Chapter 3 #2
“No. They have her in a medically induced coma. They want to let her stay that way for another day or two. Then, they’re going to take her off the medication and see if she wakes up on her own. Only then, will they know the extent of the damage.”
I didn’t know shit about comas. If she was in a coma, she wasn’t feeling any pain, right?
If she wasn’t on strong pain medication, just maybe, while she was out of it, her body would detox from the poison running through her veins.
Though, I wasn’t sure how much it would matter if she woke up with brain damage.
I pushed out a sigh. There were definitely things that football wasn’t more important than.
But my career didn’t just help me. It helped a lot of people.
I didn’t need to be stressed, off my game, and getting yelled at by coach during the season.
We were 4-0, and I didn’t want to be the reason we lost our winning streak.
“Just keep me posted. There’s no need for me to come while she’s not awake. When she does wake up, I’ll get there.”
“Okay. Is this a bad time to talk business?”
“No, what’s up?”
I paid Divine way more than any other property manager would get paid.
She could be set just off her salary alone, but she didn’t just work for me.
Divine loved fashion, and she’d gotten into styling.
She only had two clients so far, but she was the definition of put that shit on.
If she blew up and became too busy to look over my properties, I would love that for her.
I didn’t even get a chance to buy my sister a house.
She used the money she was making with me and bought her own house.
For Christmas that year, I gave her the money to pay her mortgage for a year.
She added to it and doubled up on her payments every month.
After a year of her making double payments, I paid the house off for her.
She then began doubling up on her car note and paid off her Range Rover.
My sister was smart as hell and responsible.
The more she did for herself the more it made me want to do for her.
She never felt entitled to my money, and she got up every day in grind mode to earn the money that she did get.
Huncho never asked me for much either. I got him a car, and I gave him money for clothes and shoes and shit.
My first year in the league, I found out he was selling drugs, and I put a stop to that shit.
I started sending him a monthly allowance.
Huncho stopped selling drugs and got a job.
I didn’t want him to work. I wanted him to focus on football and school, but he wanted to feel like a man.
Despite our mother being a heroin addict, my siblings had their heads on straight. That was all a nigga could ask for.
I talked to Divine the entire drive to my condo. When I arrived, my chef was there. My timing was perfect because he was removing a pan of chicken from the oven. My boy was so cold with it, I never asked him what he was making because whatever it was, I knew it was going to be fye.
“What we got here today?” the aroma from the food smacked me in the face as I dropped my gym bag and removed my shoes.
“Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus, steak, and cabbage.”
Rubbing my hands together with anticipation, I licked my lips. “Bet. I’m about to go wash my hands right now.”
Practice had lasted for six hours. Before, I only had a smoothie, a protein shake, and a bagel.
My ass was beyond famished. At 6’1 I was 240 pounds.
Since my job was a physical one, I didn’t eat bad too often.
There were times my sweet tooth was a lil’ excessive, but for the most part, I ate plenty of protein, fruit, and vegetables.
When I first started playing football in college, I had a bad habit of not drinking enough water.
My muscles used to cramp so bad I would almost be in tears sometimes.
I couldn’t mess with rabbit food. I had to eat.
On top of taking my supplements, drinking plenty of water, and protein shakes, I also limited alcohol.
Football wasn’t just about playing the game.
It was dedication. Shit, it was a lifestyle.
Hours spent at practice then a few more hours at home studying plays.
It was keeping my body in shape and not allowing myself to develop bad habits.
Even when I used to be in a lot of pain, I would try and make myself push through it.
The last thing I wanted was to become addicted to pain pills like my mother had.
Being in the NFL with a drug addiction wasn’t an option at all.
I refused to throw my life away like that.
I didn’t want to be addicted to anything.
During the off season, I didn’t even smoke weed. I wasn’t taking any chances.
I sat at the dining table and looked through my phone while I devoured my food.
Alonzo was worth every penny that I paid him.
Even when he cooked something that I didn’t really eat, he had a way of making it so good that I could tolerate it even if it wasn’t a favorite, and I told him not to make it again.
My boy made great money cooking for me and a few other professional athletes.
Most times, he worked six days a week, but he loved his job.
Alonzo was so cool when I had parties and gatherings, I let him kick it with us when the food was done.
He could eat, drink, and do whatever until his heart was content.
He’d been cooking for me for two years, and I pretty much considered him family.
A text message from Taylor came through.
Taylor was a thirty-six-year-old chemist. Shorty was Nigerian and pretty as fuck.
One of the best things about her, even though her parents felt as though she should already be married, they wanted her with a Nigerian man.
She liked having sex with me, and it was good as hell, but she wasn’t pressed to be with me.
Shorty was close to forty and in a sense, she still lived to please her parents.
The older I got, I wasn’t against settling down.
I was against being with a woman with ulterior motives and having to one day part with millions because she used me as a come up.
Being rich didn’t guarantee a beautiful, submissive, unproblematic wife.
There were definitely women out there that didn’t even like their man for real and only put up with him to get the cars, houses, trips, kids, and lifestyles.
Watching one of my teammates have to pay his ex-wife $22,000 a month in alimony made my chest hurt.
Depending on the circumstances, prenups weren’t always guaranteed to keep a man’s money safe.
Sex was a great way for me to relieve stress before a game. That being said, I took Taylor up on her offer to keep me company later that night.
The next day, I sat on my couch fuming. I was so angry that during practice, I had practically given my teammate a concussion and had to apologize profusely.
It wasn’t a real game, but anger and aggression had me out my body, and I had to check it.
It was the day before the fifth game of the season, and I was waiting on a black truck to bring my brother to my house.
He’d been suspended from school after he got arrested for assaulting a female and having a gun in his possession.
Financially, my brother was good as long as he had me.
But he was a man and didn’t want to live off me.
Plus, he loved football the same way I did.
That shit ran through our veins. I didn’t even ask him for details over the phone.
His father had fallen on hard times and didn’t have the money to bail him out.
The woman that raised him had kids of her own with her new man, and she wasn’t about to ask her husband for money to get Huncho out of jail.
He had me, so he didn’t need them. Huncho could be stubborn as hell.
He didn’t like anyone chastising him, but he especially hated it when I did it.
I gave no fucks, though. He was going to hear my mouth.
Stress was one of the worst things an athlete could endure during the season, but it was coming at me left and right.
Our mother was still in a coma, and this nigga was getting arrested over dumb shit.
I tried to stay away from alcohol as much as I could during the season, but I was on my second glass of cognac. My body was warm and a little more relaxed, but I was still pissed. All my attempts to warn Huncho about making stupid decisions and messing up his future seemed to have been in vain.
The doorbell rang, and I drained the alcohol from my glass before standing up to answer the door. When I did, my brother stood on the other side with his head down slightly.
“Don’t avoid eye contact,” I spoke in a low tone. “Look me in the eyes while you explain to me why you did the dumbest shit you’ve ever done.”
Huncho’s jaw muscles flexed as he lifted his head. With a frown, I took a step back.
“Got damn, did you take a bath in tequila?”
“Man, Hymn,” he drawled as he ran one hand over the rippling waves in his low cut.
“Nah. Won’t be no mans, no chill, no okay I heard you, none of that to shut me up. You’re going to hear everything I have to say. Like it or not. Come in here and sit the fuck down.”
Huncho’s chest rose as he sucked in a deep breath.
I was pissing him off for sure, and I didn’t care.
More than once, Huncho and I had almost come to blows due to him not taking too kindly to what I was trying to tell him.
In the end, he always realized that I had his best interest at heart, and he got his mind right.
Huncho had a father, and I would never take that from him.
But there were times when his father didn’t even have his head on right.
My grandparents did an excellent job raising me, and I felt it was my duty to pass some of that down to Huncho whether he was receptive or not.
Huncho sat down and glared out of my floor to celling windows with a frown on his face.
“I was riding with this chick, and my phone rang. She snatched it up and answered it, and I tried to grab the phone causing the car to swerve. I pulled over, and she threw my phone out the window. I was drunk as hell and mad, and I just snapped. I smacked her in the face, and a police officer saw me. He had seen me swerve and was going to pull me over anyway. Once I spoke to him, he concluded that I swerved from trying to get the phone, but he charged me with a DUI on the strength of being able to smell the liquor.”
“Oh damn,” I chuckled. “I got hit with a surprise. So, you don’t just have an assault on a female and a possession of a firearm charge. You also have a DUI. He’s three for one. Got damn,” I clapped, and Huncho’s nostrils flared.
“What do you want me to do?!” he yelled. “You want me to be perfect, and I’m not. Sometimes, people react without thinking. Whoopty doo. I don’t like people touching my things, and she knows that. She threw my phone out of the car to be spiteful. I just snapped. That shit was like a reflex.”
“Oh okay, it was a reflex. I feel that. Welp fuck it then. It was a reflex. These lil’ charges will be okay.
It’ll be okay if you get kicked off the team and put out of school too ‘cus shit, we all make mistakes. You good fam. You want something to drink? You hungry? Don’t even worry about your future. You’ll figure something out. Fuck it.”
“Oh my God,” his voice rose an octave. I couldn’t care less that he was annoyed. That made two of us.
I could give Huncho all the advice in the world.
It was up to him to receive it. I was done preaching though.
It was on him to sit back, think about what he’d done, and decide how to proceed moving forward.
If he got kicked out of school, there were other ways into the NFL, but it wouldn’t be easy to do.
When it came to Huncho, I was often torn between letting him learn the hard way or just continuing to try and fix his screw ups.
We sat in silence for a few moments before Huncho got up and walked into the spare bedroom.
I had plenty of food and snacks. I wasn’t sure how long he was staying, but if he got kicked out school, he could go back to Atlanta or remain in Diamond Cove.
I was going to keep my foot on his neck and always hold him accountable, but he knew just like I knew that I had his back through whatever.