The night before a game,I would’ve typically stayed at my townhouse. Since my family was in town and I needed silence to mentally prepare, I chose to stay at the hotel.
I did my morning routine—brushed my teeth, washed my face, and showered. Then I threw on a jogging suit from one of my sponsors and headed to the conference room for breakfast. Kew met me at the door.
He, Woodson, McKissick, and I ate in relative silence. Breakfast was where the four of us usually shot the shit, joked around, and kicked it. But from time to time we had quiet game days. If the game was particularly significant for the franchise, we got serious. We all understood the importance of getting the win. It wasn’t our normal vibe, but it was unfamiliar. Allof our positions were expected to make big plays that could potentially change the course of a game. We all handled the pressure differently, but being quiet before an important game was something we had in common.
After breakfast, a quick team meeting, and the pre-game meal, we loaded the buses and headed to the stadium. For me, the bus ride from Hickory Hall to Corporal Field was all about my phone. I listened to my hype songs while I scrolled through social media. For some reason, the first thing to pop up on my timeline was a post from Wyndi. It was several pictures with captions.
I couldn’t stop the smile from overtaking my face when I saw the first picture. It was a shot of Wyndi. She had her shirt up a little, showing her bare belly. She captioned it,Just me and my little baby bump. I didn’t waste a second hearting the post.
The second picture showed a blinged-out Coyotes baby onesie.When’d she have time to do that? I wondered. The onesie featured a number, but it was blurred. It took everything in me not to comment. The shit was so fucking adorable, and I could imagine the pretty baby girl who kept coming to me in my dreams wearing it at one of my games. That caption read,Future Coyotes Fan. It’s football season and step-daddy season.
The next picture was clearly done with some type of software, but it was still dope. It showed the field goal uprights inside the stadium. Under the uprights sat a football and shoes. Anybody who paid attention to the picture would notice that the shoes didn’t match. One was a kicker’s cleat, the other was a regular cleat. Anybody in the know would understand that those shoes represented my position. I grinned my ass off. The caption read,The stadium is his second home. His heart is my second home.
The final picture was of her wearing a jersey that was blinged out in the exact same manner as the onesie. She grinned at thecamera, looking beautiful as hell. The caption read,To you know who, your family will be rooting you on. Get that W for us!
I knew that she noticed that I had been feeling some kind of way. I didn’t want to leave her alone. I just honestly didn’t really see how things were going to work if she couldn’t stop hiding and ghosting me every time things got tough. I hadn’t been pulling away from her, but I damn sure hadn’t been all in. She noticed. I knew she was fucked up about it, too. I wanted to reassure her, but how could I when I wasn’t even sure anymore myself. While I hoped that she wouldn’t pull her disappearing act again, I knew for a fact that if she did, I was out. For good.
Her posting this little montage for me, making us public, . . . even if she was doing it cryptically, I knew what it meant. I knew that it meant that she was ready to stop hiding. It meant that she was ready to face the questions and the possible judgment that might come regarding us. I fucked with it. The thought of that made me smile.
Kew, who was seated next to me, was apparently looking at the same post. “You and your girl are internet official now?” He whispered the question.
“We weren’t,” I admitted. “I was like her secret side dude. I guess she’s ready to come outta the closet.”
“And she’s pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re the stepdaddy?”
“It’s stepdaddy season.”
“Shit!” he whisper-yelled. “Is Wilcox the real daddy?”
I looked over at him with a serious expression before responding in a whisper. “I’m the real daddy.”
Kew threw up his hands. “You know what I’m asking, motherfucka. Does the baby have Wilcox DNA?”
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“Oh shit! So, she’s Ciara, and you’re Russell Wilson?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What does his bitch ass have to say about you playing daddy to his kid?”
“Nothing. He told her to get rid of the baby and hasn’t looked back.”
“Yo, don’t look now, but that nigga seems to have just realized that she’s still pregnant. He’s mugging the shit outta his phone.”
“Fuck him.” I shrugged.
After a comeback from a seven-point deficit, we were able to pull out the win. An interception by Kew that turned into a touchdown and a forty-seven-yard field goal by me helped take us over the top. The entire team went into the locker room on a high. As soon as I got to my locker, the first thing I did was pull out my phone. Wyndi stayed on my mind the whole game. I wanted to look at the pictures on her post again.
As soon as I opened my phone, I was flooded with text messages. The one that stood out the most was from my mother.
Ma:
When you get finished in the locker room, we’ll meet you in the tunnel, step-daddy. Oh yeah, your girl is here.
