My knee been bouncin’ for like two hours straight. I’m too big to be this antsy, but here I am—damn near seven feet of nerves, folded into this couch like it’s a kindergarten chair. My baby girl’s curled up next to me, her head barely reachin’ my chest even when she’s sittin’ up straight. She’s holdin’ my hand like it’s the only thing tetherin’ her to Earth. And maybe it is. ’Cause this night? This night could change everything.

The draft’s playin’ on the big screen. ESPN commentators talkin’ in circles, draggin’ it out. First round tickin’ by. Name after name. Some I know, some I don’t. But they ain’t call mine yet.

“Zay… you okay?” she asks, soft like she always is. That voice been calmin’ me since I was fourteen and full of fire.

I glance down at her. “Nah. But I will be.”

She nods, squeezes tighter. I kiss her forehead. Her hair smell like coconuts and whatever magic she put in there this mornin’. Two years married, and I still get that flip in my chest every time I look at her. She stuck by me when we had nothin’ but dreams and ramen packets. Slept in my mama’s busted-up house, watched me train in the rain, believed in me when the world ain't even know my name yet.

Then—the room goes silent.

I see the Broncos logo pop up.

“With the 27th pick in the first round… the Denver Broncos select… Zayvion Creed, defensive end, Alabama!”

Time stops.

I swear, I ain’t breathin’. I just sit there, starin’ like the TV spoke a different language.

My girl screams. Loud. Happy. Tears already fallin’ as she jumps in my lap like she weigh nothin’—and she don’t, not to me. I wrap my arms around her, feel her heartbeat racin’ against mine. And then it hits me.

I made it.

“I told you,” she whispers through tears, “I told you they’d call your name.”

I bury my face in her neck, holdin’ her like I’m scared I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone. “You always did,” I whisper back.

I stand up and hug my mom tight, high-fiving my dad before I turn back to my wife and wrap my arms tightly around her waist.