Losing to Win

“Man, you were lighting it up out there today.” Coach Haines slapped me on the shoulder as we jogged into the tunnel toward the locker room.

“Thanks, Coach!” I grinned and high-fived a fan hanging over the edge of the stadium seating. We’d just finished our last preseason game. If I do say so myself, we beat the hell out of Cleveland. I had over one hundred receiving yards in the first half alone, scoring two touchdowns before they told me I was done for the day. The final score was 41–13.

In fact, the past two preseason games had been monster games for me. I’d never felt better out there. The routes just seemed to open up for me. I was bouncing back from hits. The quarterback was young but talented, with an eye for picking apart defenses. He was a second-year guy out of USC, his spirals were some of the best I’d seen, and he knew how to get the ball into a tight pocket.

We’d been taking some extra time to practice together and were already getting into a rhythm that made us tough to stop if we had the ball in our hands. I liked the chemistry of the team. There were no underachieving showboats, and everybody believed that with the talent and the depth we had on the roster, this team could go deep into the playoffs. With some teams, you just had that feeling that excellence was the standard. It was the best possible situation for me.

As long as I stayed healthy and kept my head in the game, all things were possible. A year ago I couldn’t and wouldn’t have dreamed that everything would fall into place. I had Carissa waiting just outside, I had teammates I believed in. I had everything back that I loved.

“Blue Streak, what are you trying to prove out there?” Kenny, my offensive tackle, broke into my thoughts as he caught up to me by the lockers. “Damn, we know you’re back and better than before. Quit making the rest of us look bad.”

“Just trying to earn my pay,” I said before adding with a grin, “But I can’t help it if you young slackers can’t keep up.” At thirty-three years of age, I was considered one of the old heads in the locker room. This game was the first one where the coaches decided to start me over the young wideout, Ossie Wallace. Wallace was drafted in the first round. Though I felt a twinge about snatching the youngster’s spot from him, it was best he learned about competition at this level early in his career. No matter your draft rank, no one was going to give you anything out on the field. You had to fight for it, earn it, and take it.

“Well, you’re earning it,” Coach Haines announced. “And you’ll be the starter, our number-one receiver on opening day. Ossie will learn a lot under you.”

Yes! I thought, holding back the fist pump I longed to do. Instead I smiled modestly before saying, “Feels good to be back. I won’t let you down.”

“You’ve made a believer out of me,” the receivers coach seconded. I nodded and drew the jersey over my head.

“I appreciate that, Coach.”

“Before we let the reporters in, let me say a few words,” Coach Haines announced. “Great win out there. Great effort for everyone: offense, defense, and special teams. It’s rare that we can put together a team this solid. We play like this the rest of the year and we’ll be unstoppable. I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a big pretty ring for this finger.” He held up his hand. “Who’s with me? Stars on three. 1–2–3...”

“Stars!” we all chanted.

“One last thing...Game ball goes to the guy who, if he keeps up at this pace, will be comeback player of the year. Malachi Knight.” He handed the game ball to me.

I grabbed it and raised it up. “Thanks, guys. You can’t imagine what this means to me. Couldn’t have imagined a better group of men to welcome me back to the league.”

“All right, Hollywood—don’t tear up on us now,” Isaac, a defensive back who was still on the team from a few years back, called out, and everyone laughed.

“Ah, why I gotta be Hollywood?” I protested with good humor.

Just then the locker-room doors opened and a slew of reporters came in. “Malachi, how do you feel after today’s win?” the first one called out.

“We saw Carissa outside, she’s looking good,” another shouted at me.

“Have you finished filming the last segment of Losing to Win?” And another joined in.

“And that’s why you gotta be Hollywood,” Isaac pointed out.

I shrugged it off. What could I say? The spotlight was definitely shining brightest on me right now. I raised the ball back up. “Thanks again, fellas.” Then I held up one finger to the reporters. “Give me one second, guys.” I hurried over to my locker and pulled out my phone. I had learned my lesson about keeping Carissa waiting on me. Quickly, I sent her a text. Swamped with reporters. Wanna wait or meet me at home? I pressed SEND.

Pierre’s coming in. I’ll be at restaurant when you finish up. She answered.

I’m starving, order me a steak!

Excuse me, Baller. You gotta keep in field shape. I’ll order you the salmon and you’ll like it. She added a smiley face.

We had one last weigh-in for Losing to Win. We were so far ahead in the points it was almost impossible for us to lose at this point, but we weren’t taking any chances. Whatever you say, ma’am.

Damn right. She sent back, causing me to chuckle to myself. I looked up to find the press corps grinning at me.

The on-field reporter from the NFL Network held out her mic. “Whenever you’re ready, Mal.”

Pierre walked in and came over. “Good game, 84.”

“I didn’t suck.” I smirked at him before turning to face the reporters and take questions.

It was forty-five minutes, a shower, and what seemed like a million repetitive questions later that I tightened the knot on my tie and climbed behind the wheel while Pierre slid in beside me. I locked the doors and started the car.

“I have news,” he announced in a calm voice.

“Yeah?” Pierre was dramatic and liked to tell things in his own good time.

“Nike called.”

I slammed on the brakes in the middle of reversing and swiveled my head in his direction. “What?!”

“And they aren’t the only ones. We got over a dozen nibbles looking to sign Mal Knight to endorsement deals.”

“Really? Already? I haven’t even played a regular season game yet.” Things were happening so fast, and this time, I was determined not to let it go to my head. I had to admit to being flattered, though.

“Keep driving, I’m hungry. Anyway, I guess Corporate America likes what they see. And everybody loves a triumphant comeback story.”

“Is that what I am? A comeback story?”

“Man, c’mon. You were the epitome of done, sitting on the sofa packing on pounds. You were a few years away from a ‘whatever happened to that guy’ segment on ESPN. Look at you now.”

“I guess so.”

“Have you taken a second to let it sink in?”

I could admit to Pierre that I was a little bit dazed. You make a plan, you work toward the goal, and it’s hard to recognize when you’ve arrived. “A little bit. Carissa and I were talking about it a few weeks ago. It’s hard to believe we are here. Again.”

“It’s different this time, right?”

“Oh, definitely. Everything is just a bit sweeter the second time around.”

“Your profile with the show and now with your performance on the field—the sky is the limit. We should be able to write our own ticket after this year.”

“Wow. It’s happening so fast.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“It was. It is. Just feels like something’s missing.”

“What? Carissa’s here, you’re back. We’re about to get paid. Life is good.”

“Is she really here, though? Like, all in?” I caught myself voicing the question that had been circling in my mind for a few weeks.

“What do you mean? You don’t think she’s in it for the long haul? That doesn’t sound like Carissa Wayne.”

“Tell me about it. The woman who has every area of her life planned and color coordinated is being deliberately vague. I can’t nail her down. Every time I try to talk about the future, she shuts down or changes the subject.”

“Well, that’s...” Pierre paused.

“Awkward?” I suggested.

“ ‘Troublesome’ was the word I was going with.”

“Frustrating,” I amended.

“It’s ironic, really.” Pierre shrugged.

“How so?”

“Well, here you are with the world at your feet and the one thing you really want is the one thing you’re not sure you can have. Irony.”

“Yeah.” My lips twisted. “Thanks for sharing that.”

“You’re welcome. But what’s the rush? You two have all the time in the world.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But I’m feeling kind of urgent. I hate to go all sensitive, P. The truth is, I want that commitment, I want her locked down. We’ve come too far for me to lose her now.”

“You don’t really think you’re gonna lose her to Jordan, do you? She doesn’t seem all that into him from what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. He’s the safe bet. He gets a woman like Carissa, he’ll never do anything to mess it up. I can’t make that guarantee. Shit, I’m not perfect.”

“Oh, this I know. I gotta say, though, I don’t think Jordan wins in the end. I just don’t.”

“I don’t want to lose to anything or anybody.”

“Then sit her down and force her to talk about it.”

I sent him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? Ah... no. Imposing my will upon her is what sent her running to the next state last time. This time, she’s gotta come to it on her own. When she decides what she wants, I’ll be here hoping it’s me.”

“Whoa, look at you.”

“What?” I took my eyes off the road once more to slide him an irritated glance.

“You’re all new, Malachi. Sensitive and shit. Let me see if I can get you a Hallmark commercial or Kleenex.”

“I told Carissa I was Malachi 2.0,” I admitted.

“Damn, Dr. Phil, wanna hug it out?”

“Kiss my ass.”

He snorted. “And just like that, the real Malachi Knight’s back.”

It was the perfect time to pull up outside the restaurant; Pierre’s snarky witticisms were on my nerves. I tossed my keys to the valet and strode inside. I caught sight of Carissa right away. She was wearing the amazing red dress we’d bought in New Orleans. Niecy and Shach were sitting with her. When she saw me heading her way, her face lit up and she looked relieved. My girl still didn’t 100 percent trust me. But I figured a lifetime of doing the right thing by her would fix that soon enough. A few people tried to stop me on my way to her, but I grinned and waved and kept moving. Reaching the table, I leaned down and kissed her. “Greetings, Carissa Wayne.”

“Hey, Rock Star.” She grinned. “Good game today.”

“He was all right,” Pierre teased and sat down.

“Stop it.” She swatted his arm. “My man rocked.”

That was all I needed to hear to make my day. One positive word from her and I felt like Superman. I dropped into the booth beside her and slid my arm around her. “I did all right, didn’t I?”

“So much so that you deserve a treat.”

“Oh yeah?” I raked my eyes across the bare skin showing.

Shach laughed. “Think with a different body part, bro, your lascivious intentions are showing.”

“Can you blame a brother?” I stroked my hand down Carissa’s arm; her skin was incredibly soft.

She shivered under my touch and beamed. “Behave, Malachi. Here it is.”

A waiter walked up carrying sizzling platters of food. He slid a huge dish in front of me. “Good evening, Mr. Knight, I understand you prefer your steak medium well.”

I looked down at the perfectly grilled ribeye swimming in butter on the plate and almost teared up. Life was damn good. “You’re a good woman, Carissa.”

“Best believe it.” She met my eyes.

“Oh, I absolutely do.” Tearing my gaze from hers, I picked up my knife and fork. “I’m about to commit a crime on this plate. Are we being filmed tonight?”

Niecy shook her head. “They’re waiting for us at a restaurant across town. We totally gave them the slip.”

“Good people, let’s eat.”