Changing the Play

by Julia Blake

  “I’ve got this. It’s all good,” said Kevin, but he couldn’t hide the slight tremor in his hands.

  “You’re sure?” she asked. “Because I can tell Nick and Mindy they’ll have to make do with the video they’ve got. It’s not too late.”

  It was the reason she’d opted to take a car out herself that afternoon rather than have someone drive them. She wanted to minimize the number of people who were at the shoot just in case Kevin got uncomfortable. Just in case something went wrong.

  Kevin shook his head. “I’ve got to do it at some point. I’d rather it be someone I like talking to.”

  She pursed her lips. Nick wasn’t Kevin’s friend. It was his job to dig, ask questions, and figure out what was really going on below the surface of a story. She wanted to warn Kevin again but kept her mouth shut. He had enough on his mind.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Nick slid the van door back as they approached. Her breath caught. She’d never get used to the first glimpse of him.

  Kevin looked between her and Nick with a knowing grin.

  She frowned. “What?”

  The grin didn’t budge. “Nothing.”

  “Hi there.” Nick shook Kevin’s hand and nodded to her. “You ready?”

  “As ready as I can be,” said Kevin glancing around at the tired apartment buildings.

  “We’ll make this quick,” said Nick.

  Chris hiked a camera up on his shoulder while Nick helped Kevin with his mic again. Mindy stood just a little ways off, making notes on her phone. Just like last time, Catherine had sent her son out in a collared shirt—this one a pale green that looked good against his dark brown skin. With a fresh haircut he looked every inch the dependable, draftable athlete.

  He’s going to be fine, she told herself.

  Like the previous sessions, Nick started slow with softball questions.

  “Tell me about the building you grew up in,” he said as soon as Chris gave them the thumbs-up that he was recording.

  Kevin looked over his shoulder and pointed to a small gray brick walk-up with four floors. “That’s it. Isn’t much to look at, but my parents made it a nice home.” He paused. “We lived on the third floor.”

  After a few minutes Nick started the walk part of the walk-and-talk. She stayed just a few paces away in case she needed to rein in the interview. Mindy walked backward, guiding Chris, who kept his eye glued to the viewfinder, with a tug on the back of his shirt.

  Finally, a block away from their start, Nick got to the serious stuff.

  “Okay, Kevin. I want you to take me to the spot where it happened.” Nick didn’t need to say what “it” was.

  Kevin nodded once and gestured to turn right at the corner up ahead. Everyone fell silent as they followed his directions. They’d passed a bodega playing bachata music, a two-story house, and two apartment buildings when Kevin said, “It happened right around here. I remember there being an alternate-side-parking sign nearby. I don’t think the city would move that.”

  “What were you doing before you heard the shots?” asked Nick.

  Kevin’s gaze fell to the cracked pavement as he concentrated. “My friend Tarik and I were walking down the block. We used to go over to his house because my mom’s shifts at the hospital didn’t end until eight. Dad’s a musician, and he was doing studio work down in the city in those days. Sometimes he was home during the day. Sometimes he wasn’t.

  “Tarik’s mom used to fix us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a glass of milk every afternoon. Then she’d make us do our homework while the other kids played outside. You couldn’t get up until it was done. Homework and then street football. She was a good lady.”

  “Sounds like it. Was there anything different about that day?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t think so. Tarik’s apartment was at the end of this block, so we were almost home. I didn’t notice anything was wrong until this guy started running toward us yelling.”

  She spotted sweat on Kevin’s brow. Wrap it up and move on, she wanted to tell him. Just give him what he wants and it will be over.

  “Did you know him? The guy who was running?” asked Nick.

  “No. He looked old to me, but I was a kid. Everyone looked old. I think someone later told me he was nineteen or twenty.”

  “Okay, so he ran by you,” Nick prompted. “What happened next?”

  Kevin folded his arms over his chest. He looked like a little boy hugging himself for warmth. “Someone started shooting.”

  “How many gunshots did you hear?” Nick asked, the questions coming fast now.

  “I don’t know. Four maybe?”

  “Were both of the guys shooting?”

  “Just one. The guy who was running didn’t even turn around.”

  “Did you know you’d been shot?”

  “No. We all hit the ground.” Kevin gave a nervous laugh. “That’s what you do when you hear gunshots, right? Hit the ground?”

  “So you didn’t feel it?” Nick asked.

  “Not for a few seconds. Then I—I felt it then.”

  “Why do you think it took you a few seconds before you felt the bullet?”

  Kevin’s breath came in shallow pants now. “I don’t know. Shock maybe.”

  Wrap it up, she silently urged him. She prayed to the god of sports agents that Nick hadn’t noticed what was happening to Kevin. Maybe she could jump in and suggest a break. No, the interruption would only piss Nick off, and she respected him too much professionally to do that. Plus, he might want Kevin to do the interview all over again.

  No one could blame her if she caught her heel on a crack in the sidewalk, though. She wasn’t wearing the most practical shoes and—

  “Tell me what it felt like,” Nick said.

  Kevin’s hands curled into fists. “Like someone stabbed me in the back with an ice pick. I’ve never felt anything like it again.”

  “What did it smell like?”

  “Burning metal and then blood. There was so much blood on the sidewalk.” Kevin gasped and pressed a hand to his chest. “Ms. Pollard? Ms. Pollard, I can’t breathe.”

  Fuck.

  “Move.” She pushed Nick out of the way. The camera was still rolling, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about the draft or millions of dollars anymore. This was about a very scared young man who was having a panic attack in the middle of a Bronx street.

  Her hands went to Kevin’s shoulders. “Look at me. Kevin, look at me. You’ve got to focus on something else.”

  Sweat dripped from his brow now. His mouth opened and closed, as though he couldn’t get enough air. Her heart shattered for Kevin.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “The interview—”

  “Screw the interview. Do not apologize,” she told him sternly even as she fought sourness in her own stomach. “Just breathe. Remember the exercises Dr. Liu gave you.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed two fingers to his temples, and began to mouth a countdown backward from ten. When he got to one, his eyes snapped open again.

  “Don’t call an ambulance. I don’t want Momma to worry,” he said in a rush.

  “Slow, steady breaths. Focus, remember? Just focus on my voice.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  She steered his six-foot, three-inch frame to the curb and eased him down. Gently she began to rub his back like a mother comforting her child as she reached for a bottle of water she’d had the foresight to jam into her purse.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again, putting his head between he knees as she cracked open the water bottle and pressed it into his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” she murmured. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

 
She kept her voice soothing and continued to rub his back. Behind them Mindy, Nick, and Chris shuffled awkwardly, but she ignored them. The damage was done. She needed to get Kevin back on level ground. He was her priority. Everything else came second.

  They sat there for a good ten minutes. Kevin’s breathing gradually slowed, and she could see the little vein on his neck slow its pounding.

  “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay. I’m going to be okay.”

  She dug in her purse again and found a tissue. He took it and mopped his face. When he smiled apologetically, her heart clenched. It was so unfair. He was such a good kid, and this stupid, stupid panic attack was going to ruin everything for him.

  “You sit here and relax,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Nick. If you need me, I’ll just be a few feet away. I’m not leaving you.”

  He nodded, so she stood, squared her shoulders, and prepared for battle.

  “Is he okay?” Nick asked as she walked over.

  “He’s going to be fine,” she said looking at all three NYSN people. Because that’s what they were. Not her boyfriend and his colleagues. They were the enemy who had just discovered the troop movement maps. The neighborhood bully who’d found the secret tree house. The older sibling who’d broken all the toys so no one can play anymore.

  “For a second I thought he was having a heart attack,” said Mindy.

  So had she the only other time she’d seen Kevin like this.

  “That was a panic attack,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster. “It’s scary to witness for the first time, but I can guarantee it’s even scarier for him.”

  “Does he have PTSD?” The reporter’s curiosity crept into Nick’s voice.

  Instinct hardened her own tone. “Not according to his doctor, no.”

  “Level with me,” said Nick.

  “He has anxiety,” she said. “It’s a condition that a staggering number of Americans suffer from, and his is usually manageable, although extreme stress can exacerbate it. You can imagine why a walk-and-talk interview with a news team at the same place where he was shot as a child and experienced the greatest pain of his life might not be a good idea.”

  She was fully in agent mode now. Deflect and reassign blame. Move it on to another target: the journalists themselves. They hadn’t caused his anxiety, but they damn well better believe they’d a hand in it cropping up again.

  Mindy crossed her arms. “If you’re saying that we had anything to do with this—”

  “When I asked him to describe the smell, it set him off?” Nick cut his producer off.

  “It was probably the whole string of questions, but the doctor says scent is a strong memory trigger. He actually did well today. He used to not be able to talk about it at all,” she said. “Cognitive behavioral therapy has gotten some incredible results in some patients. Kevin seems to be responding quickly.”

  “And on the playing field . . .” The question hung unfinished between them.

  “Anxiety never has and never will affect his quality of play. Kevin is a highly disciplined young man and a stellar athlete. His condition does not affect his ability to do his job.”

  And it better not affect his draftability in a few weeks either.

  Nick rubbed the back of his neck and shot her a pained look. She knew what he’d say before his lips even formed the words.

  “You know I have to put this in the story,” said Nick.

  It was as good as a punch to the gut. She’d trusted this man, laying herself open for him. And now this.

  “You don’t have to do that.” She was nearly pleading, but she didn’t care. The footage of the panic attack couldn’t hit air.

  “Mindy saw it. Chris saw it. The camera was rolling. We have the video. I can’t just ignore this,” said Nick.

  Professionally, she understood, but she’d fight him anyway. She always went to bat for her clients, and she didn’t even like all of them. For Kevin, she’d beg, borrow, and steal to get him the life-changing contract he deserved.

  “That video will ruin his draft prospects,” she said, lowering her voice even though Kevin still sat a few feet away.

  “Rachel—”

  “No scout wants to touch a player with anxiety and panic attacks even if they don’t affect the kid’s performance. All of you know that. You’ve met his family. You know that’ll crush his parents. His sister. They all want this for him. I want this for him.”

  “We’re journalists. We can’t just ignore this,” said Mindy.

  “Kill the story,” she said, even though she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell they would.

  Mindy reared back. “Are you kidding?”

  “Mindy.” Nick stopped her with a hand on her elbow, “I’ve got this. Rachel, you know the rules. I can’t hold something like this back, and I’m not going to kill the story. Even if you and Kevin walked away right now, we have all of the pieces. We could go to air tonight.”

  No. Kevin had not worked this hard to be reduced to a “character issue” and cast aside because of Nick’s scoop. NYSN was not going to jeopardize his future.

  Rachel knew that it’d be best for her relationship with Nick if she stopped. It was what she’d dreaded from the start, an impasse that was too big for them to push past. The relationship wasn’t just doomed from the moment he’d walked back into her life. It was doomed from the moment he’d walked by her in their high school dugout.

  She refused to go back to being the girl she was years ago—quiet and ignored. She was going to stand and fight.

  “Kevin’s projected to go in the first round, Nick. That is life-changing money for him and his family. If he gets labeled problematic, half of the league won’t even give him the time of day. The other half might give him a shot as an undrafted free agent. Might being the operative word. Syracuse’s program isn’t strong enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s going on raw talent.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” he said. “If he’s drafted, he’ll have to go out for the fifty-three man roster just like everyone else.”

  She pressed on. “You know that’s not true. Anyone who’s watched one episode of Hard Knocks knows that those drafted kids are special. They’re not in that cutthroat competition for the last spots on the team.”

  “Are you afraid he won’t stack up?”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. If you put this on air, you’re jeopardizing Kevin’s future. All he wants to do is play football. Don’t take that away from him.”

  Everything from the set of his jaw to the way he balled his hand into a fist told her Nick was holding back an anger that once unleashed wouldn’t be pretty. Neither would hers. She could yell with the best of them, and she sure as hell wasn’t afraid of this man. She knew him too well for that.

  “He’s got talent. He’ll land somewhere,” said Nick.

  “Where? I’ve been in this business for ten years, and I can’t tell you what team will be happy to take a flier on him.”

  “Something will work out.”

  “Tell me where, Nick,” she demanded. “He’ll be known as the kid with the anxiety problems. He’ll be lucky to even make a practice squad. I’ve been down that road before. Kevin deserves to get on the field next season and have maximum rookie pay while he’s doing it.”

  “You have to let me do my job, Rachel.” His expression softened as he said her name, and he touched her elbow.

  She shook his hand off. “And this is me doing mine. Cut the interview.”

  “No.”

  With that one syllable, the gulf between them split open once again. Push for Kevin. Push Nick away. It was all she could do. All she knew how to do. Work had come first for years. Not Nick. He’d just been in her life for a few short weeks. He hadn’t shown her that he would stay. There would
always be more clients, more meetings, more work. That was her constant.

  Still, she tried one last time, her voice low and soft. “Nick, please. Kevin didn’t ask to be shot. Don’t make him pay for it now.”

  “Think about what you want me to do,” he said in a burst of frustration. “Not only is it unethical, it could jeopardize my career if anyone found out.”

  This was never going to work. She’d been stupid to think that it could. Reporters and agents were cut from different cloth. Her job was to make everything happen, to build things up. Nick? Nick would destroy a young man who’d just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when he was seven. He was just like every other reporter she knew.

  “I promised Kevin I’d protect him,” she said.

  Mindy jumped in. “How far does that promise go?”

  Her gaze slid over to the other woman, a woman she’d come to like. Except the way that Mindy was looking at her now was different. The producer’s eyes narrowed, her jaw set, and brow wrinkled.

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked.

  “She means is Kevin even seeing a doctor?” Nick asked. “Because a team is going to get ahold of his medical records during the signing process. They’ll want to know. Or are you trying to hide that too?”

  The accusation stung. “You really think I’d risk my client’s health?”

  “I don’t know, Rachel.”

  A fresh wave of anger exploded in her. “Off the fucking record, Nick? Yeah, he’s seeing a doctor. If you pay cash, you don’t have to put visits on insurance.”

  “Who’s paying for it?” Mindy asked before adding, “Off the record.”

  “I am, so don’t either of you ever tell me that I don’t care about my players’ health ever again. I bend over backward for these boys.

  “And I know what you’re thinking. The agent’s just looking out for her fifteen percent. But I have enough clients to set me up for a long time. I don’t need to take the kids who’ve been injured and sidelined and give them a chance. I do it because they have talent and someone should be helping them make their way.”