Fumble Into the End Zone (Fumble #2)

1. It’s Draft Day

Chapter 1

It’s Draft Day

Marcus Allen

S tanding on the back porch, I tried to settle my nerves.

The USPN camera crew was setting up their equipment in my living room for a draft day special.

The cool air brushing my skin hasn’t calmed my stomach.

This was the second most important day of my life after the birth of my daughter.

“Marcus, baby, they need you,” a wise but comforting voice said.

I followed the source , finding the woman I owed my world to, my grandmother.

At 5’5 and carrying a cane, Eddy Allen was more dangerous than a 6’5 biker.

“Yes, ma’am,” I acknowledged.

I followed her inside the house that I helped custom build.

Running my fingertips against the cream paint, I smiled.

Unlike my counterparts, I used my NIL money and bought three properties.

I renovated the first house for my grandmother and my daughter, Harley.

During the off season, I spent my time cutting wood and painting.

I used the skills the late Mr.

Earl had taught me.

Whatever I couldn’t do myself, I subcontracted.

When the general contractor found out I knew my way around the construction site, he stopped bullshitting me.

Entering the living room behind my grandmother, I helped her to a seat, but she waved my hand away.

My support circle was small outside of my daughter and grandmother.

I had flown in my high school coach, Noah Sims, from Arkansas just for today.

He had never given up on me, even when I made liking me hard.

My college coach, Ray Pierce, had also agreed to share this moment with me.

He put me on the big stage in Ohio with a full ride scholarship and I made every play count.

The boosters were beating down his door with NIL deals by my sophomore year.

I lifted my arms as the camera crew circled me to put on mics for the live taping.

“He is ready. Let’s test it out,” the producer’s assistant said as she stood in front of me with a set of seductive brown eyes.

She scanned the length of my body twice before she stepped backward.

“Marcus, could you speak into the mic?” the guy behind me asked.

“Testing, testing, testing,” I said.

“He is good,” she said and then followed with a thumbs up.

The assistant scanned me again, opening the door for an offer, but I declined.

Don’t get me wrong, she had a nice figure, but I preferred my women to be at least a size eighteen.

The vibration of my phone stole my attention.

“Marcus,” I answered.

“This is your agent, Dean. I have good news for you. Teams were impressed with your pro day workout. I think we are going in the late first round.”

“Do you think we could pull the top ten?” I asked with my eyes on Harley sitting beside my grandmother.

“Anything is possible. The true test will be how fast Williams flies off the board. In comparison, your stats were similar.”

To provide for my family the way I wanted, I needed to be selected in the top ten.

My grandmother and Harley depended on me financially, and this sport was unpredictable.

One bad hit or turn, and your career could be over.

The salary cap for rookies in the Football League was the highest it’s ever been this year.

My eyes were on the guaranteed money.

“I’ll be in touch; make sure you answer the unknown calls. I know how you are, Marcus,” he said.

I managed to laugh at his statement.

He knew I didn’t answer calls from any unsaved numbers.

Walking over to the couch, I shimmied between my grandmother and Harley.

“Daddy, you’re too big,” she said before she moved over.

“Get your butt on the other couch,” my grandmother voiced her objection.

After I secured my spot, I stretched my arms over on the back of the couch.

My daughter covered her eyes with her small fingers before she giggled.

“I don’t know what I’m gon’ do with you,” Eddy Allen said.

Opting to have my draft day at home with my grandmother, my daughter, and coaches was the best decision.

My stomach churned as we all watched Rick Marrows, the commissioner of the Football League, walk on the blue covered stage.

The white spotlights brought drama to the platform.

“Daddy, are you nervous?” Harley asked before she crawled into my lap.

I kissed her cheek and tickled her stomach before I answered, “Yes, I’m nervous.”

“Daddy, you have to have faith. And plus, you’re the best football player in the world,” she said.

Harley gave me a proud smile, with one missing top tooth and two ponytails reaching beyond her ears.

She was the best part of me.

Becoming a single father at sixteen shaped me into the man I am today.

I still can’t understand how her mother stared into her brown eyes and signed over the rights to me.

“You tell ‘em,” Eddy said as she smacked my leg.

Looking into her gently aged brown eyes, wrinkled skin, and poised demeanor, I set my nerves aside. Eddy Allen, along with my grandfather, Earl Allen, had saved my and Harley’s lives. They raised me, and I had thought for sure when I brought Harley home, they would kick me out. Earl sat me down and we made a deal. I returned to school in exchange for their help with my daughter.

“With the second pick in the Football League draft, Miami has selected David Moose, the quarterback from California University,” Commissioner Rick Marrows said, and the crowd went wild with excitement.

I sat on my suede couch, expecting the first top five picks to be quarterbacks.

Compared to the other five wide receivers, I put up impressive numbers in Ohio, but Brown, Stone, and Williams all put up record college stats this season.

My agent predicted I should go in the first round, but likely not until the seventh pick to Carolina.

We had a good workout, and they needed another wide receiver opposite of Johnathan Casey.

If they fell through, I could go to Washington.

“Arizona has traded the third pick. The Houston Armadillos, you’re on the clock,” Commissioner Rick said into the mic.

My phone vibrated with an unknown number and my heart raced.

“Hello,” I said.

“Marcus Allen, this is Coach Owens with the Armadillos. Welcome to the family. We are excited to have someone of your talent on our team. I have this gut feeling you and Bryce Prescott are going to make magic. You are special. This came from the top. They couldn’t pass you up and jumped back in the first round. I’m fired up, dammit!” he screamed the last part into the phone.

“Coach, I’m ready to put in the work,” I assured him.

“We will see you soon,” he said.

Hanging up the phone, my heart beat tripled.

I gave the room a nod before my eyes watered.

“Yaaayyyyyy! Hell yeah!” my coaches yelled in unison.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, the third pick of the draft.

My grandmother and Harley both wrapped their arms around me.

“See, Daddy, I told you: faith,” Harley’s soft voice said.

“With the third pick in the Football League draft, Houston has selected Marcus Allen, a wide receiver from Ohio,” the commissioner said.

The stage colors changed to red and black as I snuck in a peek of the TV.

“Jerry, I can’t believe this. Houston traded back into the first round after giving up their first-round pick for the corner Gables last year. The Armadillos have put everyone on notice by selecting another weapon for Bryce Prescott. Doug Jordan has made some power moves these past two seasons. He is putting his team in the position to win the Elite Bowl,” McConnell said into the mic.

After my two favorite ladies released me, I leaned back, resting my head on the couch as the tears flowed.

I told you I got them, old man .

My mind replayed the promise I made to my grandfather before he passed.

“McConnell, Bryce Prescott is one happy quarterback tonight. Marcus Allen and Vick Landry on the field are going to upset defenses. It allows him to spread the ball around the field with that monster arm of his. Marcus is fast, versatile, and strong. He has run through some defenses. I’m saying it right now. I believe Houston will be Elite Bowl champions this year,” the announcer said.

“Jerry, you are going too far. Contender is as far as it goes,” his counterpart said.

“Marcus Allen turned the entire offense around for Ohio. This is major for the Armadillos, and we know the talent Bryce Prescott brings. Houston, get ready for the parade.”

A small, soft hand swiped away one of my tears.

I opened my eyes and found two long ponytails and a set of small eyes staring at me.

“Daddy, do we have to move?” Harley asked.

“Yes,” I said, and she frowned.

Ohio had been her home for the last four years.

I called my daughter the collector of kids.

She had friends everywhere, but she didn’t trust adults.

Often, I called her my compass.

If she didn’t connect with you, something was wrong with your spirit.

I sat up and pinched her jaw to encourage a smile.

“We’re moving to Texas. No more winters for you,” I said, but she lowered her eyes.

“Daddy, what if I can’t make any friends?” she asked.

I took her small hands into mine.

“Didn’t you just tell me to have some faith?”

Staring at my daughter, I lifted one brow, and a smile spread across her face.

She loved my funny facial expression.

Moments later, my phone rang.

My agent couldn’t contain himself on the other end.

We both knew the contract was going to be higher than we expected.

After we hung up, I received another unknown caller.

“Marcus,” I answered

“This is Bryce. Welcome to the team. I need you on the East Coast by Friday. I got your housing and everything you need covered,” he said.

It was odd for the quarterback to call you before rookie minicamp, but it was a win-win for me.

I needed to prove myself to the veterans to secure the wide receiver two position.

Any advantage he offered, I’d take.

“You’re the commander in chief. Let me get my daughter and grandmother settled and I’m on the next thing with wings.”

“See you in a few days,” he said.

I found my grandmother smiling with pride after I hung up the phone.

The expression on her face was lighter than before, as if she had shed an invisible weight.

I leaned over to her, and we touched our foreheads.

“Your grandfather would be proud,” she said.

“Daddy, do I have to go to bed? We should be celebrating,” my daughter said after she yawned.

I stood next to her as she wrapped her hair.

Granny had Harley trained to be in bed by eight.

Staying up for her meant she was out by nine.

“We can still celebrate when you wake up in the morning. Let’s say our prayers.”

She gave me sad eyes before we both kneeled by her bed, with our elbows pinned down on the mattress.

I bumped into her, and she giggled.

It was her turn to lead the prayer.

“Dear God, we thank you for Daddy getting a drafted football job. We thank you for healing Grandma’s arthritis in her knee. God, give me the strength to make new friends in Texas. When we get to Texas, bring Daddy a wife and me a mother. Watch over us through the night and keep us safe and protect us from that ole devil. Amen,” she said.

“Amen,” I voiced and shook my head.

My grandmother had turned my daughter into a sixty-year-old woman in a seven-year-old body.

I often reminded her it was okay to be a kid, and that kids didn’t say yonder .

I tucked her in and kissed her forehead.

“Do you have our bedtime story?” I asked, and she twisted her face.

“No, I still need a little more time.”

I smiled.

“Okay, but it’s been two days. The quarterback and the princess are waiting on the line of scrimmage,” I reminded.

Growing up poor in the country as a single father, I couldn’t always afford books.

Once she grew out of the baby and princess stories, we created our own.

They were wild and ridiculous, but it was something we did together.

We alternated nights.

Wherever I left off, she picked up and expanded.

Harley covered her eyes again.

Something my grandfather taught her to do when she was embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Daddy. I’m coming up with a good play. Goodnight.”

I chuckled as I reached over and turned off the pink lamp.

Walking down the hall, I listened to my coaches talking to the camera crew for b roll.

USPN pitched an idea for the behind-the-scenes footage of draft day.

Harley volunteered to go first, answering questions, and the camera loved my daughter.

They gathered a few shots of us together before moving to my grandmother.

“And it’s a wrap. Thank you for allowing us into your home. We may call you in for more. Our home base is Houston, Texas. Let’s go, Armadillos,” the producer, Steve, said.

His assistant gave me those eyes again, but I ignored her and turned my focus on my coaches.

“Congratulations, I knew you were a star and a stand-up guy. Giving up the streets was worth it, Marcus. And listen, you stay away from Arkansas. Those knuckleheads are still hanging in Breckenridge apartments, doing nothing. You have a target on your back with this contract,” my coach, Noah Sims, said.

We shook hands and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew he was telling the truth.

I couldn’t go back to Jonesboro and hang with my old friends.

Many of them were serving jail time or would take any opportunity to get ahead.

Since becoming a father and taking football seriously, my outlook on life changed.

I had people to live for and support.

“You better preach it,” my grandmother co-signed from the couch with her cane resting beside her leg.

“Coach, I have too much to lose to go back,” I said.

He patted me on the shoulder before kissing my grandmother’s cheek.

Coach Sims had made my grandparents a promise to guide me, which meant to keep me out of trouble.

Despite the years that had passed, he kept his word.

Every week, he was at my dinner table for Mrs.

Eddy’s cornbread, giving updates.

“Marcus, if anyone deserves this, it’s you,” Ray Pierce said as we shook hands.

“Thank you, Coach, for everything you did for me and my family,” I said.

“You earned it. Listen to your high school coach. Remember, nothing will be given to you. You’re entering an arena full of grown men with exceptional talent. Don’t ever compare yourself; work hard and show them who you are,” he said.

We exchanged respect with a glare and a handshake.

“All right, I’m headed to bed. You know old folks go to bed early,” my grandmother said.

Every man in the room ran to her side, and she chuckled, “I love a man with manners. Thank you, gentlemen, but Marcus will assist me.”

My former coaches withdrew their hands as my grandmother reached for mine.

“I still got it,” she said, and my mouth parted.

Both coaches burst into hard laughter as she made her way down the hall to her room.

I walked my coaches to the door with promises of staying on the straight path.

Sitting on the couch, I was finally able to go through my text messages.

Angela

Congratulations.

With you being in the League now, I would make a great mother to little Haley.

“Ha,” I said out loud before I blocked her number.

She should learn Harley’s name.

Angela gave the best head in Ohio, but she wasn’t wife material.

She grew frustrated with me last semester because I wouldn’t make our connection public.

Our best conversations included her lowering herself to her knees.

We were not in a relationship.

Before she knew about my daughter, she hadn’t wanted any children.

Funny how her attitude shifted.

As I pushed through the messages, my mood transitioned from amusement to instant regret.

Unknown Number

Congratulations.

This is Mom, if you’re wondering.

Your brothers are excited to have an older brother in the Football League.

I closed out the message thread and bit down hard on my lip.

The audacity of this woman, reaching out to me after what she did, calling herself a mother.

I scrolled to the block button and found myself facing the same struggle.

A part of me wanted to block her, but another force resting within me hesitated.

But why?