Kam
I’M SITTING IN the middle of Radio City Music Hall surrounded by my peers. As I look around, the excitement and stress is almost palpable. This is the biggest day of my life. My dream come true. Draft day.
There’s a rumble of voices as the crowd anxiously awaits the picks to begin. We’ve only been sitting a short while, but it feels like days have passed. This moment will define the rest of my life; it will shape my career and my future. I’ve never felt so nervous; my stomach is actually flip-flopping, my palms are sweaty, and I’m a little lightheaded. I was calmer during the Sugar Bowl when we were down by six and the entire game was riding on me. I catch sight of the commissioner walking purposefully across the stage that is plastered with the NFL logo and insignia. As he takes his place behind the podium, cameras flash and a wave of quiet blankets the room.
My whole body starts to prickle as he leans forward and speaks into the microphone. The moment leading up to the first-round pick announcement is electrifying. It feels as if I am balancing on a razor-sharp tip three hundred and fifty feet in the air.
“With the first pick in the two thousand fifteen NFL draft . . .” The commissioner pauses for effect and the room seems to tilt, or maybe that’s just me, “Seattle selects . . . Kamdyn Ellis, Quarterback, Alabama.”
The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as time stands still. Congratulations pour over me. My mom is crying, my dad is beaming, and Sam’s eyes are sparkling like chocolate diamonds. Everyone I love is here, except one very important person.
I walk onto the stage a split man. It is the happiest day of my life and the most disappointing. Every time I pictured this moment, Laney was always a part of it. Even when we weren’t together she was still somehow here. I have regretted walking out on her every second. Regretted not fighting harder to keep her. Just like before. History has a way of repeating itself.
Looking back on it now, I should have just flung her over my shoulder when she started with that crap and not given her a choice in the matter. She should be here, with me, right now. She should be sharing the spotlight because she is the other half of my happiness. That’s my life—one part football and one part Laney. I have always known that, and I’m not going to stop until I put the two broken pieces back together again.
I smile as I pose for pictures holding up the navy and white jersey. It doesn’t feel real, at least not yet. It has to sink in that I am now a professional football player.
My dream come true.
I meet Sam backstage as the commissioner continues to announce names.
“My man! My man!” Sam clasps both of my shoulders and squeezes hard. “I knew it! I knew you were gold the moment I laid eyes on you. That’s how you succeed—hard work, dedication, and me.” He smiles obnoxiously.
“Modest, as always,” I jibe.
“Only one person gonna toot your own horn in this world, and that person is yourself.”
“You’ve done just fine tooting my horn for me,” I point out.
“That’s just because I know this business and how to make it to the top. That’s why they call me Sam the Magic Man. I make things happen.”
“You can do anything that needs to be done.” I repeat the mantra I’ve heard a thousand times.
“Smart and pretty.” He smacks my face playfully.
I smile connivingly. “I need some magic, Sam.”
“What kind of magic?” He creases his eyebrows.
“I need a Sam special. I need something to get done . . .”
Several weeks later . . .
I crack my knuckles nervously as I stand in front of the door. Just knock already.
I inhale a deep breath and rap firmly on the wood. I wait a few, impatient seconds then knock again.
“Hang on!” Someone yells before the door swings open. Standing on the other side is a guy who doesn’t look much older than me, wearing a bathrobe over his clothes and a five o’clock shadow. I eye him up and down. Who the hell is this clown?
“Yeah? Can I help you with something?” His eyes are glassy and his speech is slow.
“I’m looking for Laney Summers.”
“Who?”
“Laney Summers,” I repeat. “She supposedly lives here.” Her father gave me this address.
The guy pouts his lip and shakes his head. “Never heard of her. No one but me and Jarvis live here. Just moved in.”
I peer into the apartment and see a bunch of boxes on the floor, a couch you couldn’t pay me to sit on, and a fat, orange cat.
“Sorry,” I tell him, confused and disappointed. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I have the wrong address, apparently.”
“No problem, man.” He takes a good hard look at me. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Doubt it.” I start to step away.
“Yeah, I do.” He snaps his fingers as his bloodshot eyes light up. “You’re . . . You’re Kamdyn Ellis. Quarterback for Alabama and first-round draft pick!”
Shit.
I rub the back of my neck. “Yup, that would be me,” I admit reluctantly.
“Holy shit!” The guy nearly back flips out of his bathrobe. He’s awake now. “Hold on! Hold on!” He trips over his own feet as he runs back into his apartment. “Please, man, would you sign this?” He holds out a black Sharpie and a football.
“Sure.” I take the items and sign away. “What’s your name?”
“Nick.” He pipes up with a dopey smile. His expression makes me smile.
To Nick, nice bathrobe. Kamdyn Ellis
I hand him back the football, and he reads my note. He beams. “It’s my favorite. I’ve watched every single one of your games in it. Brings luck.”
“Good to know.” I laugh. “Huge fan of plaid.” Not really.
“Sorry I can’t help you find who you are looking for. Might want to ask the landlord to see if she left a forwarding address.”
“I’ll do that.” I nod. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”
“Awesome to meet you,” he replies like a kid in a candy store.
I turn to leave as he shuts the door. Before I try the landlord, I pull my phone out on the way to the elevator, search my contacts and find the one number I haven’t dared to dial in weeks. I press send and hold my breath. Someone answers after a few rings.
“Hello?”
“Lemon . . . ?”