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Kendall
The newsof Hunter likely being out for the rest of the season had fucked up my entire morning.
It wasn’t all the way official yet since he still needed to get a second, outside opinion to confirm that his left ACL was done for. But our team doctors were pretty certain that Hunter wouldn’t be playing again this year -let alone next week- their prognosis sending my brain into overdrive as I tried to figure out how the hell I was supposed to pull this shit off without him.
Of course, within the organization, we had a “next man up” mentality, which was why I stayed at Monday’s practice a little later than usual so that I could get in some extra reps with the rookie wide receiver who would probably be starting in Hunter’s place next week. But even though he was as solid as they came, it still didn’t feel anything like the connection I had with my brother, the time Hunter and I had put in together over the last year creating a chemistry that was not just unmatched.
The shit had becomeunstoppable.
Now though, we were being stopped by factors beyond our control. And for that reason, I was in a shitty ass mood as I made the drive home in complete silence with plans of staying that way for at least another few hours until I pulled up to my crib and saw Shakira’s Benz sitting in my driveway.
“Fine ass must’ve sensed I was stressin’ and knew I needed her to come make me feel better like always,”I thought, grinning to myself for the first time all day as I hopped out of my truck so that I could rush inside to see my girl. But when I got into the house and noticed that none of the lights had been turned on, I instantly became confused, cautious even as I made my way towards the living room where I found Shakira sitting cross-legged on my couch staring directly at the television that wasn’t even powered on.
Yeah, something isdefinitelywrong.
At first, I didn’t say anything, just observed her from behind as she sat still as a statue staring off into space. But eventually, she was the one to acknowledge me when,without turning back my way, she said, “I would’ve opened the blinds or something, but I honestly felt too sick to move.”
From the extra rasp in her voice, I could tell she’d been crying, putting me on even higher alert as I finally moved to sit next to her. And when I noticed just how puffy her eyes were, I immediately began to think the worst, the random specks of what looked like blood on the t-shirt she was wearing honestly making me afraid to ask, “Shakira, what’s going on?”
My question alone was enough to draw fresh tears that had Shakira’s shoulders bouncing as she bawled into her hands, the sight of her in so much distress literally making my heart ache as I pulled her into my chest where she started crying even harder. But eventually, she was able to calm down enough to give an answer, still sniffling when she said, “You were right to have your concerns about my dad and his gambling shit. He’s in way too deep.”
The mention of her father was enough to raise my eyebrows as a number of questions began to circulate in my head. But before I could ask her a single one, Shakira sat up straight and told it all.
From the strange, initial visit by the same Kellyn woman I remembered being brought up during the dinner we’d had with her pops and Auntie Iris back in November.
To the eerie phone call she and her father had shared the night of my surprise party and the real reason why he’d left early to go back to Las Vegas.
And finally, the crazy scene she’d come home to today, that part giving an explanation for what was now confirmed as blood on her shirt when she finished with, “And then he had the nerve to ask me to convince you to throw a game for him likethatwas somehow a viable solution to all of this mess. Which was why I ended up coming here because,even though I didn’t really wanna involve you, I knew I couldn’t justnottell you this shit.”
For as alarming as it was to hear that her pops had suggested the exact thing I’d been afraid of when it came to being associated with him, it was equally bothersome that Shakira didn’t feel like she could come to me until the situation was so dire that she had no choice, that aspect making me frown when I asked, “Why didn’t you wanna tell me?”
With a shrug, she answered, “I mean, you’ve always just had this certain energy towards my dad and what he did, so why would I even expect you to really give a fuck about any of this?”
“Because I give more than just a fuck aboutyou,” I told her. “And I know what it’s like to feel helpless when a parent is going through somethin’ serious like this.”
Once the words left my lips, Shakira’s face softened as if her concerns had suddenly shifted from her father’s situation to me. And even though I absolutely hated talking about this shit, this was one of very few moments in which I felt the need to be completely vulnerable when I shared, “My dad spent the last few years of his life addicted to prescription pain pills. He’d pop that shit like it was candy, and wejust… acted like it was normal. But it wasn’t. We all knew it wasn’t.”
Even though I was just a teenager at the time, looking back on how poorly I’d handled my father’s disease made it hard for me not to tear up as I continued, “I guess we just couldn’t bring ourselves to say anything since it wasn’t like he wasn’t showing up for us, or like he wasn’t handling his business. But when you medicate yourself the way that he was, your tolerance changes to the point that it starts taking so fuckin’ much to get to where you’re tryna go. And one day, hejust… took it too far.”
The lump of emotion that immediately grew in my throat at the memory of what was labeled an accidental overdose made it painful for me to swallow. And once I felt Shakira’s gentle hand against my back, I didn’t even try to stop the tears that streamed down my face the second she said, “Kendall, I’m so sorry.”
Usually, I didn’t like the sympathy. And maybe that was because I rarely ever shared the full truth about my father’s death with anyone, making none of that shit even feel real to me. But it lowkey felt freeing to be able to tell Shakira, “I’ve always believed he was dealing with symptoms of CTE from all the head trauma he suffered during his playing days and was just trying to numb the pain and confusion of that. But my mom didn’t wanna get his brain studied after he passed. Said he was bothered enough on Earth and deserved to rest in peace.”
At the time, I didn’t agree with her decision since it meant never getting an answer beyond the drugs killing him. But now that I was a little older, I understood her reasons a lot better.
And I understoodaddictiona lot better, which was why I told Shakira, “Just getting your dad the money won’t solve his gambling problem. He needs to get some real help.”
“But getting the money might be the only thing that will keep him alive long enough togetthehelp,” Shakira responded, the distressed look that immediately returned to her face making me want to do anything I could to relieve it.
So instead of bullshitting around the most obvious solution of just giving him some of the cash myself, I asked, “How much did he say he owed?”
“He didn’t,” Shakira answered. “All he said was that what I had in the bank wouldn’t be enough, but that you throwing a game could win him the amount he needed in order to get Kellyn her money and then wash his hands clean of the situation.”
Even though I was sure Stewart had said what he said out of pure desperation, hearing that “throw a game” shit for the second time was still unsettling. But after giving it a little thought, I realized there might actually be a way for me to get Shakira’s pops the payday that he needed without putting my entire career in jeopardy, the idea making me sit up a little straighter when I suggested, “What if I didn’t actually have to throw anything?”
The curious look Shakira responded with prompted me to give her what was technically still inside information when I shared, “Hunter is hurt a lot worse than what we initially thought. The team doctors are saying it’s his ACL and that he’ll probably need season-ending surgery, but they're waiting to get a second opinion before they make an official announcement.”
“God, that’s terrible,” Shakira sighed. “But what exactly does Hunter’s fucked up knee have to do with my dad’s situation?”
“Well, when the bookmakers out in Vegas or wherever find out that our star wide receiver isn’t playing next week, they’ll more than likely make us the underdogs just based on that alone. And with the odds against us, your pops betting everything he has on my team to win means he could hit big.”
Of course, the actual winning part would be easier said than done, especially without the on-field weapon I relied on most in Hunter. And for that reason, I couldn’t even be mad at Shakira for having some concerns when she expressed, “Kendall, the playoffs are already high pressure, high stakes enough as is. And now you seriously wanna add this on top of it?”
She wasn’t wrong.
Therewasa lot of pressure going into the playoffs. And all of the games moving forward being win or go home situations meant the stakes were higher than ever. But at this point, whatever was going to happen was already written, the whole thing being bigger than me making it easy for me to tell Shakira, “It's worth it if it means potentially saving your dad’s life.”
I might not have been able to help my own dad out in all the ways that I wished I would have, but Ididhave the power to at least try to assist in hers not also falling victim to the consequences of his addiction. And whether he even knew he had a problem yet or not, I could only hope this situation would be the wake-up call Stewart needed to actually seek help, that aspect being completely out of my control making putting it all on the line for him like this my biggest gamble yet.
