Page 43 of Wasn't Supposed To Be Yours
“Yo,” I answered the phone, as I was jogging down the stairs.
“What’s good with you nigga? You know why I’m hitting you. What’s the word for tomorrow’s game? Tell me some shit that I want to hear,” this nigga got right to the point, just like I knew he would.
I moved through the parking lot fast, pulling my keys out of my pockets so that it could be ready for me to unluck it once I made it to the car.
“Man, I know what I gotta do tomorrow. You ain’t gotta hit me the day before each game to remind me, nigga. I ain’t no fuckin child!” I snapped on him.
This was coming from a place of anger. Anger from the shit that I was wrapped up in.
Like the shit that he had me doing for him was a joke to him, he started laughing.
“You better watch that shit, nigga! I don’t know who the fuck you think you talking to, but Rico, you know that I can handle you. I’ll hate to have to do your ass the way that I almost did your cousin the other day. Relay the message to that nigga the next time you see him. Tell him that I’ll stretch his ass out fuckin with me!” Toby threatened.
I was in the car by this point, and my blood was boiling. Having to be on the other end of the phone, while I listened to another nigga dish out demands to me, followed by threats on what he would do to Tank had enraged me. I couldn’t go off the way that I wanted to. Not when this nigga had too much damage control.
I sat in silence, not saying a thing.
“That’s what I thought, nigga. So, for tomorrow’s game, I see that the Hardrock has you catching over one hundred yards, playboy. Go under for me. Because what I just put in for you togo under is going to bring me in a nice ass check. Ya’ll playing Bama tomorrow, and them boys looking good this year, so with that, they predicted you to score only one touchdown. I put on my ticket that you not going to get a touchdown at all?—”
“Nigga, what? Since when the fuck I ever played a game, and I’ve never scored a touchdown? I’m going to have millions of eyes on me tomorrow. Nigga, my time in college, and playing college ball is coming to an end. This is my last fuckin season! I’m trying to be a first round draft pick next year for the NFL. I can do the little shit like not get as many yards, but nigga, I gotta score tomorrow. Look at what you asking me to do man. You telling me to get out on that field and not touch the end zone? That’s the equivalent of you telling me not to do my job!” I roared at him, angry.
“I don’t give a fuck about none of that shit, nigga! Make my ticket hit motha fucka! That’s the only thing that I care about. I don’t know who you feeling like tonight, but I’m not the nigga that you want to challenge. I’ll make you lose all this football shit. I’ll see you tomorrow on the big screen. My tickets better hit,” was all he said before he hung the phone up on me.
I was angry. I used my fist to constantly punch at the steering wheel. I grew so angry that tears began to fall down my face. As I was sitting here, having my moment, I thought about the events that transpired that had gotten me in this fucked up situation with Toby. This shit has been going on for two years now.
Two years ago, I went out with Toby, and his cousin, Jax. Like I told Tank, I had been knowing these niggas since we were little boys. I grew up with them. Even after high school, and with me going to college, and playing college ball, I kept in contact with them. The night that we went out two years ago, it was some house party that Toby had invited me to. He told me that it was going to be a lot of bitches there, so of course, I pulled up.
While they were drinking, smoking, and partaking in whatever other drugs that was there, I only had one shot, and was vibing the entire night. All night, this dude named Tobias that I went to high school with had been mugging me from across the room. I used to play high school football with Tobias, and me and him never got along. Nigga had a bunch of pent-up anger towards me because I was always better in football than him. Our senior year, he’d sustained a major injury at one of the games, and that injury basically ended his entire football journey. Nigga hit rock bottom after that. Dropped out of school, and after all his surgeries, he started moving with the wrong crowd, getting in trouble with the law, and shit like that. I hadn’t seen him since that night on the football field when he’d got hurt, so seeing him at that house party was my first time seeing him in a couple of years, and at first, I didn’t recognize him because he’d put on a bunch of weight.
He wanted my attention the whole time we were at the party. He was talking shit, saying how sorry the Miami Hurricanes football team was, which he knew was the team that I’d played for. I could sense that I was going to get into some shit with that nigga, so I removed myself from the situation and I went out on the porch. The porch is where Toby and Jax were. I’d been out there with them for about ten minutes, when Tobias eventually made his way out. Came out talking shit still, and before you knew it, me and that nigga was fighting. I’m talking street fighting, where we were picking up shit, trying to kill each other with it. I blacked the fuck out. I just remember Toby putting a gun in my hand, and I used that shit.
I killed him. Right outside on the porch, I pulled the trigger, killing him.
I remember Toby screaming for me to leave, and that he would handle it. The whole time, I’m thinking this nigga was looking out for me because he knew the promising career that Ihad with football, but he would use this shit to his own personal gain. Toby was in the streets, so it wasn’t hard for him to get a crew on the scene to clean it up. I don’t know all the details of how Tobias body had gotten removed because I left. All I know is that Toby hit me later that night, telling me that I could chill because it was handled.
Football season started a couple of months after that incident. I remember that call that I’d gotten from Toby the night before the game. Nigga told me that he was putting a ticket in, and he wanted me to drop a pass. At first, I thought the nigga was bullshitting, and just trying to be funny, but he wasn’t. He quickly reminded me that I owed him for the shit that he handled for me with Tobias. I knew that I could have been in prison for murder for killing Tobias, so missing one little pass at the game the next day didn’t sound too bad. I’m thinking that was the only favor that he was going to ask for, but for the rest of the season, that nigga had me doing shit for him, so that his tickets could hit. My talent on the field had turned into this nigga’s personal hustle. The shit I was doing was illegal. I could lose everything behind this.
See, the way Toby put his parlays in were different from many people around the world. He put his parlays in, wanting me to underperform. I was that much of a beast, so it wasn’t like my underperforming was being questioned yet by my fans. My underperformance was the equivalent of another wide receiver playing at their full potential because I was just that good. I just knew that my stats lately haven’t been my best performances on the field.
For example, if I caught less passes than what was predicted of me, then Toby would win some big money. If I played too good, then Toby would lose money. The shit that I was wrapped up in with this nigga wasn’t small. I couldn’t just say fuck him and walk away from it because he was holding a murder overmy head. I did know that I couldn’t continue to let this nigga blackmail me like this. The only option that I was going to have was to kill him. I wasn’t a killer though. I never meant to even kill Tobias. That gun was put in my hand, and I blacked out. I really didn’t know what the fuck to do.
Chapter 13
Dionne Henry
Lose Control
It was after eight at night, and I was on the Florida’s turnpike, driving with my seat sitting all the way up, two hands on the steering wheel, as I was praying to God that I got home safely. It was pouring down raining. I’m talking winds, thunder, lightning, with powerful raindrops that were hitting my windows, that felt like it was going to break it. Not to be dramatic, but I felt like I was driving in the middle of a fuckin category 4 hurricane.
I was angry at myself for not checking the weather because if I knew that it was predicted to be this bad tonight, I would have told my realtor that we could meet sometime tomorrow morning. I hated having to drive in this kind of weather, and because I was scared, I had gospel music playing, and that’s what was getting me through this.
My meeting with the realtor had gone great though. I was finally able to snag a warehouse for my inventory. The goal was to take myself out tonight, sit at a nice bar, have a cute drink, probably order some food, and then go home, but with this weather, the only thing that I was getting ready to do was head home.
I was coming from Fort Lauderdale, driving back home to Miami, and there was about twenty minutes left into my route. I released a sigh, and just as I was about to complain again, saying how I wished that I’d never come out tonight, I heard a loud, popping noise come from my right tire. Before I even had any time to react to what had just taken place, the steering wheel jerked super hard to the left, which pulled my car with it, having me scream.
“Oh, my Goodddd!” I screamed, panicking, not knowing what the hell was going on.
I swear it felt like my heart had leaped into my damn throat. I was holding onto the steering wheel as tightly as I could, trying to gain control of it, keeping it steady, but it was steady trying to merge me over to the left side of the road. There were cars around me, blowing their horns, and it’s almost like I was waiting for that moment where cars were going to collide into me.
