Page 107 of Who's Saving You
I press both hands to my mouth, but nothing stops the flood of panic rising in my chest.
And then?—
45
Nik
The suite feels too clean and too far away from the field. The room hums faintly with the roar of the crowd, every cheer muffled like I’m underwater. I shift in my seat, good knee bouncing, an ache of not being down on that field clawing at me. Noelle squeezes my arm, but her eyes stay on the game. On them.
Our box is a mix of colors. Blue Rage jerseys and Red Driller jerseys intermingle with each other. Soba’s girlfriend is leaning forward, nails biting into her palms, number 1 on her back. Loving’s girl is whispering prayers under her breath, hands clasped tight, number 13 on her back. They’re both vibrating with nerves, because this isn’t just any Sunday—it’sthegame. The Super Bowl. And it’s down to the wire.
The week leading up to tonight was insane. It was fullof nerves, excitement, love for each other, hate for each other, and jealousy on my part. It’s been just under a year, since we were all sitting on that same couch, expecting to go to the same team.
What a ride it’s been.
I can’t put into words how things have changed and how it continues to change week by week. Looking back, it's nothing but a blur, but living it was fucking awful.
August 2007. I was four years old, stepping onto a field that would feel more like home than my actual home. I had no idea I’d find my two best friends for life. I had no idea the twists and turns the game would take me on, the people I’d meet, the people I’d learn to avoid.
Cut to December 2025. I had no idea Week 16 of my NFL rookie year would be the last time I’d step foot onto a field in uniform.
We’re on our way. Win this game, and we’re locked in. It already feels like a done deal. I can almost see the Rookie of the Year award in my house, the Super Bowl ring on my finger. But we aren’t settled. The clock is counting down, and though we still have two quarters to play, panic creeps in. And when panic shows up, people get hurt. The ball’s in motion, and my instinct takes over, but I’m playing frantically. I’m not playing mindfully; I'm playing with nerves. My feet push off the grass, bodies collide, our pads smack, my team yells, the crowd cheers. I’m in love with this moment, but then someone yells out, “Get it, Warrior!” and my mind flickers.
There’s a picture of Eva smiling when we’re kids, of Mom cooking us dinner, Dad having a catch with me, the smell of roasted lamb wafting through the air. Then Mom and Eva both standing next to me on draft night, of Noelle’s voice saying words that can’t be unsaid.
I break through the mess of defenders, but as I push off one, another gets me from the side. I never saw him coming, but he saw me, and I was sandwiched. My cleat plants wrong, just a little too deep in the turf, and it twists. I hear a pop and then an electric-like bolt of pain explodes through me, to the point my heart skips a beat. It hurts so bad. I go down hard, the field not cushioning me one bit.
I roll to my side as the noise of the game fades to a low hum. “Papas! You hurt? Bro! Fuck!” The play stops, and trainers rush in. Teammates crowd me, but all I see is black. I squeeze my eyes shut, doing my best not to puke right here, and not just from the pain. I already know what happened. This isn’t just an injury. It’s THE injury.
I tore my ACL. There’s going to be plenty of physical rehab, plenty of pain pills, surgeries, too, but I already know I’ll never be the same. Once this happens, it’s downhill. Am I a liability now? Yes. Will I get re-signed? Sure. Will I see field time? Most likely not. No one’s going to take a chance that this could happen again or that I’ll ever make it back to one hundred percent ready to play.
I used to think the game was forever, that it would always be waiting for me. It was in my blood, part of my personality. It defined me. But it’s gone now, at least in the way I know it. There will never be another helmet, another jersey. There will be no thunder from the crowd, no cheers from my team. Now, it’s just me and this body that doesn’t do what I built it to do anymore.
I can coach, sure. I can pour myself into play details, break down film, teach a rookie how to read a blitz before it outruns him. But standing on the sideline will never feel like standing in the huddle with my brothers, the only ones who knew what it meant to give your whole body for a game.
Thatpart is over.
But, Noelle. With her, I feel the weight shift. She pulled me from the dark; she pulled me from the other side of life that was threatening to drown me. As we sit here and watch my two best friends battle it out for a ring, a game I expected to be fighting for, her hand finds mine, grounding me in a way no cheering crowd ever could.
You ask who’s saving me? She is. She hasn’t flinched once at the broken pieces, the pieces I’m trying to put back together while I figure out what's next. She only sees who I am and what I can still become.
Football was my life, my first love. It’s what made my heart race and calm slowly, all at once. But my heart has a new beat now. Maybe with her, I can figure out what that actually looks like.
I don’t know where football fits anymore. I just know it’s not everything and certainly not compared to her.
So, I let it go, not all at once, but enough to take the first step into whatever comes next.
“Okay, Jim, we’ve got Drillers with a four-point lead. Soba has one last shot. What do you think?
“I think Soba has a chance to make history. From last seed to Super Bowl Champs? This is some underdog story.”
“Let’s see if he was worth the hype.”
The announcers are coming through loud in our box, but the crowd is louder. The energy is electric. I feel it flooding through me as I watch the television pan to Loving. He’s standing calmly on the sideline, hands hooked into his shoulder pads, but only I know the fire running through him right now.
Movement on the field draws my sight back to The Rage. I watch Soba line up his team. He’s waving his hand, making minor adjustments before he takes his position.He calls the cadence, claps, and the snap is fired. The Drillers' defense is on them quickly, blocking any possible route. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Pressure coming—he’s got to get rid of it?—”
