Kam
I CLIMB THE stairs of the private jet right behind Rodney. We’re the last to arrive, and as soon as we step inside the luxury liner, we’re showered with boos and pelted with balled-up napkins.
“It was his fault!” Rodney throws me under the bus as he shields himself from the spray of white paper bullets. “He was all huggin’ and kissin’ on his girl.” He wraps his arms around himself and makes kissy faces. I shove him.
“He’s just complaining ‘cause he’s jealous.”
“Just my dick is jealous. You have one fine piece of ass.”
“Don’t make me punch you for calling Laney a piece of ass.”
“You won’t have to, Q, she’ll punch him herself!” Stone, one of the lineman, contributes to the conversation from the back of the plane.
“This is true,” I agree with him. My girl is as rough and tumble as she is smart and feminine.
The whole team is stuffed into the rented plane for Telly’s bachelor party. His wedding is next Saturday, so we are celebrating his last weekend of freedom. The alcohol is already flowing, the music is pumping, and there is a party vibe infecting the small space. Usually, I would jump right on the band wagon, but even though there is a smile on my face, my heart just isn’t in it. Because all I see when I look at my fellow teammates’ faces is failure. I failed them. I failed myself, and I failed New York’s fans. Letting that win slip through my fingers tortures me every second of the day. I hear it, I see it, I feel it no matter where I am. Watching the ball sail into the hands of the opposing team’s defender, an action which essentially relinquished the winning touchdown, will haunt me for the rest of my fucking life.
The rest of my fucking life.
Rodney and I sit in the last two open seats. They’re white leather and sleek as hell. Telly didn’t spare one expense. He went all out with the private charter, five-star hotel in Myrtle Beach, and a round of golf at the most high-end course in the area. We are going to be smokin’ Cubans and sippin’ Cognac all weekend long.
I want to embrace what Laney said, to have a good time. And I want to be in good spirits for Telly, too, but the black cloud of disappointment and defeat is pouring down on me constantly. I barely have enough air to breathe, but I keep pushing forward, hoping the storm will break. But blue skies aren’t anywhere in sight.
“Drink, Q?” Robert, my center, asks with a head nod. “We got beer, beer, and more beer for the plane ride.”
“Hmmm . . .” I contemplate. “I think I’ll have a beer.”
Rob launches a can at me. “Hey, keep up that show and you’ll be QB next year.” I crack it open, and it squirts a bit.
“Shit, please.” He snorts. “Ain’t no one can walk in the great Kamdyn Ellis’s shoes.”
Great. Yeah, right.
I don’t entertain a response. I just smirk and sip my beer. It’s ice cold and goes down way too fucking easy.
I feel Rodney scrutinize me, but I ignore him, pretending to enjoy myself like everyone else around me.
Dinner last night was delicious, and the Bloody Mary’s on the course this morning are even better.
It’s a beautiful, bright day. The sun is shining, the clouds are white and puffy, and the climate is perfectly comfortable.
I haven’t had a chance to play golf in months, so I’m looking forward to swinging the clubs.
I tee up on the first hole and whack a beauty seventy-five yards. It drops right next to the green.
“Nice shot, QB.” Telly clasps me on the shoulder.
“Thanks. Maybe if my football career doesn’t work out, I have a future in golf.”
“Man, you got jokes.” Telly places his ball on the tee. He is wearing the loudest checkered pants known to man and the ugliest lime green shirt on the planet. Why golfing attire is so horrendous, I will never understand. And why men embrace it is an even bigger mystery.
“Yeah, jokes.” Rodney gives me the same look now as he did on the plane. When I pointedly ignored him.
Our foursome consists of Rodney, Telly, myself, and Landon Knobs, a rookie from the Midwest who apparently has zero golfing experience. He can run like hell down a football field, though.
“Everyone take a step back,” Rodney announces as Landon tees up.
“Shut up, dude. I got this.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rodney vibrates. “I saw you at the driving range this morning. It was ugly.”
“Fuck off.” Landon swings, and the ball soars into the trees.
“That wasn’t even in the general direction of the green!” Rodney explodes.
Landon turns around with a red face.
“Cut me some fucking slack. I’ve never done this before!”
“Obviously. That was just insulting. Bagger Vance is rolling over in his grave right now!”
Me and Telly can’t help but snicker from the cart. This round is going to be comical if Rodney keeps riding Landon like this.
Three holes later, Landon is about ready to strangle Rodney. Or beat him to death with a club. He hasn’t let up on him for a second, and the tension is running high.
“These two be acting a fool.” Telly shakes his head as Rodney tries to direct Landon while he putts.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” I laugh as I remove my sunglasses to clean them. Just then I hear “Fore!” and before I know it, I’m choking and sputtering for air on the ground.
“Jesus Christ! You only call ‘fore!’ when you drive!” Rodney roars as the three of them hover over me. “You’re a menace to society holding a fucking golf club.”
I clutch my neck as the throbbing pain blinds me.
“Here.” Telly comes and goes in a flash before pressing a handful of ice to the side of my neck. He must have grabbed it from the cooler on the cart. “Can you breathe, Q?”
I suck in a few deep breaths as my vision clears. “I’m good. Get me up.”
Telly and Rodney haul me off the grass as I press the melting ice to my jugular.
“Q, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Rodney just pissed me off, and I fucking swung.”
I hold my hand up. There feels like a lump forming in my throat. “It’s okay,” I assure Landon. “Karma, I’m sure.”
All three of them look at me oddly.
“Did the ball hit your throat or your head?” Rodney asks.
“Throat. For sure.” I drop my hand, and they all grimace.
“Shit, that looks like the most painful hickey on Earth.”
“Crap.” I pull my phone out and switch the camera view. Jesus. My neck is an angry black and blue, and if you look close enough, you can even see indentations from the divots on the golf ball.
“Keep some ice on it, Q. You,”—Rodney points to Landon—“I’m confiscating your clubs. You’re a cerebral hemorrhage waiting to happen.”
I wince, unpleasant memories from high school flooding me. I actually suffered from a cerebral hemorrhage and almost didn’t live to tell about it.
“That’s bullshit. If you would just lay off and let me play . . .” Landon rushes him, and Telly gets between them.
“Yo, chill. This is supposed to be fun. It’s my bachelor party. Things are just kicking up. I don’t want you at each other’s throats all weekend.”
“Me neither,” I second the motion. “Especially if there will be casualties involved.”
“Sorry. His swing is just so insulting.” Rodney rakes his hands through his hair.
“Your fucking face is insulting,” Landon mumbles under his breath, but we all hear him perfectly clear.
Telly breaks the tension with a loud belly laugh. “Stop playin’ already. I want to finish this round. I’m kicking all your asses.”
“We’re letting you win,” Rodney gripes.
“Sure, you are.” Telly rolls his black eyes, the large square diamonds in his ears glinting in the sunlight. He gives it a second thought. “Maybe Kam is.”
“Definitely not.” I snort. I would never give up any kind of win. Ever.
I walk over to the golf cart to take a load off and grab some more ice. Fucking thing stings.
A minute later, Rodney joins me, leaving Landon and Telly to putt. Well, Telly is putting. Landon is stewing.
Rodney takes a seat behind the wheel and reaches back for a cold one. He cracks it open, takes a sip, then stares me down. What the fuck is his problem now?
“What?” I bite.
“Want to tell me what all that karma bullshit was about?”
“Huh?” I play dumb.
“That comment about you getting hit being karma. What the fuck is the universe pissed at you about?”
I roll my eyes and divert my attention away from him. I really don’t want to get into this.
“Hey, I asked you a question.” He nudges me.
“Are you wearing your asshole underwear today?”
“Don’t I always?”
I turn my head to look at him. “Yes.”
“So, want to tell me what’s going through that thick noggin of yours?” He taps my head annoyingly, and I bat him away. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”
“Just got shit on my mind.”
“Is everything alright with Laney? The wedding?”
I nod. “Everything is fine with us . . . it’s me . . .” I trail off.
“You?” he probes. “You having cold feet?”
“I have loser’s remorse.”
“What in the hell is that?” he questions before he realizes. “You feel guilty? Because we lost?”
I grit my teeth. “Because I’m the reason we lost.” There, I said it. I’m the reason. I cost the entire team every second of their blood, sweat, and tears. Their time away from their family and all their faith in me. I’m the reason we lost it all.
“You really are an egomaniac,” Rodney accuses.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means we play football as a team. There is no one person who gets the blame when we win or lose.”
“I threw a fucking interception. How am I not responsible?” I argue petulantly.
“Allen fumbled, twice. Brice missed a block, and you were sacked repeatedly. The way I see it, we all had a hand in that loss.” He drains his beer then crushes the can against his forehead. I didn’t think anyone over the age of seventeen did that, but then I met Rodney and was proven completely wrong.
“Hey, guys! Come get a load of this!” he shouts to Telly and Landon. “King QB thinks he’s the sole reason we lost the Super Bowl.”
I could kill him right now. Like literally split his skull open with a sand wedge and leave him on the green to die.
“Last time I ever confide in you,” I mumble irritably.
“No, it’s not. I’m about to fix your noggin.”
“You like that word, don’t you?” I ask, perturbed.
“My pop uses it. A lot,” he admits.
“What are you two over here jabbering about?” Telly leans on his putter, Mr. Smooth and Cool.
“Kam thinks he’s the reason we lost. He’s carrying around ‘it’s all my fault’ baggage. What a damn ego. Take all the glory for the wins and all the blame for the losses.”
“Isn’t that how it works? Quarterbacks, pitchers, centers. We are in the spotlight and get the gas and the fire.”
“That is media bullshit. Team means together. No one person carries it all on their shoulders,” Rodney reasons.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see it that way.”
“Then look at it like this. You led us to the big game. We’re conference champs. Winning the Super Bowl just would have been gravy on top. But we are all proud,” Telly chimes in. “We have the best QB in the league, and it’s not just because you can throw a great pass. You’re a great leader. A great role model. A great friend. Losing that game sucked, but there is no one else I want to play for. You lose, we all lose. You win, we all win. And do you know what will be even sweeter?”
“No, what?”
“Going back next year and dominating that title. What better story is there than a comeback? Than redemption? The way I see it, we’re just set up to be legendary.”
I stare quietly at Telly, Rodney, and Landon. My guilt has been eating me alive. “Do you all feel the same way?”
Landon and Rodney nod vigorously. “Life is freaking amazing. I’ve been in the NFL for one year, and I’m a conference champ, went to the Super Bowl, and have endorsements coming out of my ass. And you are a main contributor to that,” Landon boasts. “One game doesn’t define you,” Rodney tacks on. “And maybe with all that extra money, you could hire a golf pro so you don’t kill anyone on the course.” He just has to throw a dig in at Landon. I swear it’s compulsive.
“Are we straight, Q?” Telly puts his hand out. A little bit of pressure alleviates in my chest as he smiles at me. I clap his hand and smirk. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel so low, or tormented, or at fault.
“We’re straight,” I confirm.
“Good, ‘cause we got some partyin’ to do. It’s my last weekend of freedom. We need to get CRAZY!” he bellows, doing his victory dance around the green. It’s a booty shakin’ strut with a signature helmet swipe.
Rodney and Landon join in, and now there are three massive football players owning hole four the same way they own the end zone. Something inside me breaks, and despite my neck still throbbing, I bust up with laughter. A deep, rumbling laugh that ends up being cathartic.
“C’mon, Q! Don’t leave us hanging.” Telly does this robotic dance walk thing toward me. I shake my head but stand. Then I let it all go with my boys. I pull out some old school dance moves, pump my pelvis, and do a little spin like nobody’s watching.
I won.
After our little victory dance on the golf course, I started to feel like my old self again. And with that came my confidence, cockiness, and desire to win. So, I did. By four strokes. Not bad for a guy who hasn’t swung a club in months.
Landon has gotten nothing but hassled by the rest of the guys for nearly decapitating me. That story was priceless at dinner. My neck looks ugly though. It bruised bad and in the worst spot. Every time I move my head I’m reminded it’s there.
Telly’s bachelor party has lived up to expectations. Everyone is full, drunk, and currently being rubbed up on in a VIP lounge of a strip club. It’s not really my scene, but it comes with the territory. I sip my beer and watch the shenanigans as time winds down.
Football players party hard, especially when given an excuse and in the off season. The liquor is flowing, testosterone is raging, and bills are raining. God, I can’t even begin to think how much money is in those girl’s G-strings.
“Dance, sugar?” a busty blonde offers me.
“I’m good.” I tip my beer bottle. “Just watching.”
“You sure? Maybe something a little more private is your speed?” she hisses in my ear.
“Nope, not my speed at all.” I lightly push her away. “I’m good right where I am.”
“Okay.” She puckers her hot pink lips. “But if you change your mind, come find me. I’m Star.”
“I’ll remember that.” Not. The only woman I’m interested in disappearing into a champagne room with is my fiancée.
I wonder if Laney would actually be up for that? I fantasize how killer she would look in a shiny G-string and nothing else. Under fluorescent lights giving me a lap dance.
Blood flows like a raging river to the head of my cock. Thank God I go home tomorrow.
I’m sure the last few weeks have been complete hell for Laney. I wasn’t easy to deal with. I’ve been withdrawn, depressed and moody, but she never let her frustration show. She was just supportive. She gave me my space and was there when I needed her. I’m a total fucking dick. I was taking for granted all the great things I have in my life. I lost a football game. Not my career, or a friend, or a loved one.
I’m pretty damn blessed, and I lost sight of that for a minute.
Things are coming back into focus now, and I owe Laney something big. Some jewelry, a vacation, maybe l’ll surprise her with a dream honeymoon. Tahiti is first on her wish list. Laney isn’t one for expensive gifts. She likes simple things, but a woman as amazing as her, a woman who puts up with loving me and deals with the craziness of my life, deserves to get spoiled once in a while. And I have no problem spoiling her rotten.
“Yo, Q!” Landon yells with two girls on his arm. The rookie is having a good ol’ time. “These ladies know a twenty-four-hour tattoo place! We’re gonna go get ink. You in?” He sways on his feet a bit.
“Um . . .”
“C’mon, Ellis, don’t be a pussy. Mark yourself already.” Rodney goads me by flexing his sleeved arm. “Don’t you want to look this good?”
I roll my eyes. “I look good, inked or not.”
“Bet Laney would like it.” Rodney hits me in my soft spot.
“Maybe,” I ponder, draining my beer.
“So, let’s go!” Landon howls, grabbing each of the girls’ ass cheeks. He’s on the road to a threesome, I call it right now.
We settle our tab while a few of the girls change before heading out of the club. It’s like three a.m., and the effects of the alcohol are still going strong. When we walk out the front door, we’re bombarded by camera flashes. Word must have gotten out about the pro football players partying it up. Shielding our faces and the girls from the paparazzi, we escape into the waiting limo.
Echoing laughs and giggles fill the stretch Lex as we pull away. One of the guy’s sitting next to me rolls down the window to give the paparazzi the peace sign. Such an instigator.
We’re packed in tight so the body heat index is high and the intoxication is brewing.
Rodney and Landon are completely captivated by their girls as we ride through town. Once we get to the shop, it looks like a clown car piling out. People just don’t stop coming.
Inside the large parlor, neon lights glow, the sound of needles buzz, and the low hum of drunk athletes fills the space. The walls are covered with miles and miles of colorful art. Templates to choose from or ideas to gain inspiration.
Some of this stuff is really detailed.
“So, what are you thinking, Q?” Telly slaps me on the back. “Some tribal? Football number? Zodiac sign?” He snaps. “Passing record?”
All commendable recommendations, but none I’m interested in at the moment.
“I have something else in mind.” I take a closer look at some text and smile.