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Prologue
The Draft
Even before my brother, Hudson, received the request to join the virtual draft, I knew he was going to be a top pick. He’s one of the best wide receivers out there. This past season—his senior year in college—he was the number one receiver in the nation. He said his game was elevated due to the connection he and the quarterback had.
Still, he deserves this; he worked for it and has the talent.
Am I saying this because I’m his brother? Hell no. I’m the first to give him a kick in the ass when he dogs on the field or messes up a play. Why does he take it? For the same reason that, in every damn interview, when he’s asked, “Who is your favorite player?” he still answers with my name, Roman Hart. It sure as hell wasn’t our father who tossed a ball with him.
In high school, I was the number one player in both football and baseball. I received an MLB offer my senior year as well as scholarship offers for both sports to D1 schools. I chose football even though I love baseball, too.
When we were growing up, our mom pounded it into our heads that friends, girlfriends—hell, even spouses—come and go, but the one thing we would always have was each other.
I once wrote a paper in school about the Aaron brothers and another about the Alou brothers. At one time, all three of them—Felipe, Matty, and Jesús Alou—had played for the San Francisco Giants. There was one game where they all batted in the same inning. The next game, the three had been in the outfield together. It blew my mind. I later learned that, throughout history, over four hundred sets of brothers played in the majors. No doubt they’d grown up playing together. I wanted Hudson and me to be one of them.
Hud was good at baseball, but it was crystal clear that football was his love.
When Hud got the call, he told me that he wouldn’t ask me to be there if it would hurt me. Couldn’t blame him. I’m pretty sure one of the two times I’ve ever cried was watching the draft and waiting for the phone to ring. It didn’t. I told him there was no way I’d miss seeing his dumbass smile when he was picked. I also reminded him that we were all stuck here under the same roof, so I’d be here regardless of whether he wanted me to be or not.
We’re all in the living room. Grandma Hart’s asleep in her recliner with her dog, Zoey, on her lap, and Mom and my sister, Jillian, are beside me on the couch. As planned, I hit Accept when Hudson gets the invitation to join a Zoom and mirror it on the TV we dragged out of my room for the occasion so he and two other teammates, who were also invited to be available live, could be together. The three had deduced that at least one of them was gonna get picked, and if the rest didn’t, it would make for good TV.
“Nobody cries, man. Nobody,” one of his teammates says right away.
The hot brunette with the QB and Coach palms her face and groans then sighs. “We’ve been through this. Every one of you is to be as excited for the others when they get picked. Owners want team players. This draft isn’t the be-all, end-all. You could still get an offer. So, yeah, Hunt, no crying.”
The brunette—Hud had mentioned her before—said she was an agent they’d all agreed to sign with when the time came. I tried not to overstep but told him to make sure he was careful. He told me that she was already working on sponsorship deals and would be taking less of a cut than the other agents who’d contacted them. Apparently, she’s a friend from college who’s already signed some of their hockey friends, and they’re making bank. Mom confirmed, but, yeah, I still looked into it. Seems solid.
As they’re chatting, I give Mom’s hand a squeeze to grab her attention and nod toward the living room TV, where the network has been playing highlights, when one of Hudson’s biggest plays—a Hail Mary that helped them cinch a bowl game—is being aired. Mom tries to hide her excitement, but I’m not having it.
“So help me God, Linda, if you give me another look like that, I’m gonna quit my job and join the military.”
Jillian giggles at me
“First of all, it’s Mom. Second, I would kneecap you and?—”
I pop a kiss onto the top of her head. “Today is all about Hud’s shot, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A few minutes later, they cut to a commercial, and Hudson mutes the Zoom call he’s on. He then turns and looks at me. “If it wasn’t for you all, this wouldn’t?—”
“You worked for this. This is your moment. Shine.”
He nods once but still looks miserable.
“Bro, fix your face and take this in. You are going to kill it in the pros, but not if you keep carrying around extra baggage.”
His jaw sets.
“Come on, man. This is a win for us all. Am I right?”
“I might not?—”
“Am I fucking right?” I cut him off.
“Rome!” Mom scolds.
Jillian snorts.
