Eight Years Ago

I was going to go early. At least, that’s what my agent had told me.

Mom, Dad and Dylan sit next to me, our table crowded into the arena that featured other top recruits from various colleges around the country. The place is alive with energy and anxiety, it’s floating through the air and you could reach out and grab some if you really wanted to try.

I can’t believe it’s finally here. Just a week ago, I was walking my college campus, swinging my dick around like I couldn’t be touched. Like I was invincible.

And I still am, but I can’t help that little fish in a big pond feeling that has overwhelmed me since the combine. Which, by the way, I set records in.

“Honey, I am so proud of you.” Mom wiped a tear from her eye, and squeezed my hand under the table.

“Mom, will you please stop crying?” Dylan texted on his phone, rolling his eyes at her.

“It’s all for you, Mom.” I smiled at her, half-serious and half to make my brother look like the bad child.

“Kiss ass,” Dylan mutters.

“Holy cow, that’s John Elway.” Dad was like a giddy school boy.

“Pretty fucking cool, right?” I joined in on his excitement, because it was surreal seeing so many of your idols in one room.

“Paxton, language!” Mom scolded me.

I tipped my head in apology, and then pulled at my shirt collar, the tie only making me sweat more than I already was. Some brand, I forget the name, had paid me a chunk of money just to wear their suit today. How insane was that? They paid me. That’s what this was going to be like, the next level in this sport. Sure, college football had brought pretty pussy and free drinks, some nice gear … but this was big time.

Being a professional football player meant advertisement deals and campaigns, the chance to design my own gear, or get into my own product line. I had no idea what that would be, but hell, I had the resources at my fingertips if I made good on my talent in the game.

“Son, I just want you to take a deep breath. If you don’t go first, nothing changes. It’s an honor just to be here.” Dad patted my shoulder.

My parents were the best, always grounding my brother and me and showing us the fair, modest way. I’d lost some of that, being away from them at school. Part of my conscience burned every time I pulled a dick move on campus or at a bar, or with a random girl in a random room.

But now that I was here with them, something had fallen back into place. I didn’t feel like answering my father with some snide remark, like I would have to one of my buddies in our fraternity house. I really wanted to listen to him, take his genuine advice and apply it. I wanted to let my mom boast about me, give me a gold star. I was like a damn preening kindergartner, and it might be a sissy thing to be, but right now I was just going to let it happen.

“Got it, Dad.” I nodded at him, serious.

It had been a long time since my family had all been together. I had a bowl game over Christmas break, so I wasn’t able to get home. Then Mom and Dad had flown out to me for my birthday in April, and Dylan had come to visit back in February. I know he went home for the holidays, but we hadn’t all been together as a four-unit family since … last year?

And suddenly I realized how hard it was going to be to get the four of us together when I was traveling and training every week. The league was a thousand times more demanding than college, and a pang of sadness hit me in the gut that I would be alone a majority of my life now.

The draft started, the music dramatic and kind of cheesy, but exactly what this kind of moment called for.

“Massachusetts is on the clock with the first draft pick in this first round,” the master of ceremonies announced into the microphone on stage.

It only took my favorite team, the one I was rooting for to take me, one minute and six seconds to solidify their pick.

And when the current running back of the team, the one I’d idolized for six seasons, came to the mic, bent down, and said my name, I could hardly believe it.

The room erupted around me, Mom jumped up and hugged my neck, crying into it, her tears wetting the lapel of my suit. Dad had the proudest look on his face that I’d ever seen, and even Dylan stood to bump my fist. And then told me to get him season tickets.

But as I stood up on that stage, shaking hands and holding up a jersey with my name on the back, I couldn’t help but look down at the crowd.

See the other players, squeezing their girlfriend’s hands.

Some of them had wives, children.

They were more focused on them than what pick they were or what city they’d uproot their lives to. Had people they were going to be able to come home to and share this journey with.

And for the first time in my life, I thought that maybe I’d made a mistake when it came to women. Typically, I’d one and done them. They were little more than a sexy, flirty distraction.

Except right now, I wanted to know what Demi Rosen thought about me going number one. I had this urge to lie in her bed with her, talking after we’d fucked each other’s brains out. There was this yearning in me, to know if she was watching and if she was happy. Not just for me, but in life. I’d left without so much as a wave or a nod, and now I kind of felt bad about that.

Standing up on the biggest stage of my life, and I was thinking about a woman.

And now it was probably too late to do anything about that.