shot out, closing around my bedspread, which I thought would save me.
It did not.
What it did, was slide off the bed and land right on top me as the back of my head bounced off the floor. Tears sprang to my eyes as dull pain blossomed through my skull.
Had to have the damn hardwood floors, huh genius?
Flipping the covers off my face, I groaned as I sat up, with stars swimming in front of my eyes.
“Shit,” I muttered, hesitantly pulling myself up from the floor, then lifting my hand to touch the tender spot that would surely be a knot later. “This day is starting on a great note.”
Instead of waiting for it to get worse, I took a couple of anti-inflammatories and then finished getting ready, so I could make it out of the door on time. I brought my laptop with me, to take my own notes during the game, to use for future interviews.
By the time I made it to the team box, my head was pounding so hard that it was making me sick to my stomach, and I hoped no one would try to talk to me. Obviously, that didn’t happen. It seemed like everybody and their mother wanted a word with me, about an interview, or something I’d said on the show, or my relationship with Ramsey.
Luckily, Ramsey’s cousin, Reginald, who I’d been introduced to a couple of weeks ago, seemed to notice the distress in my eyes and pulled me away, tucking me into a seat on the other side of him and Ramsey’s niece and nephews, basically out of reach from the crowd.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he grinned, extending his fist in my direction.
“You’re welcome,” he said, as I bumped my fist against his. “You were looking a little wild in the eyes, like you were just about ready to cut somebody.”
I laughed a little, then winced in pain. “I just don’t feel that great. Knocked myself in the head getting ready.”
He frowned. “You good? Ram know you hurt yourself?”
“No, and please let’s keep it that way,” I pleaded, holding out my hand as I saw him already going for his cell phone. “I’m fine, and Ramsey doesn’t need any distractions. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Ramsey number two,” I teased, and he shook his head.
“My bad – the chivalry is in our blood I guess,” he laughed, then turned to look at something one of his sons was showing him. As I watched him interact with his kids – with Chloe’s kids, which had blown my mind – the story Ramsey had told me about him played in my mind. As well-known as Chloe was, her having children wasn’t common knowledge, and a whole-ass husband in federal prison, that no one had known about?
Nobody could say she wasn’t good at her job, because she’d crafted the hell out of her own image.
My eyes were drawn to the large screens first, and then the field, as the game started. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that no matter what, this was just preseason – the perfect time to get rid of nervousness, and work out the kinks before the games that were vital started. There was no need for concern – Ramsey was going to get out there and play like he had in years past. He was going to dominate.
Only… not so much.
The frustration in the box was palpable as the game unfolded before us. On more than one play, we watched Ramsey take a snap, and then hesitate a second too long before deciding where to move, seconds that cost us valuable yards in offense. Or didn’t keep good control on the ball. Or didn’t completely follow through on a play. And so on and so forth. Once again – not blatantly bad, just… not that good.
Certainly not the Cinderella story football fans had been hoping for.
We didn’t lose the game, fortunately, which meant there wouldn’t be a ton of close focus on Ramsey’s performance in the game. It wasn’t going to be ignored though – something made clear when, before I’d even headed out of the box to try to catch him coming out of the locker room, he was stopped by a reporter.
As I watched from the TV screen, the look in his eyes cut me deep.
“Ramsey Bishop… how are you feeling about today’s game?” the reporter asked – a weak question, and Ramsey knew it, but would be respectful.
“I’m feeling about how anyone would,” Ramsey shrugged – the kind of answer reporters hated. Good. “Obviously, I’m happy that my teammates pulled off a win, but I’m looking forward to being more of an asset next time.”
The reported nodded, pushing the mic closer to Ramsey’s face. “So you aren’t pleased with your performance today?”
Ramsey smirked, with zero amusement, considering his words before he answered. “I have the ability for a better performance than what I gave today.”
“What do you think needs to happen for us to see that? What are your plans to deliver in the next game?”
His shoulders went up again, and he shook his head. “Hard work. Practice. Getting my head in the game. I have teammates with whole families to tend to, and they still manage to get out there and do what needs to be done on the field. I don’t have any excuses. I’m going to buckle down, and focus on improvement.”
“Thank you, Ramsey. And congratulations on the win.”
Ramsey’s eyebrow twitched, and I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten before he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He stalked off toward the locker room and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The back of my head was still aching, but I ignored it in favor of rushing down the locker rooms as quickly as I could, working through the throngs of people leaving the stadium and standing around talking, so I could get to him.
I knew he had to talk to other reporters first, so I hung back. Once the players were dressed, the locker room started to clear out. Jordan spotted me, and then Trent, and they came up to talk to me, which gave Ramsey’s family a chance to get to him first – which was probably best anyway.
By the time I actually got to Ramsey, the locker room was almost empty. At first, neither of us said anything, but then I extended my arms, and he shook his head as he stepped into them, returning the gesture to wrap me into a hug.
“Reggie said you hit your head,” he murmured into my ear, bringing a hand up to gently cup the back of my head. Even that slight touch was tender, making me cringe in pain, and he pulled back, eyes narrowed in concern.
“It’s nothing,” I insisted. “I just had a little accident, being clumsy. I’m fine.”
“What’s a “little” accident?” he asked, unconvinced.
“I tripped over some shoes, and… kinda twisted around, I guess. Fell backward, bumped my head. That’s all.”
“From standing?!” The explanation that I thought would ease his mind only seemed to worry him more, and I made a mental note to never, ever tell Reggie anything again. “Come on,” Ramsey said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get medical to take a quick look for you.”
“Oh my God, it is not that serious!”
“Unless it is. You could have a concussion.”
I rolled my eyes. “A concussion? Ramsey, please.”
“Wil, please. Your head still hurts, right? Do you feel dizzy? Sick to your stomach? Tired? Irritable?”
Ugh.
I felt all of that, but didn’t say anything. However, my silence seemed to be answer enough. A few minutes later, I was seated in front of one of the team doctors, alone, since Ramsey had gotten pulled away by his coach for an impromptu meeting. I answered the doctor’s questions as best I could, while sitting there wishing the whole extra ordeal would be over. I did the tests they wanted, counted backwards, all of that, and as soon as they told me I could leave, I got out of there, and went to find Ramsey.
“So… what did they say?” I asked him, after a silent trip to the car, where he’d seemed deep in thought. I’d found him in the hallway, on his way back to get me, and since he hadn’t driven himself to the stadium this morning, he sent his security to ride behind us, while he and I rode together.
My question seemed to snap him back to the present, and he shook his head. “They said what I expected. That if I didn’t get my shit together, they were going to downgrade me to a… “more appropriate” level.”
As soon as I heard that, I knew he didn’t need anything extra on his plate. Nothing else to worry about. So when he followed up my question with a question of his own – “What did the doctor say?” I shrugged.
“I’m completely healthy,” I told him – the truth. “Just a little bruise, and a knot on the back of my head. They want me to rest.”
He nodded. “Good. We’ll make sure that happens.”
After that, I left him alone, as my phone lit up with a message from Cole, about setting up my next interview. I tended to that, and let Ramsey retreat into his head, which was what he needed. Not being worried about me.
I shouldn’t have responded to Cole’s message.
If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been fighting a headache as, a day after preseason ended, I set up cameras to record my next interview.
With Ramsey.
Her reasoning was that Ramsey needed the boost in image, and Chloe agreed. Chloe had pushed for it to be available before regular season started, which wasn’t much time, with the Kings having their first game in about a week. That meant we had to get this done, so I could get it edited, and released.
But football was the last thing I wanted to talk to Ramsey about.
I pushed – well, tried to push – my personal feelings aside as I sat down with him to talk about what everybody was talking about. His lackluster presentation in the preseason games.
The last game was a little better – enough to keep him from being downgraded, but still not great. This wasn’t something that would make it to the ears of the public, but he was essentially on probation, and no part of me wanted to be the one to press him about it, to ask any tough questions.
But he’d blown up – A Ramsey blow up, which was louder in feeling than actual words, but made an impact – at a reporter after the last game, and he needed this. Needed to be accountable, needed to show he could answer tough questions. Needed to show the world that he was up to this.
And if I could help with that in any way… I certainly wasn’t about to leave him hanging.
So we sat down for the interview. Just me and him, at his place in New York, because I knew that was the energy that would make him most comfortable.
“Where is the Ramsey Bishop we saw before you left the NFL?” I asked, not pulling any punches with my first question. “Why aren’t you playing with the decisiveness and superiority that you used to?”
“Damn,” he said, laughing as he stretched his arms across the back of the couch. It was a tough question, but his body language was open, laid back. And he looked good in that blue and white tee shirt that I’d wanted to tell him was too busy to wear on camera, but… again… he looked good. “You’re just going to come out swinging like that, huh?”
I nodded. “Yes. A wise sports reporter once told me, “Nobody is watching to hear the player’s favorite color. Get to what the people want to know.””
He grinned, knowing I was referring to him. He’d made me so mad when he told me that, three years ago. Even though I was pissed off, I took that lesson to heart, because he was right. “A wise one, huh?”
“Very. And… this is what the people want to know. What the hell is going on?”
His smile faded, but not because he was bothered by the question. As usual, he was considering his words, and I was waiting on the edge of my seat to hear them. He and I had talked throughout preseason, sure, but this was something I didn’t know how to approach on a personal level with him, and he hadn’t sought me out to talk about it either. Maybe now I’d hear an answer.
“Well… I’ve thought about that a lot, over this whole preseason period. And I’ve been asking myself that question – dude, what the hell is going on with you? So I had to sit with it, and take it back to… when I played at first, what was it that gave me my energy? What was my reason for working so hard, training so hard, giving it my all when I got out there? And I love football, don’t get me wrong, but when I asked myself those questions, and really dug out that answer… it was my mother. At first, it was so I could finally give her the life she deserved. Then it was just to keep making her proud. Then… it was to give her some light in her days, while she was fighting for her life. When I left the game… that hurt. But I was doing what I needed to do, to make sure she was good, because she always did that for me. I promised her I would go back to the game when I could, and I’ve done that. But now that she’s gone… I’m still trying to figure out my energy, you know? Still looking for that why that made me a confident player, and… just hoping that I find it.”
For several seconds after he stopped speaking, I sat there in stunned silence. I don’t know what answer I was expecting – or even that I was expecting anything. But I hadn’t known he was going to say that.
I took a deep breath, swallowing a lump of emotion as I planted my feet on the floor, keeping myself in my chair instead of giving into the urge to fling myself into his arms and hug him. His voice had been even, and his eyes were clear, but… I could just tell. That hadn’t been an easy conclusion for him to come to, and it hadn’t been an easy truth to speak.
But I was supposed to be professional right now. I would have to save up all my comforting for later.
I cleared my throat. “So, it sounds like your family is very important to you.”
“Very,” he said, nodding. “My aunt, and my cousin who’s like a brother, so I call his kids my niece and nephews. All of our extended family, all of that. Those are the people who kept me alive, kept me going. Family is… everything.”
“Any plans to start your own soon?”
I didn’t even know where that question came from, and it seemed to surprise Ramsey too. He actually blushed about it – something he surely wouldn’t have done with another interviewer. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have answered something so personal from someone else, but… this was me. Which was precisely what made it such an awkward thing to ask.
“Ah… soon? No. I mean, yeah, I’m getting older, and it’s something to think about, but I just got back into the game. I need to take some time without distraction to work out what I’m doing on the field. These young guys that want my spot? They have all the time in the world to review tapes, and practice, and get faster and stronger. I can’t go up against that with a family to take care of, not at my current level. Maybe once people mention “elite” with my name again, I can plan for that. Maybe. But no… not soon.”
I blinked, hard. “Completely understandable. So, you aren’t moved by the birth of your teammate, Trent Bailey’s baby girl? It was the same day as the last preseason game, right?”
He grinned. “Yes. And while she is an absolutely adorable little girl, I have to keep in mind what’s best for my career, and a baby isn’t that. But maybe they’ll let me babysit some time,” he chuckled, and I forced myself to laugh with him.
“Right, um… okay, so let’s switch focus,” I said, ignoring the way my stomach was currently flipping inside out. “Um…” I pushed out a deep breath, and Ramsey narrowed his eyes.
“Hey… are you okay? You’re not still having those headaches are you?”
I waved him off. “No. No. I’m fine, just… a little flustered. I’m a little warm, but I’m okay.”
“Do you need some water or something?”
“I’m fine.”
I was not fine.
I was nowhere near fine, hearing him say that a baby wasn’t part of his ideal future, at least not “soon”. But listening to him, it didn’t sound like it was high on his priorities, period – something I’d never even considered. I wanted children – had spent a good part of my adult life feeling desperate about it – but it hadn’t occurred to me that… maybe Ramsey didn’t.
“Alright, so… the way that you came about joining the Kings, it was a little unconventional. A viral video at minicamp, running into the team owner at a wedding, getting called in for a workout, losing your position as a news anchor, and then getting the call that you were wanted on the team. Why don’t you tell us that story?”
I finished with a smile, but Ramsey didn’t smile back. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.
“Well… you kinda just told it yourself, Wil.”
I frowned for a moment, and then processed his words, sitting back and closing my eyes when I realized he was right. I shook my head, and then pulled myself up from my chair, going to the cameras one by one to turn them off.
“I’m sorry, I… I need a break.”
I didn’t give Ramsey a chance to respond before I turned to walk out of the room, getting even more flustered than I already was when I realized I didn’t really have anywhere to go. I was in his condo, which was spacious, but open. If I wanted privacy, I was going to have to go into one of his bedrooms, or the bathroom or something, when all I really wanted to do was get away.
“Wil,” he said, his tone soothing as he approached me from behind. “What’s going on, Champ?” As soon as he touched me – putting his arms around my waist to close me in – I burst into the tears I’d hoped to be able to hold back. His voice was heavy with alarm as he turned me to face him, asking what was wrong. I was sobbing too hard to do anything except shake my head, but he wasn’t accepting that. He cupped my face in his hands, making me look at him. “Wil, tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted, and it was as if my words sucked all the air out of the room.
His lips parted, and moved, but nothing came out for a few seconds, until finally… “What?”
“I said I’m pregnant.” I pulled out of his grasp – easily, because he wasn’t holding me very tight anymore anyway. “I’m pregnant, and you… don’t want a baby.”
He shook his head. “I… when did you find out?”
“Two days ago,” I said, swiping tears from my face. “When I hit my head, you had me talk to the team doctor, remember? Well, he didn’t think I had a concussion, but from everything I explained to him, he joked that maybe I was pregnant. As soon as he said it, it made me uneasy. But then I realized that I hadn’t had my period, but I’d been so wrapped up in everything else I hadn’t noticed. So I took a test. And it was positive, but it was the day before your game, and I… I didn’t want to give you anything extra to think about.”
Absently, he nodded. “Yeah, but… how did this happen?”
My face scrunched up. “What do you mean, how did it happen? We had unprotected sex, Ramsey, that’s how it happened.”
“Yeah, but the few times we have, I pulled out.”
“Not in Bali,” I reminded him, simply. And from the look on his face, there was no need for elaboration – he remembered.
A fresh round of nausea rocked my stomach as he raised his hands to his face, and pushed out a sigh. “Okay. Okay. So… do you want to keep it?”
My eyes almost bugged out of my head. “Of course I want to keep it! Why would you even ask me that?! After everything I’ve been through, I’m praying I get to keep it. Are you fucking crazy?!”
“It’s just a goddamn question,” he shot back. “Last I checked, I can’t carry a baby, so I thought it would be wise to figure out if it was something you even wanted to do!”
“Yes,” I snapped. “I want to have this baby!”
“Then we’re having a baby.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “You say that like it’s so simple. Like this isn’t terrifying!”
“People have babies all the time, Wil. Don’t be dramatic about it.”
My nostrils flared as a siren went off somewhere in my brain, and I saw red. But just before I gave into the urge to try my best to physically tear him into shreds for that insensitive comment, my last working molecule of sensibility kicked in, and I remembered.
He doesn’t know, Wil.
That’s why he could make light of the miracle of a healthy pregnancy, why he could even form his lips to ask me if I “wanted” to keep this baby. I’d never shared with him the sob-induced headaches, the doctor’s appointments, the tests, the ovulation kits, the absolute terror I’d felt seeing the evidence in my underwear that my body was rejecting what I’d prayed would be a full-term pregnancy.
“Ramsey…,” I started, with an eerie calm that I had to pull my deepest depths. “I spent the last years of my last relationship hoping, praying, begging for my body to give me a baby. Before that? I lost two different pregnancies, both of which were unexpected, but wanted, very much. I never got answers for why. Never could get an explanation as to why pregnancy eluded me. But then… here you come. We go to Bali, and you’re so damn charming, and sexy, and make me so damn comfortable, and stress-free, and bring so much peace, that I guess… you created the conditions that my body was looking for. I’m pregnant. God willing, I will be that way for a whole forty weeks, and I will tell you now… you don’t have to be a part of it. You don’t want to have a baby? Don’t. But I will.”
“Now which one of us fucking crazy?” he asked, stepping into my face with an expression so intense I took a step back, but he grabbed me, hauling me against his chest. “If your ass thinks you’re about to have my child by yourself, I promise you I’m not the crazy one.”
“But you just said—”
“Man, fuck what I said! Erase that bullshit,” he growled. “Wil,” he said, his tone suddenly desperate as he cupped my face in his hands again. “A hypothetical baby is one thing. My best friend carrying my child though? A baby with you… that’s something else entirely, Champ.”
My heart slammed to the front of my chest. “Ramsey… seriously?” I breathed.
“Seriously,” he answered, and then his mouth was on mine, and I was so full I was sure I was going to burst. I started sobbing again, and between that, and him kissing me, I could barely catch a breath, but that was okay. I felt so high on happiness I wasn’t even sure I needed to breathe. In that moment, it honestly seemed like pure joy was enough to sustain me.
Suddenly, he swept me up into his arms and started down the hall, and I laughed. “Wait, what are you doing?” I asked.
He stopped moving to look at me like I’d lost it. “Uh, I’m about to make love to the mother of my child – what do you think I’m doing?”
“What about the interview?”
He sucked his teeth, then finished his trek to his room, where he lowered me to the bed, then crawled on top of me. “We’ll get back to it later. Gotta scratch most of it anyway.”
This was it.
First game of the regular season, and I was sitting in the locker room, surrounded by teammates who were loud, hyped, ready to play.
My head was across the country, with the mother of my child.
I’d left her sick – sick as hell, actually – and in the care of her own mother, who assured me Wil would be fine. In the week since she’d told me she was pregnant, her symptoms had virtually exploded, and I now understood that “morning sickness” was a misnomer. Wil was sick all the time.
Her mother, Carla, had given me a reassuring pat on the back as she sent me out the door on Wil’s orders, to make sure I got on the plane with the team. “It’ll pass,” she promised. “This is part of the process. Sickness is a good sign, believe it or not – her body reacting to the pregnancy hormones, which means… still pregnant.”
They knew better than I did, so… I got on the plane.
But still – neither my mind nor my heart were going to be out on that field unless I got it together, and I needed both if I was going to turn my shit around the way I’d promised the team, and the fans, that I would. I had one game, this game, to get it together, or one of those hungry ass rookies would be in my spot, and I couldn’t even be mad about it.
I just didn’t want the shit to happen.
Looking around the locker room, my eyes landed on Trent and Jordan, who were laughing about something. I grabbed my helmet from the bench beside me and hopped up, walking over to where they were.
“Jordan… let me holler at Trent for a second, bruh,” I said, and they both looked at me with questioning eyes before Jordan nodded.
“Yeah… you good?” he asked, and I nodded, even though I was sure my face probably told a different story, judging from Trent motioning for me to follow him to a quieter spot, while Jordan moved on to join the growing excitement from our other team members.
We could hear them on the other side of the lockers, but Trent was focused. “You look like you’re about to puke, nigga,” he said. “What’s up with you?”
I chuckled. “Man… don’t even really know where to start, but… I know you and Jade, you just had your baby girl.”
Immediately, a smile broke over his face. “Yeah.”
“Right. So… dude, how do you keep your head in the game when you know… you’re thinking about your wife, thinking about baby girl, and Kyree too. Your family. Like… how do you stay focused?”
Trent frowned. “I feel like there’s something you aren’t saying right now.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, and then pushed out a sigh before I glanced around to make sure nobody was lurking before I told him something I hadn’t told anyone – not even Reggie or Clayton yet, because Wil was so insistent on keeping it quiet until she got through her first trimester.
“Wil is pregnant.”
Instantly, Trent’s eyes went wide. “Yo… you serious?!”
“Yeah.”
“You got Wil Cunningham, goddamn America’s Olympic Sweetheart, knocked up? No wonder your ass was grinning so hard in that interview,” he said, cracking up so hard that he clutched his stomach.
“Nigga, relax,” I hissed, fighting the urge to start laughing myself, just because it was contagious.
“My bad, Ramsey,” he said, straightening up, but still chuckling. “I guess we should’ve known though, after those pictures – that looked like some very “we finna make a baby” shit y’all was doing down in Bora Bora.”
“Bali.”
He shrugged. “Same difference. But nah, in seriousness – congratulations, man. Wil is a good girl – she’s a good look for you, man.”
“Thank you, but… it’ll be an even better look if I can keep my ass on this team. But I can’t even think about a goddamn football when she’s back at home, sick and shit. That’s why I’m asking you – cause you’re on your job, every week. How do you do it?”
Trent nodded. “Aiight, so… I saw your interview, right? My lady had me watch it with her while she was up feeding the baby, and you had her all misty and shit, talking about how your mother was your “why” on the field. Well… Jade, Kyree, baby girl… those are my “whys”. I love the game, passionate about it, all that, but there ain’t nothing like going out here to do this shit for my family, and set them up for life. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, man, and I know you didn’t grow up with shit either, I’ve heard your story. You know what that shit feels like – and I know you don’t ever want your lady, or your seed, to experience that. So real talk… Ramsey, you gotta stop bullshitting. I’ve seen your tape nigga – Just like you used to get out there and run the ball like your mama’s life depended on it, you gotta replace that with Wil, and your unborn child. You ain’t gotta keep looking for your why. It’s looking you right in the face.”
I needed that.
I didn’t know I needed it until I got it, but as soon as I absorbed those words, it made perfect sense. I didn’t even verbally respond – I nodded – but honestly, words weren’t needed.
Action was.
So that’s what the fuck I did.
I went out there and ran the ball, and ran niggas over, and ran the plays not like my life depended on it, but like Wil’s did, and like the life she was cultivating needed me to get my shit together. If this was how I was providing for them, how I was making my name, the legacy I was leaving behind for my kid… I couldn’t half –ass it.
I was gonna do the shit like I meant it.
I walked off the field with more tackles than I’d cared to keep track of, 109 rushing yards and two touchdowns to add to my stats.
Back in the locker room, Trent caught my attention just before a reporter approached me, and tipped up his chin. I returned the gesture, grateful for the wisdom he’d given me – words I’d taken out onto the field, and dominated.
I got through the post-game interviews as quickly as I could, wanting nothing more to get to my phone and check on Wil. As soon as I picked it up though, a text from her was already on the screen, and I grinned so wide it made my cheeks hurt.
“Well damn. If I’d known a baby was all you needed to remind the world why they called you Sledgehammer, I would’ve paid a little more attention to my body. ;) Great game. Congratulations. – The Champ”