Prologue 2
Stephen
I’ve kept tonight pretty low-key; people wanted me to make a big deal of it, have the whole team over and make it a party.
But I’m too nervous for that. I know not everything rests on tonight, but it’s still a big fucking deal.
And if it doesn’t happen now, I’ll have even more up-and-coming talent to contend with next year.
No, this needs to happen tonight. The NFL Draft.
This is the moment I’ve been building towards my entire life, ever since the first time I held a football.
I can still remember the feel of the leather.
I say held, it didn’t exactly fit in my hands, way too massive to hold as a kid, but once I started playing, I knew that was it, this is what I want to do with my life.
We’re at my parents’ house, the three of us and Coach Jenkins.
They’ve all been there for me every step of the way.
Coach even came with me to the Scouting Combine; even though my dad went through it all himself when he was pro, it’s hard for him not to get emotionally involved.
Coach can stay grounded, realistic, and thanks to him, I came out on top for my position.
That’s when the hype started to build. The results of the combine are used to make player predictions, and for teams to start picking their next year’s players.
Suddenly everyone was talking about me, Stephen Choi, Wide Receiver.
I’d gotten some attention as a college football player, but this was next level.
Technically I shouldn’t have even been in the combine, but I’d been invited a year early after a team showed some interest in me. The Tynerston Warriors. When I say they’re the dream, I’m not exaggerating. Back-to-back two-time Super Bowl champions, all eyes are on them right now, and they want me.
Fuck, it still doesn’t feel real—it won’t until it’s been announced. Yes, we’ve been negotiating for months, discussing terms and contracts, how this will work with school, but it won’t be official, won’t be real, until they call. Tonight, during the live stream of the draft.
I was invited to be there in person, a lot of players choose to, waiting backstage with their families, before striding out onto the stage with the jersey for their new team. A part of me wishes I could have done that, but with how I’m feeling right now, it would have been a terrible idea.
My heart is in my throat, I feel like I could throw up, and I keep forgetting to breathe.
My parents and Coach Jenkins are leaving me be, knowing how I prefer to be alone when I get this anxious.
I know other people are trying to help, but when you can’t breathe, and someone is telling you to ‘just breathe’ it stresses me even more.
Instead, I whisper run plays to myself… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash… even number… right… dash right… pink ten… omaha double switch… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number…
Repetitiveness calms me down, makes me feel like I do on the field, in control, prepared, ready.
Staying at home was definitely the right decision, there was no way I could have done this in a room full of strangers.
There was a lot of push back from the NFL about me declining the ‘fam cam’ too, but honestly, any publicity would be too much, and the thought of cameras in my face right now makes my heart squeeze that little bit tighter.
I just want to play football. Hearing the statistics about the number of Asian players in the NFL, not helpful.
People are already talking about me being a role model, but I haven’t even done anything yet, there’s nothing to model.
It’s just more pressure on my shoulders, on top of what’s already been mounting since people found out who my dad is.
Nathan Williams, one of the greatest linebackers of his generation. It took a while for people to put two and two together, we look nothing alike, him being white and all, and obviously we have different last names, but once the connection was made, the comparisons started to get thrown around.
He’s never pressured me; initially he wasn’t even excited about me wanting a pro-football career, knowing the pressure I’d be under to keep certain parts of myself private, not to mention the physical toll it takes on your body. But what can I say, I love football.
My phone buzzes on the table in front of me.
“Everybody quiet!” Mom shouts, even though there are only four of us here.
“Hello,” I answer, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Stephen Choi?”
“Uh… Yes.”
“Hi Stephen, it’s Rick Winters, owner of the Tynerston Warriors.”
“Hello, Sir.” My heart is pounding, thumping in my ears.
“I think you know why I’m calling, but I’m guessing you need to hear me say it?” he says.
“Yes, Sir, it won’t be real until you do.”
“How would you like to be a wide receiver for the Tynerston Warriors?”
Tears well up in my eyes, another reason not to have the ‘fam cam’ here.
“Nothing would make me happier, Sir.”
Mom squeals with delight and my dad and Coach Jenkins clap each other on the backs and shake hands.
“Then welcome aboard.”
With no time to talk, we hang up the phone and I turn my attention to the TV.
The host is at the podium, and he touches his earpiece, getting the confirmation through.
When he eventually speaks, his voice doesn’t sound clear, instead fading into the background behind the buzz in my head.
But I faintly hear him say, “And the Tynerston Warriors pick Stephen Choi, Wide Receiver, from Winbrook University…”
I’m being pulled into hugs from all directions, words of praise from my parents and Coach all blur into one—how proud they are of me, they knew I could do it; I’m going to be amazing.
Shit, is this real? Have I done it?
“Let the boy breathe a moment,” Dad’s voice overpowers the others, it must be him that guides me to a chair.
“Sit down, Son.”
Letting out the breath I’d been holding, I laugh at the look on his face; to be fair I was probably looking a bit peaky.
“Sorry,” I say, “this is a lot.”
“I know. But we’re here with you, and there’s no one here but us. Take all the time you need.”
Blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash… even number… right… dash right… pink ten… omaha double switch… blue fifty-four… vegas… wing right… green ninety-nine… trap… odd number… ace left… white thirty-six… dash…
Dad understood better than anyone why I didn’t want the press here and a party; anxiety rears its head at the most inopportune moments, and I didn’t want this broadcast for the world to see.
“I did it, Dad,” I say softly, “I really did it.”
“Yes you did.” He places his huge hands on my shoulders, and I lean into him, letting him hold me steady while I take a few breaths.
Holy shit. I’m a pro-football player. This is everything—everything I’ve worked towards, everything I’ve dreamed about.
Coach Jenkins left soon after the Draft finished, and now we’re all curled up on the sofas and comfy chairs.
“How are you feeling?” Mom asks.
“Overwhelmed, drained, like it still doesn’t feel real.”
“It probably won’t,” Dad says, “even when you’re playing with the team itself. I’m not sure it ever felt real for me, even after years on the field.”
“Yeah, I can’t even get my head around playing in that stadium.”
“We’re proud of you, my love,” Mom says.
I chuckle, “Thanks.”
“Absolutely,” Dad says, “and I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again—my only advice is to try and enjoy every moment, and remember, it’s just a game.”
“I know, Dad. And I know it’s just a game, but it’s important to me.”
“We know it’s important,” Mom says, “but are you sure this is what you want? After what we talked about last year, about you being pansexual, I hate the thought of you hiding such a big part of yourself.”
“I love who I am, and I’m proud of it,” I say, “but football is what I want to do. And me being pan doesn’t blend well with that, you know it’s not exactly an inclusive sport when it comes to the LGBTQ+ community.”
“Exactly, Stephen,” Mom says, “and you’re signing up for it to be your life, when it goes against who you are.”
“Come on, Vanessa,” Dad says, “it might not even be an issue. He’s pansexual, not gay. He might end up with a girl, and it won’t make a difference.”
I wince at his words. “Uh… that’s not exactly how it works, Dad.”
“What do you mean? I thought gender didn’t matter to you, so you might end up with a girl?”
They’ve both been amazing since I came out to them, educating themselves on not just pansexuality, but bisexuality too, and everything to do with the LGBTQ+ world, but there are still some things that they, or more specifically my dad, just don’t quite understand.
“Yes, I might end up in a relationship with a girl, but it doesn’t make me any less pansexual. Just because our relationship will look ‘straight’ to the outside world, it doesn’t mean we’re in a straight relationship, because I’m not straight.”
“Huh,” he says, “I never thought about it like that.”
“It’s a type of bi erasure, when people say that if you end up in a relationship with someone, then maybe you’re not really bisexual, you’re either straight or gay depending on your partner’s gender.”
“But you’re not straight or gay, you’re still bi,” Dad says, nodding his head. “That makes sense.”
“Exactly. So whoever I end up with, or even if I stay single, I’m still pansexual. And it’s still something I’ve decided to hide so I can have a career in football.”
“And we support you one hundred percent,” Mom says. “We’re here for you whatever you want to do, whether you want to keep it hidden, or shout it from the rooftops.”
“We’re here,” Dad says, “and we’re proud.”
“Thanks. I think I’m making the right decision, besides, I haven’t met anyone yet that’s made me want to settle down, so it might not be something we have to worry about for a long time.”
“And until then, you’re going to be a Warrior,” Dad says, a huge grin crossing his face.
“I am, I really am. A Tynerston Warrior!”
I let my head fall back against the sofa; the words don’t make it any more real. I worry I’ll wake up tomorrow, and this will all have been a dream. But it isn’t, this is happening, I’m going pro. Now I just need to hold onto my spot, and not do anything to fuck it up…