Prologue #2
“Yes way. We’re all so excited to get you here. Winters needs some fresh meat to throw to!” He chuckles, and I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. “Congrats.”
“Thanks, Coach. This means a lot.”
“You only get drafted once. Enjoy it.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
“Okay, here we go, we’re on the clock now. They’re gonna call your name, and then we’ll be official. Okay? Ready?”
“Born ready, sir.”
“See you on the field.”
Coach Gage cuts the call, and I stand flabbergasted. “Warriors” is all I can squeak out. My family cheers, and Nicholas and Nico fall in next to me as we hear the announcement.
“With the tenth overall pick… the South Carolina Warriors select… Nik Papas, wide receiver, Zeiders University.”
Hearing my name called hits like a punch to my chest. I want to record it and play it over and over, making sure it’s real.
I mean, I knew I was getting picked tonight. I’ve seen the mock-ups, and I’ve read the articles. I got the fucking call.
But when your whole damn identity has been built around the idea of going together, alone feels a lot like second place, which is where I’m at, even though I’m on top of the world.
Mom cries out, “Dóxa to Theó!” I chuckle and think, thank God is right, while I hold her tight, wishing my dad were here to see this.
All those hours we spent in the yard having a catch finally paid off.
Soba jumps up and lifts me off the ground, and as he spins me, I nod to Loving, whose jaw is set like steel, still sitting on the couch.
In an instant, his demeanor changes, and he jumps up and claps me on the shoulder.
“They got a good one,” he says.
I try to smile. “Guess I’ll get used to new colors.”
Loving nods, but it’s tense. He’s next. Or he should be. We should have all been right here in this moment.
I walk the tunnel, banging on the pic of the Warriors as I make my way to the stage. Once there, I hold up my jersey, and the crowd is roaring, but all I hear is static. I’m smiling for the cameras, but I don’t feel it.
I’m grateful.
But I’m also waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.
Soba’s already in New York. I’m heading South.
And Loving’s still in that damn chair.
~~
Soba and I stand together as Nico walks back into the room wearing his Houston Drillers jersey. He went 11th pick, and as I stand here with the three of them, I can’t help but feel all the things. Relief, gratitude, excitement, and a bit of anger because I don’t know how we ended up like this.
“I guess we’re not the Trickie Nickies anymore,” Soba says.
I shake my head. “Of course we are.”
Loving adds, “Always a trio,” as he throws up three fingers, spreading them apart, then pressing them together, symbolizing the three of us.
We bump fists. It’s not dramatic or emotional. It’s just us and our newfound reality.
A moment later, we part ways, Nicholas in his New York gear, Nico in his Houston jersey, and I’m left standing alone in my Warriors hat. That’s when I feel the weight of it settle in my chest like cement.
We made it, just not together.
And for the first time since I was ten years old, I don’t know what my game looks like without them beside me.
We’re left in three corners of the United States.
Tonight did not look like anything we had imagined.
Not even close. I have no idea how any of it broke apart.
And now? The work starts. We go to camp, we push, we work, and we fight for our spots.
And if they’re opposite each other? Well, that’s the way shit falls sometimes.
Our dreams have arrived, and now, reality kicks in.
In the grand scheme of things, division sells. Drama sells. And we’re about to find out exactly how much.
After the cameras are off, most everyone has emptied out of the place, and I just want to crash. But before I can sit down, I spot my sister in the hallway.
Eva is flawless in a fitted navy blazer and heels that don't tip tap elegantly across the floor. No, all night I heard them make a striking sound, reminding others who’s in charge.
And she knows it, wearing an expression that says she’s been three steps ahead all night.
She doesn’t rush to me; instead, she waits, arms crossed, watching, like always.
“Guess you’re not riding coattails after all,” she says as I walk over and stand next to her.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you’re happy with this outcome.”
She leans in, adjusts my collar, just as she used to before junior high school dances. “You were made to stand alone anyway.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I mutter, glancing around at the empty room.
Eva tilts her head, studying me. “That’s how life works, but especially this game. Plans shift, and the fields get torn up. But you’ll adjust, and that’s what counts.”
I nod, but something about her tone is weird.
I was hoping for a bit of emotion from her.
She’s always been focused on business and always in control.
She’s ten years older than me, and while I was busy throwing the ball with dad in the backyard, she was stacking fantasy teams, making faux bets, and drawing up plays.
She loved football as much as we did, and always looked to Dad for praise on her accomplishments.
She promised him she’d make it to the top one day, a woman in charge, running her own sports management team.
She pats my chest once. “Congrats, Warrior. You’ll do fine.”
Then she walks away to speak with Dane, leaving me alone once again.