Page 2 of The Way We Dance

The appeal hooked me and despite my brother getting pissy about it, I signed with the number one college in the nation on a full-ride scholarship as a defensive end.

My college days were where I learned I could actually catch a ball. It wasn't long before my 6'5, 260-pound body found himself lining up on the offensive line as a jumbo tight end.

The other team thought it was a fluke, that I was just there to block, but when the quarterback threw me the ball, I caught it with the tips of my fingers and my fate was sealed. I was the starting tight end for the rest of my college career and got drafted in the first round of the NFL draft a year before I was set to graduate.

Tight ends didn't get drafted in the first round—not usually—but Atlanta took that chance and I haven't let them down in my six years in the league. I can thank my high school coach for that because while I was off in college, he had made calls to a friend of his in the Atlanta organization and made sure they knew who I was.

Atlanta’s coach eventually reached out to me and became another figure in my life I looked up to. He gave me insight, kept me connected, and when I decided to declare for the draft, he told me I would be their top pick if I followed all the rules.

One of the main things he wanted was for me to keep my nose clean and away from my hometown. Away from my parents and brother.

And I did.

For the past six years, I have stayed in my lane, made Coach proud, and made sure there was a big red line between the old me and the new me.

How was I supposed to know my brother and our old friends would show up to spend the summer in my world? How was I to know when they asked to stay at my place for a few nights that they wouldn't leave? How was I supposed to know that I would be so spun up with anger and tension that I would drop every fucking ball thrown my way?

I needed to kick them out before Coach found out. Before he assumed I was into old shit. So far, I had avoided falling to their pressure to get me to do something that would be a detriment to my career. Most of the time, we went to The 678 Club and I kept myself busy dancing with the ladies.

Coach told me dancing was a good way to keep myself loose and my feet light. Somehow, after dancing all summer at the club, I was heavy-footed and tight.

I blamed my company. I needed to kick them the fuck out.

Speak of the devil.

"Yo," my brother yelled as he and his two friends, Marcus and Devon, walked in from God knows where.

"Hey," I mumbled, stopping my pace to see them making themselves at home. And why wouldn't they? They practically moved in.

"What ya been up to?" Mike asked.

"About to head to the training facility. Where have you three been?"

They all looked at each other, clearly debating if they wanted to tell me. Until I was in it with them, they wouldn’t tell me anything.

"Don't worry about it, forget I asked. Just do me a favor," I broached the subject while I was angry enough not to care what happened. "You three need to get out. I start camp soon and then the season. I need to focus."

"The fuck?" Mike yelled. "You gonna kick out your blood?"

"Yeah, I am. The summer was fun but time to get real."

"Real?" he scoffed and looked at his friends. "We are as real as it gets. Or did you forget where you came from?"

I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of an answer. I would never forget where I came from. How could I when it was standing in my living room? I turned toward my room to grab my bag and let my silence speak for me.

When I walked back through the living room, the three of them had built a wall with their bodies and was blocking my exit.

"You know I love you, little bro. I have always had your back. I always will. But you’re scooting us out like I mean nothing to you."

"For fucks sake, Mike," I rolled my eyes. "Stop with the drama shit and move. You know I love you and I have loved having you here. But my game is shit and I feel myself slipping. I need to get my shit together."

Mike was nodding, but his chin was hard and his jaw tight. He was still pissed. He didn't get it. I knew when I got back from my workout that he would still be here but I didn't have time to worry about that now.

I had a meeting with Coach and then practice; and the media was going to be there again. I was exhausted just thinking about it.

"Move," I shoved Marcus who was closest to the door.

He didn't move.

So instead of taking my frustration out on my wall, I reared back and took it out of Marcus's face, punching him so hard he fell to the ground.

Admittedly, it was a cheap shot that no one saw coming. Marcus wasn't a pussy but blindsided was blindsided and as he fell, I stepped around him, closing the door as my brother yelled, "What the fuck?"

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