I huff quietly and start wrapping my shoulder.
The strapping has become second nature over the last couple of weeks. It’s just maintenance. A quiet acknowledgment that the body I’ve relied on for years has limits now.
It’s held up, has done what I’ve asked of it, but it’s tired.
The trainer finishes the tape with a firm press and nods. “You feel tight?”
“A little,” I admit.
He works the joint carefully, coaxing movement through it. “You’ve been smart.”
Smart.
There’s another word I didn’t expect to associate with my playing career.
Eight years ago, I would’ve pushed through anything. Pain was proof. Sacrifice was currency.
Now I know better.
Now I know longevity doesn’t require martyrdom.
The arena starts to fill long before tip-off. You can feel it through the walls. The low swell of crowd noise bleeding down the hallway. The stomp of feet in the stands.
When we head toward the tunnel, the volume shifts. It swells and then breaks into something sharper and so much louder.
I glance up at the overhead monitors as we wait for introductions. There are signs everywhere.
THANK YOU, CAP.
12 YEARS.
ONE OF US.
MARSHALL FOREVER.
I swallow hard.
“They didn’t waste time,” Cassius mutters beside me.
“They never do,” I reply.
Hardcore fans don’t wait for permission to make something meaningful. Yesterday, I announced it. Today, they’ve turned it into a moment.
We line up in the tunnel. The lights dim slightly. The announcer’s voice booms overhead, stretching each name like it matters, and I let myself look up into the stands for a second.
Section 112.
That’s where they are.
Rafe is easy to spot, even in a crowd. He’s wearing an Eagles hoodie like he’s been doing it his whole life. Miles is beside him,already halfway out of his seat. Drew and Eli are here too—loud, unmistakable, grinning like idiots.
Lindy is a few rows down with Phil and Amelia, all of them in jerseys. My niece is holding a sign that’s clearly too big for her hands.
And just behind them is Rafe’s parents.
His mamá is standing already, hands clasped at her chest like she’s at church instead of an arena. His dad’s arm is slung over the back of her seat, pride written all over his face.
Rafe’s sister, Rosa, is here, too, Luis leaning in close, both of them waving when they catch my eye on the screen.
