Page 7 of Platinum Pressure

“When the Silverbacks needed him the most, he let them down,” one sport commentator stated.

“You’ve hated the man since he won his first ring against your precious Spotted Frogs. Platinum Jones tearing his ACL was an unfortunate event that I’m sure was not intentional on anybody’s part. He’ll come back even stronger in a season or two,” the co-host replied.

“Finally, someone with some fuckin’ sense. I swear these mothafuckas act like I chose to be in the worst pain of my fuckin’ life.” I was seething. The anger returned as I continued to listen to the conversation.

Fuck a breathing exercise.

Fuck a meditation.

Fuck everything.

Fuck everybody.

“You know what I say to that? Pack it up! Platinum’s reign is over. He’s been a menace in the league. His arrogance and narcissistic personality⁠—”

“That’s enough of that.” Mama grabbed the remote and turned the television off, but the damage was already done.

I rubbed my temples as I simmered in my anger. I wanted to pull up on that hating-ass nigga and show him who the fuck I was. People loved to hide behind a screen and say disrespectful shit. I hated these modern-day sports commentators. They had no regards for the people they sat around and talked about. They wanted rage bait clips to get their views up without a care in the world for how their words affected other people. If Seddy wasn’t such a drill sergeant, I would have pulled up on that bitch and made his next dentist appointment expensive as fuck.

“Don’t even think about it,” Seddy commented as he stood up from the recliner.

“You don’t even know what I want to do,” I rebutted.

“You’ve got that crash out look in your eyes. Knowing you, you probably want to get on the internet and call that man everything but a child of God, and we don’t need that right now. We need to focus on your recovery.”

“First, I wasn’t thinking about posting shit. I was thinking about pulling up on that bitch and showing him just how much of a menace I could be. Second, what fuckin’ recovery if I have to wait a month to get surgery?”

“Honeybun, you don’t want something irreversible to happen, rushing into surgery. The surgeons know what they’re talking about. Be patient and trust God’s plan.” Mama stood up and walked over to me. She held out her hand, and I lazily let her hold my much larger ones. She rubbed my hands gently to calm me down, but I was too far gone. After a few moments, she abandoned the task and adjusted the pillows under my leg.

“Everybody wants me to be optimistic and patient. Do y’all know I only have thirty minutes? Thirty. Minutes. Most people who play my position retire before the age of thirty-four—even earlier, when they’re as big as me. Football is my life. Y’all not hearing me.”

Why did I have to explain to my parents and best friend why I was angry? Why was I worried about my future? The three of them knew better than anyone how important football was to me. Football saved my life in more ways than one. The threat of not getting back out there to finish what I started had me on edge.

“We hear you, PJ,” Pops commented. He ran a hand down his face.

I was a spitting image of my father when he was my age. We had the same jawline, round nose, and brooding eyebrows. Our dark complexion with low-cut fades were almost identical as well, but Perry’s gave the salt-and-pepper look. People liked to joke that Mama’s genes didn’t even try to fight back, but I got her heart—the sole reason I had to build a suit of armor around the organ.

“Y’all hear me, but do you understand me?” I asked.

“We understand, which is why we asked Seddrick to look into a nurse to help keep you in line and on the right path through your recovery,” Mama explained.

My eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Before any of them could respond, the security alarms notified me of a car pulling into my driveway. The chime on my phone made me chuckle humorlessly.

“I know y’all got to be joking with me. I know good and damn well y’all ain’t invite a stranger into my home.”

“Hear your people out, P. I’m going to go out and greet the nurse. Please don’t give this woman a hard time.” Seddy walked across the living room and went out the front door.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Did everybody forget I’m a grown-ass man who can decide for myself what to do with my life?”

The more I talked, the more my knee throbbed. The longer everybody stayed in my home, the worse my pain became. They were supposed to be my peace and comfort during recovery; instead, they were my biggest stressors.

“Y’all need to follow Seddy out the front door, and don’t come back until I’m on the surgery schedule.” I crossed my arms over my chest. The throb in my knee spread throughout my body. I needed a fucking nap and some painkillers.

“We’ll get out your hair once we’ve talked to your nurse. We want to make sure both of y’all are good before we leave you alone. Believe it or not, but we care about our only child and want to make sure he’s taken care of properly.” Mama wrapped her arm around my shoulder and tried to give me a reassuring hug, but I was too far gone.

“Why didn’t anyone think to mention a nurse to me before their arrival?” I inquired. “Why couldn’t one of y’all inform me or warn me of who will be in my home? I vet people because I need to make sure I stay protected. Y’all all eat off the millions of dollars I bring home every year, but there was no respect for me in the decisions y’all made? Now I’m being bombarded with a stranger while I’m in my most vulnerable state. None of this shit makes sense at all.”