Page 31 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

I spent years moving however the fuck I wanted, without thinking twice about anyone. Now, all it took was Sianni leaving the house for a couple of hours, and this big-ass house felt too damn quiet.

“So, what time y’all leaving?” I asked, changing the subject.

“It’ll probably be in a few. His flight got pushed back.”

“Bet.”

“Yeah, but let me go check on these animals first, then I’ll slide through and grab you.”

“Aight, bruh.”

Marvin had finally gone through with buying a small farm out here in Florida. He'd been talking about expanding for a minute, and after spending so much time down here, he figured there was no point in putting it off any longer.

I tossed the phone onto the cushion beside me and grabbed the remote. ESPN was replaying last season’s highlights. The second my name flashed across the screen, I sucked my teeth and changed the channel. I wasn’t trying to watch what I used to do, but I was trying to get back.

I pushed off the couch and headed into the gym. Wrapping my hand around the dumbbell, I started to lift, but a sharp pain ripped through my shoulder.

“Shit.”

I eased the weight back onto the rack and rolled my shoulder, my jaw tightening. This shit was getting old. Every morning, I woke up ready to prove I was back, but every morning, my body had a different answer.

Football wasn’t the only thing riding on this comeback anymore. I had a wife waiting for me and a baby growing inside her.

Sitting around feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to feed my family, and it damn sure wasn’t going to get me back under those stadium lights. The only option I had was to keep putting in the work until my body caught up with my mind.

I reached for another weight, but movement on the camera caught my attention. Marvin’s truck had rolled into the driveway. I let out a slow breath before straightening up and heading for the front door.

I pulled it open, and Marvin stood there in a cowboy hat, a plaid button-down shirt tucked into his jeans, a leather belt with a big buckle, and cowboy boots. A pair of sunglasses hung from his shirt, and sweat clung to his forehead.

“Damn.” He looked me up and down. “Yo’ ass moving a little better.”

“A little.”

He stepped inside, and I shut the door behind him.

“Shoulder still giving you hell?”

I rolled it once before shrugging.

“It’ll get there.”

“Bruh, you do know you don’t have to do this right? You don’t have shit to prove.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“Who said anything about proving a point?”

Marvin looked at me like I had lost my damn mind.

“Nigga, I know you.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

“You got that look.”

“What look?”

“That same look like you ’bout to do some devilish shit when we find this nigga.”