Page 72 of The Sweetest Return

AWU’s president welcomed everyone first, followed by a prayer from one of the older alumni ministers, then dinner, then a short video about the scholarship fund. The room clapped in all the right places, laughed when the MC teased the alumni board about fundraising with holy persistence, and went quiet when a student recipient spoke about being the first in her family to attend college.

Through all of it, I remained aware of Dre beside me.

His knee shifted under the table. His cuff brushed mine. Once, when a server reached across too quickly, his hand settled lightly behind my chair, not touching my back but close enough for my skin to know exactly where he was.

The air between us had become thick.

I had spent years being an adult woman with sense, discernment, bills, excellent skincare, and a decent grasp of emotional consequences.

Apparently all it took was Andre Jones in a tuxedo sitting beside me, smelling good and occasionally leaning close enough for his voice to brush my ear, for my body to start making alternative plans.

Then the lights lowered.

A woman from the alumni association stepped onto the stage in a gold gown, smiling like she knew she was about to make the room proud.

“Before we open the dance floor tonight, we have one final honor.”

The screen behind her changed, and a photograph of Dre filled it.

He could not have been more than seven or eight, standing on a football field in shoulder pads too big for him and a helmet tucked against one hip. Even then, he was tall for his age, all knees, elbows, and serious eyes, with the expression of a child already trying to understand where everybody needed him to stand.

The room softened immediately.

Beside me, Dre went still.

The next picture was high school. Andre at quarterback, tall and lean with the ball cocked near his ear, defenders closing in while his eyes stayed downfield. Then AWU: number twenty-two, freshman year, lined up at wide receiver with his hands loose at his sides and his body angled like he was already reading the defender’s fear.

My throat tightened.

The MC smiled out over the ballroom.

“Andre Malik Jones has been making people adjust their expectations since he was old enough to put on shoulder pads.”

Laughter moved through the room.

“He started playing pee-wee football at the community center that many of you know he still supports today. Back then, his coaches say he was usually the tallest child on the field, sometimes the fastest, and almost always the one asking why a play worked instead of simply being satisfied that it did.”

Dre lowered his head for a second, smiling faintly.

“At Westinghouse Prep, Andre played quarterback, leading his team with the kind of poise that made recruiters take notice early. When he arrived at August Wilson University, our coaching staff already had a starting quarterback and a crowded quarterback room. What they did not have was a freshman willing to say, ‘Put me wherever I can get on the field.’”

Applause broke out.

I looked at Dre.

He kept his eyes on the stage, but his mouth curved slightly.

“So they did. Andre started his AWU career at wide receiver, where his height, hands, and ability to break open after the catch made him a problem for defensive backs across the conference. But during his sophomore year, when injuries thinned the running back room and the offense needed someone who could handle motion, catch out of the backfield, pass protect, and still run through contact, Coach Ellison gave number twenty-two a few carries.”

The MC paused.

“Apparently, that was enough.”

The ballroom laughed and clapped.

“By midseason, Andre Jones was the starting running back. Taller and bigger than what some people expected at the position, but too fast for linebackers and too powerful for most defensive backs who made the mistake of meeting him upright. He could run around you, run past you, or, if he was in a certain mood, run directly through you.”

Someone yelled, “I know that’s right!”