Page 1 of A Play For The Heart
CHAPTER 1
“I’ve been dying to tell ya, want you all to myself”
Wish on an Eyelash—Mallrat
Henry
Thereisn'tasinglemoment in my life where I’ve been more nervous than I am right now. Not the first time I started in a football game. Not my first kiss with a girl named Shannon in the 7thgrade. Not even the time I was pulled over by a cop for speeding when I was sixteen. My palms are slick with sweat. My knee bounces up and down beneath the table. The movement is so powerful that scientists everywhere probably wonder why there’s a small earthquake in Chicago. My best friend gently rests her hand on my knee, halting the movement and thus saving the entire city of Chicago from Earthquake Henry. My heart rate begins to slow with the physical contact, and pulling air into my lungs becomes an easier task.
“Are you alright?” Sawyer whispers under her breath.
I wouldn’t describe how I'm feeling as ‘alright,’ more like one moment away from sweating through my expensive suit. It’s easy to assume my jitters are from the lights, cameras, and uncertainty that tonight will bring. I’ve imagined myself sitting at a table, surrounded by my family at the NFL draft since I was little. But now that I’m here, it’s difficult to enjoy it. My body is hyper-aware of Sawyer sitting beside me, who's not-so-subtly reminding me of her presence every time I get a whiff of her perfume.
Tonightisthe night.I continue to remind myself of that as I swipe my palms against my trousers in an attempt to calm my nerves. Tonight, after I’m drafted—fingers crossed—the game plan is to finally tell my best friend that I’ve been in love with her for years. Actually, scratch that. I'm going to tell her I am moderately inlikewith her. The big L-O-V-E might scare her away.
“A bit nervous,” I reply, gulping down the rum and coke in front of me to help settle the churning feeling in my gut.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Henry,” a bright smile breaks out across her face. “Any team would be lucky to have you. You’re Mr. Never-drops-a-pass," she jokes, nudging me with her shoulder.
My heart skips a beat in my chest with that smile, the same way it did when I picked her up tonight. The lights from the theater shine against Sawyer's hair, glowing like a ray of sunshine in the early morning, and the silky, emerald dress she wears highlights the gold flecks in her irises. Peeling my eyes away from her, I glance around, absorbing the moment. Pocketing the memory. A tangible hum of excitement hangs in the air. The large theater overflows with athletes and their families, all hopefully waiting to hear their names called from the podium. It surprised me when my own parents said that they couldn’t make the trip to Chicago for the draft, considering my dad's feelings about football. More specifically, his feelings about me playing football.
Suddenly, the room goes quiet, and the NFL commissioner walks out on stage. Leaning down toward the mic, he bellows, “Welcome to Chicago and the 2022 NFL Draft.” With the opening remarks completed, the crowd roars in excitement and the tension in my chest tightens and twists.
As the first pick is revealed, Sawyer whisper yells, “This is incredible!”
Twelve picks later and my phone begins to vibrate against the cloth-covered table. Not recognizing the number and knowing coaches will call their draft picks before they’re announced, I pick up hesitantly, press answer, and place the phone against my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi Henry, this is Coach Barrett with the Seattle Mavericks. How are you doing?”
Suddenly, my heart rate skyrockets and my knee resumes moving up and down at a rapid pace. “I’m doing pretty good, sir. How are you?”
That’s a lie. I lost my cool about an hour ago, but there is no way that I’m admitting that to him. Frankly, I’m impressed my voice didn't crack or shake. I can feel the anxiety clawing its way toward the surface, but I quickly glance down at my hand, smothering the feeling. Gazing down at the smiley face on the top of my left hand, the anxiety begins to dissolve, fading away as quickly as it came.
“Just great,” he responds, with a husky laugh. “How would you feel about playing for the Seattle Mavericks this season?”
I jolt upright in my seat, startling Sawyer. “That would be amazing, sir.”
“Well, alright then. I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your night, son.” He responds, then promptly hangs up, leaving no room for response.
I stare down at the screensaver on my phone, stunned, before a punch to my arm jolts me back into existence. If I didn’t have guns of steel, it may have stung.
“Well?” Sawyer asks me, expectantly, acting coy as if she didn’t just sucker punch me in the arm.
“I’m going to be a Seattle Maverick,” I say, still a bit awestruck.
Sawyer goes to open her mouth but before she can respond, the commissioner interrupts.
“With the thirteenth pick in the 2022 NFL draft, the Seattle Mavericks select… Henry Parker, wide receiver from the University of Notre Dame.”
I rise out of my seat, re-button my suit jacket, and start to head towards the stage. Before I make it a single step, Sawyer sweeps me up into a hug and whispers in my ear, “I’m so proud of you, Henry.”
Pulling back from the hug, she adjusts my tie and smooths out the shoulders of my jacket. The words send shivers down my spine, and her touch leaves trails of warmth as she adjusts my suit. My feelings attempt to bubble to the surface when I take a step back and move toward the stage. I take note of my mental to-do list while I walk onto the stage.
Get drafted.Check.
Get the girl.Working on it.
