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The ball was hiked, and I shot away like a bullet from a gun. The cornerback was slow to pick me up because he thought I was running a curl route, which gave me just enough separation. My legs pumped and my cleats dug into the turf. At the precise moment, I looked over my right shoulder. The ball was already in the air, soaring toward me. Or rather, soaring toward where I would be in five more steps. Time seemed to slow down as I made those steps, extending my arms and catching the ball perfectly.
My first reception in--
The Chiefs safety slammed into me from the right, knocking me to the ground. The air rushed out of my lungs, but I managed to hold onto the ball. The safety who had tackled me put his helmet close to mine and sneered. “Welcome to the big leagues,” he growled.
A teammate was there reaching for my hand, pulling me up. It was Brody. “Piece of advice, kid? Don’t get hit.”
I made myself grin. “Oh, is that all there is to it?”
Brody roared with laughter as we jogged back to the huddle. The ball that was used on the play was tossed to a referee, who ran over and handed it to one of our coaches on the sideline. Keeping it for me since it was my first reception in the NFL.
Hopefully the first of many.
I got four more receptions during the game, which I considered plenty for my first outing. The game was never in doubt, and we won by twenty-five points.
Steve helped me answer questions in the media room, keeping his arm around me like a protective older brother. “Come on now, Rudy. That question isn’t fair at all!” he replied to one reporter. “It’s the kid’s first game. Give him some soft ball questions.”
Back in the locker room, Dominic DeMarco walked past my locker. “Nice game,rookie,” he muttered, emphasizing the title like it was a curse. I beamed at his back as he walked away.
I’ll take it.
“We’re getting drinks together, if you want to join us,” Dallas told me after I had showered.
“Thanks, but I kind of have plans.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Hot date already?”
I laughed it off and replied, “No, my family is in town. They fly home tomorrow, and I promised to get dinner with them. I’ll come out after our next game.”
Dallas pointed at me and said, “You’d better. I’m holding you to that.”
I walked out to my car, stopping to sign autographs for a few minutes from the fans that had stuck around this late. The car ride back to my place felt extra quiet after all the chaos from the past few hours.I’m in the NFL now, I reminded myself.I’m not going to have many quiet moments anymore.
I had an apartment on the north side of town, in a swanky neighborhood where a lot of young adults lived. It was the first place I had ever lived by myself. I wasn’t sharing it with my three sisters, or my college roommates. Just me and a three bedroom apartment, big enough that I could have friends stay with me when they came to visit. And after moving here in June, it was finally starting to feel like home. Even the assigned spot in the parking garage.
It was quiet as I got out of my car and made the walk to the elevator. Most of the spots were full; it was pushing ten o’clock on a Thursday. I knew my sister, Theresa, would complain about eating so late—she was always on some weird fitness diet. I just hoped they hadn’t been waitingtoolong. I had warned them I wouldn’t be home until ten, at the earliest.
I was so preoccupied thinking about my sisters that I never saw the man waiting for me between two cars.
I saw a blur to my left, and then I was being shoved up against the parking garage wall. Cement scraped against my cheek as he pushed on the back of my head, and used his other hand to twist my arm behind my back.
“Let’s see you play now,fucker,” he growled into my ear. And then he twisted my arm even more.
I had only a fraction of a second to realize what was happening. The tension in my elbow was rapidly climbing. My arm would snap at any moment. I saw my entire career flash before my eyes, arm slings and rehabilitation and injury reserve.
“No!” I shouted, throwing all of my body weight back against him. The pressure relented on my arm long enough for me to break free from his grip and twist around. My assailant stumbled backward, and I finally got a good look at him. He wore a hoodie up, veiling his face in darkness along with a cloth mask that left only his eyes uncovered.
Something flashed in his fist. A knife. “You’re going to regret…” he said.
Just then, footsteps echoed through the parking garage. Two men were running in my direction, shouting. My attacker glanced at them, then took off at a dead sprint in the other direction. Within seconds, he was gone.
“Are you okay?” one of the guys asked. “We saw the knife.”
“Hello, police?” the other was saying into his cell phone. “We’re in the parking garage at the Obsidian Apartments. A man was just robbed at knifepoint.”
No,I thought, staring in the direction the attacker had run.He didn’t try to rob me. It was much worse than that.
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