Who’s Loving You (In The Nick of Time #2)

Prologue

DRAFT NIGHT

NICO

I sit on the couch next to my mom, dad and little sister, Greer, by my side, chewing on my nails and feeling like all of my dreams are about to fall away. My best friends, Nick Soba and Nik Papas, have been pulled away to give interviews having already been picked earlier in the draft.

I didn’t expect to go first or even second.

I assumed that Nick would go first, being the top QB in the draft, and Nik and I would follow in the later rounds.

The plan was set. Preliminary phone calls had been made, and the Trickie Nickies were browsing apartments in San Francisco.

Eventually we’d want to be on our own, but I couldn’t think of a better way to start my professional career than the way I started high school and college.

With my best friends next to me.

Now, I’m just hoping that I don’t have to walk out of here without a contract and the hushed conversations of why Nico Loving didn’t get drafted in the first round.

My hand is slapped away from my mouth and I glare at Greer. “Quit chewing on your nails. The cameras are likely to come around and you don’t want to be caught with your fingers shoved halfway down your throat.”

“I doubt the cameras are coming, Little G. Soba and Papas are going to different teams, and less talented receivers have already been selected. My hopes of going in round one are getting slimmer and dimmer.”

“Don’t talk like that son.” Dad stands up and pours me a glass of water, passing it over and urging me to drink.

“You’re the best damn receiver in the draft.

There is a logical explanation as to why you are still on the board.

That probably being that the best of the best team is working behind the scenes to secure you. ”

“Is there one explaining why Soba and Papas are not Revelers and I’m still sitting on this goddamn couch?” Mom slaps my leg and I quickly apologize.

“Things like this always happen. Tentative deals are made, but last minute trades are done on the clock. You know that.”

I gulp down the last of my water in one swig and hang the empty glass between my legs.

“I know how it works, but it wasn’t supposed to go like that this year.

This year, we were supposed to be packing our moving boxes and heading West. We were supposed to walk out on that field in September, all wearing the same color.

And now, we’ll be on the field together but it will be on opposite sides of the line.

Well, Nick and Nik will be. Who knows where I’ll end up. ”

Mom smooths circles over my back and I know her hands are aching to pull me into her arms to hug me. With the way I’m feeling, I’d probably lay my head in her lap and let her tell me that I’m talented and loved and will always be her sweet boy .

“Why don’t you–” Mom’s words are cut short when the phone rings.

The four of us stare at it, every one rooted in place like cinder blocks are weighing us down. I gulp and stretch out a shaky hand. Dad stands, Mom clasps her hands to her heart, and Greer lights up like a slot machine hitting the jackpot.

With a sweaty palm, I grip the receiver and lift it slowly to my ear. “He-hello.”

“Nico. This is Will Wagner. Head coach of the Houston Drillers.”

My vision blurs and my heart pounds in my ears, making it difficult to know if I heard what I think I heard.

“Yes sir. How are you?” Words finally break free and my breath eases.

The tension that has my body in knots melts away and my confidence gets a little boost.

Is this it? Is it finally happening?

“I’m good, but I think I’ll be better if you tell me you’re ready to be a Driller.” I look at my family, all waiting on pins and needles, and I pass them a smile.

Mom starts crying and jumps up to hug Dad. His eyes glisten with unshed tears and it spurs on some of my own.

“I would love nothing more than to be a Driller, Coach.”

“That’s fantastic news. I have someone else who’d like to say hello.”

Muffled words are heard as the phone gets passed around, and a booming voice blares through the speaker.

“Mr. Loving. Howard Montgomery here. I’m real excited about having you on my team, so you better pack those bags and get your ass down to Houston.”

I chuckle, already liking this old guy. “You betcha. I’m ready.”

“Okay then. A plane will pick you and your family up tomorrow but for now, enjoy the spotlight. You’ve earned it.”

The lump in my throat will no longer stay down and the tears have had enough of holding back.

“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“Imma hold you to that. Congratulations.” Mr. Montgomery hangs up the phone and I slowly replace the phone on its stand.

Mom and Dad are still wrapped in each other’s arms, and Greer has tears running down her eyes with a toothy smile on her face.

“Well…I’m a Driller!” We explode into cheers and laughter.

We hug and before we can get too carried away, we wipe away the tears and sit back down as a camera crew approaches where we sit. This is the moment I’ve dreamed of since I first stepped foot on a grass field. I always knew I’d be here some day, I only wish my brothers were right next to me.

I look down at the tattoo that binds us together. Three arrows, one point. Three Nick’s, one dream. And now we’ll all be living it. Just not how we expected it to go.

Mom shushes us and pushes a wayward strand of her thick, dark hair from her face. I wink at her and we act cool like this is just a normal day for the Loving family.

The room's attention moves to the large screen, and we watch as the commissioner steps up to the microphone. That stinging in my nose begins again and I reach over, taking Mom’s and Greer’s hands in each of mine. I need them to anchor me down. I feel like I may float right off this couch.

“With the eleventh pick in the draft, the Houston Drillers select…” he pauses and though it’s only seconds, it seems like an eternity. “Nico Loving. Tight End. Zeiders University of Arkansas.”

Shouts and whoops erupt and my family jumps, arms in the air and tears free flowing. I hug Greer and she squeezes around my neck.

“Congrats Slick Nic. I’m so proud of you. Be sure to point out all the single teammates.”

“Not a chance, Little G.” I kiss the top of her head and turn to Mom. “This is finally it.”

“I always believed in you, my son. I am beyond proud.” Her small hands rest on my cheeks and I lean down so she can do what I know she’s itching to.

She kisses my forehead and immediately wipes away the lipstick that is left behind. When I step up to Dad, I can feel that I’m close to breaking.

His jaw flexes as his teeth clench and his nostrils flare. We stare at one another for a moment before he tugs me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his large frame and bury my head in his shoulder.

“Thank you, Dad. I owe this all to you.” A large hand pounds on my back and a choked sob can only be heard by me.

I sniff and pull away, not even worrying about the tears on my face, and smooth the lapels of my blue velvet jacket, turning on the swagger as I strut down the hall to the big stage. Lights shine and cameras flash just as fans cheer, holding up signs with the Drillers logo on them.

A hat is passed my way as I step up on the stage and I fit it on my head. The emotions are running strong when I meet the commissioner and he hands me the jersey with my name on it.

“Congratulations,” he says and shakes my hand.

I thank him, hold up my jersey, and smile for the cameras. It’s a bittersweet moment because this jersey should be a different color. It should be the same color as Nick and Nik. They should be waiting for me to celebrate and talk about all the havoc we are going to bring to San Fran.

I look out into the crowd chanting my name, hoping to see familiar faces but knowing I won’t. I won’t see them when I step up to the line. I won’t see them as we pile into a bar, looking to cause some trouble and break hearts. And I won’t see them when I step into our apartment after a rough day.

The unbreakable trio has been broken. Maybe not irreparably, but we’re definitely in pieces.

Together we are strong, and I worry that without them I’m weak.

I’m a great player, but is it because I’ve had Soba passing me the ball?

I’ve made outstanding touchdowns, but maybe it was all because Papas was there to clear a path for me.

Now that I’m on my own, who’s to say that I won’t fall flat on my face and fail. Just another college great who fell short of expectations.

I shake the commissioner's hand once more, and take my leave stage right. People I don’t know shake my hand and pat my back, congratulating me as I pass them. I smile, thank them, and move through the line.

All these happy faces yet the two I wish for most are nowhere to be seen. In a sea full of people, I feel more alone than ever before.