More questions were thrown at me, some of which were on-the-field related where I was asked to draw a diagram of a strategically thought-out winning play.
The interview lasted about eighteen minutes and most of the questions—as brutal and thought-provoking as they were—rolled off me like water.
Until the last one.
“Given the nature of the sport, what if the prospect of receiving a diagnosis of CTE is deemed unavoidable?”
Jerk-off.
Of course, he asked that, probably all-too-familiar with my one and only concussion.
Life and everyone important to me flashed before my eyes—friends, family,Macy—along with thoughts that I would never want to put them through the pain of watching me suffer from a critical brain disease.
Coaches from five of my most influential teams—Dallas, New York, San Francisco, Atlanta, and New England—surveyed me, their expressionless faces taunting.
Stomach tightening, I internally prayed the only answer in me didn’t ruin my chance at getting drafted by one of the teams in the room. “While I tend not to get bogged down by uselesswhat-ifscenarios, the answer to your question is, simply put, I wouldn’t play the game.”
24
“On a scale of one to ten, this is bad.Realbad.” Sage squatted over the toilet as she aimed for the stick. “Ican’tbe prego.”
Three weeks after Lucas and AJ’s return from their trip to the NFL Combine, Sage sat in the bathroom, looking like her mixed-up cat named Pooch just died, admitting she and AJ had failed to use a condom the night he got back home.
“I mean,” she sobbed, “he did that blow on the clit magic, and next thing I knew, we were going at it on his living room floor, no condom, and the asshole claiming it felt too good to pull out.”
I rubbed her back, hoping to console the wave of emotions. “Well, that magical blow is known to set things on fire. When Lucas does that, it gets me every single time.”
Chloe hopped onto the bathroom counter, arms folded over her chest. “I sure wish someone would blow on my clit.”
Sage and I shot her a look and I bit my lip to quell any morsel of laughter.
“Well,” I began, “if you stop freaking out whenever it’s time to get down and dirty, maybe someone will blow onallof your sacred lady parts.”
Fact of the matter, Chloe was a closet virgin, too afraid a guy would run for the hills if he found out she’d never gone farther than second base. We’d try convincing her countless times, some guys would give their left nut to score a hot virgin.
“When is it supposed to change color?” Sage placed her test stick on the counter beside Chloe, then stepped over to the sink to wash her hands.
“Five minutes,” I said matter-of-factly.
Chloe and Sage narrowed their eyes at me suspiciously.
“What?” I scoffed. “Lucas and I had a week of uncertainty before Christmas. Since then, it’s been Condom City—most times—even though I’m on the pill.”
“Geez, Macy,” Chloe said. “What would you have done if your test ended up positive?”
Truth was, the thought of having a baby excited us both. We picked out names and were disappointed when we learned my cycle had just shifted. But with graduation around the corner, I wanted to focus on applying to magazines, get ready to launch my journalism career the way Lucas had started to launch his NFL career. Only two weeks before the draft, things were likely about to significantly change for him. I just hoped things wouldn’t change significantly between us. Playing with the big guys is a whole new level. Travel is more intense, as is the time at practice, not to mention the game is even rougher, the risk of injury tripled. And don’t get me started on all the women—beautiful women who throw themselves at rookies days after signing contracts. I wish I hadn’t read that most existing relationships suffer once college players go pro.
“It was exciting to imagine having his baby, and someday I’m sure we will have one,” I told them. “Now, let’s wait and see what this stick says before we start planning Sage and AJ’s shotgun wedding.”
Five minutes always seemed to slowly tick-tock by when clock-watching, and as soon as the timer went off, Sage and Chloe both reached for the test.
In what felt like slow motion, the strip flew out of one—maybe both—of their hands. My ears hurt listening to them squeal as the test soared into the air. Sage tried to catch it but failed miserably as it sailed, performing acrobatic twists and turns, until it finally landed facedown on the floor. Instead of reaching down to pick the test up, we all stood there gawking, jaws dropped, hands slapped to our faces like the kid in Home Alone.
Pooch trotted in, scooped the test into his mouth then dashed off, presumably for the cat door-flap thing that provided him an escape route outside.
“Fuck!” Sage yelped, charging after him. “Crazy cat’s gonna bury my kid-is-in-the-oven stick.”
“Wait,” Chloe said as we both ran after her. “You got to see how many lines it had before it fell?”
