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Kendall
We were playingwith house money.
After the hiccup in Tennessee, my squad and I had thankfully been able to pull off back-to-back wins, the second of which officially securing us a spot in the postseason. And now we were on a mission to turn two wins into three, with today’s matchup in Miami being the one that would determine if we had to play next week or if we got a first-round bye which would allow us a little extra time to prepare ourselves.
Either way, we were going to the playoffs. And it was for that reason that I didn’t feel as much pressure going into the final game of the regular season, smiling even as I worked my way through my usual pregame warmup drills. And when I saw Shakira’s fine ass standing on the sidelines in some little denim shorts, a cropped version of my jersey, and my KD2 chain, I don’t think my smile could’ve gotten any wider as I abandoned my coach so that I could jog her way and tease, “Ay, Lil’ Mama. What yo’ name is?”
“Ki-ki,” she sang while chewing her gum in an exaggerated fashion, making me chuckle as I pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss near her ear. Then I moved to dish out quick half-hugs to Gianna, Zara, and Penelope who were all attending the game with her before I made my way back to my girl and said, “I’m so damn happy you’re here.”
It wasn’t often that she was even able to attend my away games due to her already crazy travel schedule for work. But this weekend, it had worked out that the parties Ms. Iris had booked her niece to make appearances at were both in Miami, making it a lot easier for Shakira to pull up to the Sunday afternoon game that she genuinely seemed excited about when she grinned and teased, “Well I sure hope you play like it too, cause I don’t wanna have to fight anybody in the stands if they start talkin’ shit about you.”
“Which is exactly why I keep your ass safe and sound in a luxury suite at the stadium back home,” I replied with a chuckle, knowing good and well just how hostile both the home and away fans could get.
But apparently, dealing with the crowd was a part of the experience for Shakira, who insisted, “Well today, I wanted to be closer to the action so that when you score a touchdown, I can high five all of your adoring fans and obnoxiously yell,“That’s my man!””
“I better hear you when I do too,” I told her with a grin, Shakira smirking right back as she assured me, “You will.” Then she licked her lips to add, “If anybody knows just how loud I can get, it’s you.”
She was right.
Ididknow how loud she could get.
And it was my reasons for knowing that that had me adjusting my dick as I groaned, “There ain’t nearly enough room in these tight ass football pants for you to be talkin’ like that, Shake.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” she teased with a shrug that had me shaking my head as I looked towards the jumbotron to check the clock. And after seeing there wasn’t a lot of time left before I needed to be making my way into the locker room to get fully dressed, I pulled Shakira in for another hug, the moment feeling like something that needed to be captured which was why I asked, “Ay, Gianna. Can you get a picture of us right quick?”
“Of course,” she responded, taking Shakira’s phone and then using it to snap a few photos of the two of us in different hugged-up poses. But it was the little kiss I gave Shakira when I thought we were finished that had Gianna singing, “Y’all aretoocute,” before she turned the phone our way to show us the final picture she had taken, the sight of it making me chuckle as I joked, “I see Donatello ain’t the only one in the family who’s good at getting candids.”
“Who do you think he learned it from?” Gianna asked, the proud smile on her face giving an answer to the rhetorical question as all of my teammates began to head towards the tunnel. And figuring I needed to be doing the same, Shakira said, “See you after the game?”
“Nah, I’ll see you during. When I get that touchdown you talked about,” I answered, the mention making her grin as she extended her hand my way. And after completing the overly complicated handshake she’d insisted we’d come up with halfway through the season, I told her, “Love you, Shaky.”
“Love you more, Snoopy,” she replied, pressing a quick kiss against my lips before sending me on my way. And once I stepped into the locker room, I was fully dialed in, ready to make a statement that my squad and I were not only ready for the upcoming playoffs.
We were ready to take this shit all the way to the Super Bowl.
The first quarter was a perfect example of how we planned on coming in the postseason, the three touchdowns we scored within the first ten minutes of the game setting the tone that we were not fucking around. But it was the touchdown that I personally scored at the beginning of the second quarter that felt the most special, a quarterback sneak where I chose to forego my usual end zone celebration after I heard Shakira yell, “That’s my man!”
Quickly finding her in the stands, I ran directly over to where she and her friends were seated in the front row so that I could toss Shakira the ball. And the way she screamed in response to catching it and then started shaking it over her head made it hard for me not to laugh as I started jogging back towards the sideline to celebrate with my team, Hunter patting me on my helmet before he threw his arm around my shoulder and said, “I can’t even lie, Snoop. That was some real player shit you just did right there.”
“I’ll make sure to get you the next one so you can give it to Zara,” I joked once we got to the bench, the name drop causing Hunter to choke a little bit on the sip of water he’d just taken. And even though his reaction made it clear that I might’ve been blowing up his spot, now seemed like as good of a time as ever to mention, “Yeah, I saw y’all two gettin’ cozy at my birthday party a few weeks ago.”
To me, they seemed like a pretty good match, so I was honestly happy for my boy. But apparently, my happiness was a little premature considering how hard Hunter was frowning when he responded, “Well, what you saw that night was all there will ever be between Zara and me. Cause whenever that nigga Hawk was in the same room as us, it was like I didn’t even exist to her ass.”
“Damn,” I chuckled. “You really sound kinda hurt about that shit.”
“Shit, I was lowkey,” Hunter admitted. “You know a nigga ego ain’t built for them kinda blows.”
Only because I could tell he was deadass serious did I not laugh in his face, instead going the optimistic route when I responded, “Well, maybe she’ll come back around once she realizes Hawk ain’t checkin’ for nobody but his wife-to-be.”
“Nah, fuck that,” Hunter groaned, taking a stand when he said, “I know my worth.” And this time, I didn’t even try to hold in my laugh as I left him on the bench so that I could link up with one of the coaches to watch the film from our last possession, the footage allowing me to see a few things that I needed to be more aware of when it was time for me to hit the field again.
Like the way Hunter was being defended, for example.
From the pocket, it wasn’t always easy to tell exactly how Miami was choosing to cover him since they were switching it up on damn near every play. But on film, even with the variety of defensive schemes they were throwing our way, the holes in their coverage were glaringly obvious, making it easy for me to expose them on our next possession by having Hunter run a slant route that had him so wide open that I probably could’ve made the pass with my eyes closed.
I kept them open, though, just in case Miami’s defense pulled off some crazy shit at the last second. But once Hunter successfully secured the catch, I was already thinking about the next play as I watched him do what he did best in gaining extra yardage before he was tackled to the ground…and then screamed bloody murder.
Immediately, I sprinted over to where he was laid out on the field writhing in pain, the way he was holding his left knee telling me that that must’ve been the source of his discomfort. And after our team’s medical staff ran out to assess the severity of the injury, Hunter let out another scream, this one sounding much louder than the first and hitting me square in my chest since it was obvious whatever he was dealing with must’ve been pretty serious.
Fuck.
In the moment, it was less about figuring out exactly what was wrong with his leg and more about stabilizing the injured area so that they could get him off the field. And it was a welcomed sight when Hunter was eventually able to stand up, earning a sympathy clap from the stadium as he limped off towards the sideline with the help of Gerald and Hawk who carried him directly to the medical tent for further assessment.
No lie, that shit had me shook.
And I wasn’t the only one, my teammates on both sides of the ball noticeably going through the motions with a little more caution for the rest of the game in order to avoid being the next player who went down. But thankfully, even with the blow of losing Hunter, we were still able to get an easy win, the victory giving us the first-round bye that was not only a major advantage for my team since it meant one less game we’d have to compete in on the road to the Super Bowl, but it also had the potential to be the difference between Hunter being able to play in the playoffs or not.
Of course, we still had to wait for his official diagnosis that more than likely wouldn’t come until tomorrow or the next day. But having an extra week of rest and recovery time between today’s game and our next one was damn near like giving Hunter the opportunity to grow a new leg. And since he seemed to be in good spirits as he did his usual celebrating in the locker room after the game, I wasn’t too concerned about it, happy to embrace the moment that had me one step closer to finally getting redemption.
