Page 1 of The Way We Dance

Ty

“Atlanta’s star tight end, once again, let a perfect pass from Nichols go straight through his hands.”

“He has butterfingers, Tom. He also has a case of two left feet. You can’t help but wonder if the two problems are connected.”

“He doesn’t appear to be as graceful as he was at the end of last season. If he wants to continue starting for the Jets, he is going to have to figure out what is causing his problems.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mumbled as I shut the TV off from the highlights of our first preseason workout. It was open to the media and my errors were the first thing they honed in on. Their analysis of why and how I may be messing up was a joke. Even the ex-pros that got on those shows and talked must have fucking forgot what it was like to play.

There are highs and there are lows. Sometimes there was not any explanation. Especially from someone sitting behind a desk with a fucking bow tie on.

“Why didn’t he catch that?”

“Well it wasn’t because I wasn’t fucking trying,” I said out loud to no one as I slammed the remote down on my coffee table.

I stood up and started pacing my apartment, anger coursing through me. I had never been known as someone that could keep my emotions in check. I flew off at the handle and used my fists when I felt the need to do so and it seemed to be getting worse as this season slowly got underway.

We were reporting to camp in two weeks. These practices were just knocking off the rust, yet for some reason, the media liked to take their little insights and run with them. Unlike previous years, I was taking their words to heart. Letting them invade my veins and course through my arms and legs.

Probably because they were right.

I shook my arms out and continued my pace, trying not to put another hole in my walls. So far, I had been lucky and hit drywall every time, but sooner or later, I was going to hit a stud and break my fucking hand.

I was the league-leading tight end because I was big, tall, and fearless. That shit was still all true, and I thought that alone would be enough to keep me on top for my whole career.

Unfortunately, the past decided to show back up in my life and it made me angry that I wasn't strong enough to kick it out, to turn a blind eye. I welcomed it back in like a lost little boy and now that it was time to play ball again, I needed it to go the fuck away. There was no other way to balance my past and my present.

And I was never returning to being a kid on the streets.

Never.

Football was my ticket off the streets and pretty much the only thing I knew how to do. I grew up with a slut of a mom and a drugged-out dad that went missing on us when I was nine. My brother and I raised ourselves and we both had determined we would be dealing on the streets of our neighborhood for the rest of our lives.

We were ok with that and we were fucking good at it by the time we were in high school.

During my Sophomore year of high school, I got into a huge fight with a guy from another neighborhood. We didn't walk around in gangs but that was about as close as it got, and when he found out my brother was dealing on his street, he wanted to take it out on me.

My brother, who was four years older than me, had already graduated the year before and was bigger and better than that motherfucker could ever be. So he took the weak way out and tried jumping me when he knew my brother wouldn't be around.

Using me to set an example.

Fucking coward.

And a fucking fool, because I beat his ass so bad the cops had to be called. I was arrested and only able to be released under the circumstances that I returned to school and joined the football team. They thought it would be a good way to focus my anger and keep me occupied.

Out of trouble.

It fucking worked, too. Coach was a badass that didn't take my shit. By the time I had graduated, he had become the dad I didn't have but so desperately needed. He kept me in line, fed me when I needed it, and made sure I showed up on time to practice.

When college scouts started creeping around, I pushed them away. I wasn't going to leave my brother and I sure as fuck wasn't going to become a boy scout just to stay on a team. Plus, I hated school. Four more years of it sounded like torture.

Coach didn't let me cop-out though. He pushed and pleaded until I agreed to visit a few colleges on his dime. What I found when I got there was not what I expected.

Gorgeous women were everywhere.

The educational side all but guaranteed athletes a pass.

I was courted and cared for better than I had ever been in my entire life.

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