Hail Mary

Niall

People usually have one of two reactions when I tell them about my injury. The overwhelming one is pity, but every now and again there's someone who seems to understand exactly what it takes to come back from something like that. Payne's in the latter camp, and he doesn't give me any bullshit about how I was robbed, or how it's a miracle I'm even walking now. He understands. I don't just want to walk. I want to play football. Hell, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I want things to go back to the way they were before I got injured. Before I realized there were people in this world so fucking hateful that they would do something like that. Of course, I don't tell Payne any of that. It's not completely unbelievable that such a serious injury would randomly happen on a football field, so I'm not too worried about him asking questions. I guess I should feel more ashamed since he's offering to help me. But I just can't. Some secrets I have to keep with me. And maybe I'm holding myself back by doing it, but I can't really imagine letting anybody else know this. Right now, I can pretend it was just another run-of-the-mill injury, and that I'm terrified of it happening again. It's not exactly a lie, it's just not the whole truth. With my burger finished I get to work on my fries. Everything tastes amazing, but after working so hard earlier today, my stomach is feeling a little unsettled. Of course, it could be a side effect of drinking so much beer before eating anything. I've always been a lightweight, from the time my friends and I were sneaking beers out of our parents' fridge in junior high. I'm never gonna be a big party guy, and I'm okay with that. Payne is going to town though. He's downed most of the pitcher himself, and I'm glad he hasn't noticed that I haven't kept up with him yet. Considering how big he is, he can probably put down a lot before he even thinks about it. And it's not my place to question what he does. Not like he's my boyfriend. Jesus. One day of him talking to me and my subconscious is already fantasizing. Great. I watch him scribble something on a napkin, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Eventually he slides it across the table, and I squint as I look at it. It's a schedule. Written in surprisingly neat, elegant handwriting. Totally unexpected coming from the guy sitting across from me. "What's this?"
"Your new schedule. It'll probably have to change around a bit if Coach calls practice on the fly. But right now, these are the times we'll work one-on-one. I can get some extra time on the field, or we can hit up the park. Your choice." He's got sessions slotted out every other day, at least. I have a feeling this is going to have to change once classes start, but right now I find myself almost a little giddy at the idea of spending so much time with him. And this is while he's going to force me to get tackled over and over again. The only thing my treacherous mind can think is that I hope he's the one doing the tackling. "You sure you have time for all this?"
"Yeah. Not a whole lot to do before the semester starts. And I want to get as much work in as possible. If you want to start this season, you'll have to impress Coach Garvey pretty quick." "Well... Thanks, man." His lips turn up in a grin. "You sound surprised." "I am. I mean, you don't know me. At all. You don't know my stats from high school, you don't know if I was just having a good run in practice today. And you're willing to spend the time to help fix me." He finishes a bite and locks eyes with me. I can't help it. I'm caught in the intensity of his stare, his chocolate brown eyes both calming and exhilarating. "Anybody who can come back from an injury like that is worth fixing." And just like that, the discussion is over. Even if I have no idea why someone like Payne would do this for me, I can't help but trust him. He's putting himself out there, giving me some of his precious time. A lot of his time, if this napkin is anything to go by. So trusting him is the least I can do. When Payne turns his attention back to the TV, I turn my attention to him. He cuts a profile like a Greek statue, all hard lines and perfection. Strong jaw, nicely squared face, and a brow that's masculine but not reaching Neanderthal levels. When he smiles, or when he focuses, his chocolate brown eyes crinkle just a little bit in the corners. In 20 years, he's going to be one of those gorgeous guys who has laugh lines carved into his face. Not that he isn't already gorgeous. It's his lips that really get me though. His mouth is framed by rough stubble that outlines the shadow of a beard. But his lips look soft and full. I've always been a sucker for a guy who can kiss, and with lips like that, I'm willing to bet Payne is pretty damn good at it. But what are the chances of me ever finding out? Pretty fucking slim. As soon as the question forms on the tip of my tongue, I know I shouldn't ask it. Even if I couch it between a few more reasonable questions, it's not like he and I are best buds. I shouldn't be thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him, but right now it's the only thing keeping me from thinking about what it felt like to lay broken on the ground and not be able to feel my legs. "So you're a senior, right?" Safe question number one. He takes a drink of his beer before answering. The pitcher's almost polished off now. "Yeah. Fifth year, actually. Went a little light in the class load a couple years back." Considering how dedicated he seems to football, I'm not surprised. "What's your major?" "Communication." "You trying to be a sportscaster or something?" He shrugs, turning his attention back to the TV. "I guess if a professional career doesn't pan out, yeah." His shoulders are tense, and his posture is completely closed off. Apparently I've already touched on a sore spot, and I haven't even asked what I really want to know. "Where are you staying until the dorms open up?" "My dad got an apartment down here. We lived in Michigan before this, and after my mom died, he didn't really have any reason to stay. Gives him a chance to keep an eye on me, too." He says it offhandedly, but there's still a little tension and him. "Sorry about your mom." He just nods, then pours the last of the pitcher into his glass. "You want another?" "I'm good." I'm starting to think that Liam Payne is a more complicated guy than I first suspected. And that any question I ask him is going to have a complicated answer. "So what do you guys usually do outside of football?" "There's something outside of football?" That makes him chuckle, like he's finally comfortable with the conversation again. "Not a whole lot. There's this place, and there's always some party going on somewhere. The guys who live in the same dorm like to get together and play Madden. Other than that, can't say there's a whole lot going on during the season." He's still not really talking about himself. I know I shouldn't pry, but I just can't help myself. "Must be hard to date with a schedule like that. Your girl okay with you spending so much time on the field?" Payne looks back at me, and for a second I think he's going to call me on my bullshit. My heart is thumping hard in my chest, and I swear there's no way he can't hear it. But he just shrugs, then looks away. "She wasn't. That's why we broke up. Two years ago." He takes another sip of his beer before continuing. "Thought I could balance a social life with everything else, but it just didn't work out." There's a part of me that's deliriously happy to hear he doesn't have a girlfriend right now. Of course, that part of me is completely ignoring the fact that he's obviously straight. Not that I didn't know that going into this. Whatever this is. I feel like I'm back in junior high, passing a note to someone I like. "I feel you. Don't really get out much myself." Back when I was seeing a therapist, she suggested it was because of anxiety. Whether that developed after my injury, or before it, I'll never know. But at least it gives Payne and I something to bond over, in a roundabout way. He lifts his glass in invitation, and I clink mine against his. "At least I'm not the only pathetic one out here." I laugh. "Glad to be of service." I don't ask him anything more about his personal life, and he doesn't really seem interested in mine. We watch the rest of the inning, and see the Mets shut out the Cardinals. A few displeased groans and shouts come from the tables around us, and I see beer money change hands. Once SportsCenter comes on, Payne fishes out his wallet and pays for the meal, just like he said he would. I want to argue again, but for the sake of my finances, I know I shouldn't. It's hard enough having to pay either for gas or a hotel room until the dorms open up again. With the bill settled, Payne stands up and sways a little, catching himself on his chair. From the expression on his face, I'm guessing he didn't realize how quickly he downed those beers. I'm surprised he hasn't had to wander off for a piss or two by now. "Shit. I'm gonna have to call a cab. I can drop you off wherever." Leave it to Payne to be the one responsible college student in this bar. I want to offer to drive him back so he doesn't have to waste even more money on my account, but I've got a bit of a head rush too. And I don't have any desire to be scraped off the asphalt. "Don't worry about it. I can walk." "You sure?" "Yeah. Bus stop isn't far from here." He nods, and before he can pull out some cash for the tip, I beat him to it. A small smile is my reward, and it's definitely reward enough. "Remember the schedule," he says, tapping his finger on the napkin. I pick up the napkin and slip it into my pocket. At this point, there's no chance of me forgetting.