Hail Mary

Liam

I don't know what time it is when my door slams open. It's Sunday morning, I know that at least. Horan's been here for one day, and my dad had him watching his favorite tapes from past seasons. We cooked a few stakes in the backyard, and had an okay time. Horan and I headed out to the Y to play some hoops, and when we got back, dad was gone. Probably hit the bar, but I'm not his keeper, so I didn't worry about it. I guess I should worry about it now. "What the fuck is this?" It's the first thing I hear, yanking me violently out of a dream. My heart pounds as I sit straight up in bed. I try to catch my breath, feeling like I've just run a marathon, but he isn't giving me the chance. He shoves a folded paper in my face, and my eyes are still bleary from sleep. I can't make out what it says. "Answer me, Liam. What is this?" I hear Horan rustle on the roll-away beside me, and my stomach lurches. I can't smell any alcohol on Dad's breath, but he's pissed as hell. Taking the paper, I squint and try to make sense of it, hoping if I give him an answer he'll leave me alone. It's a list of the classes I'm taking this semester. Eastshore always sends them out the week before classes start so we can get our books and anything else we need. As I look it over, I realize what he's angry about. "Can we do this somewhere else?" "No, we do this here. Now." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Horan  sit up. He blinks away the sleep, and I hope he isn't awake enough to realize what's going on. "Sorry," I say to him. He just gives me a sympathetic look. "You mind getting the coffee started this morning?" "The coffee can wait," Dad says, in a voice that makes Horan stop moving. "Right now, you're going to tell me why you're only taking three classes this semester when you need 15 credits to graduate." "I can't fit in 15 credits with football. You know that." He rips the paper out of my hands. "No, I don't know that. I know you're supposed to be a full-time student at that school. That you're supposed to graduate this year. Hell, I know you were supposed to graduate last year, and I already gave you slack for that, Liam." Bullshit. He's been on my ass about that since he found out. "What do you expect me to do? When I'm not at school or practice, you've got me working drills here or at the park. When am I supposed to do schoolwork?" His face is red, and his brows draw close together. "Don't you put this on me. It's your responsibility to do well in school." "So what do you want me to do?" I repeat, knowing I'm treading on thin ice. "Monday morning, you tell them to fit you into two more classes this semester. I don't care what they are, but you're getting those credits." My teeth grind together and my chest feels tight and heavy. It's anxiety, I know. This feeling of helplessness I always get around him. My dad's never beat me. He's given me everything I've ever wanted. But this is the same old song and dance we've always done. He wants to push me. Wants me to push myself. I get so close to the breaking point, and when I step back from the ledge to keep from falling, he just pushes me out there again. It's overwhelming, and right now, someone else is witnessing every bit of it. "This isn't a negotiation, Liam." "And what if I don't? What if I can't handle it, and I need to take three classes this semester instead of five?" I know he won't make me quit football. He's never even threatened it, because he knows I wouldn't take it seriously. Football is everything to him. "You want to test me, boy? Your scholarship ends this year, Jason. In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly drowning in money over here. So you want to draw it out, go right ahead. But don't expect me to pay your way, and don't expect NFL recruiters to wait for you." He crumples up the paper and throws it on my bed. Storming toward my door, he flings it open, and I see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes in a deep breath. He turns, ignoring me completely, and looks at Horan who's still sitting frozen atop the roll-away. "Sorry you had to see that. You're welcome to stay as long as you want." He pulls the door shut behind him, a little harder than necessary, but not with the slam I expected. Letting out a deep breath, I stare at the ceiling and wish I could go back in time. Years in time, before Dad became obsessed with this. Maybe back to when Mom was still alive, because she was always able to talk sense into him. With her around, I usually didn't feel like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown every second. Right now, though, I just want the chance to rewind time and find some way to get Horan out of here before he sees that. He hasn't said anything, and I know I'm going to have to be the first one to bring it up. Might as well rip that bandage off now. "Sorry about that. I should've told him before he found out this way." "It's okay. Is he always so... intense?" I laugh, but it's the kind of laugh you do to keep from feeling anything else. "Yeah. He means well, I guess. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for him." Horan doesn't say anything, and I look over at him to get some idea of what he's thinking. His gaze meets mine, and I see the question there. He's asking if I really believe that, and I don't have an answer. "Football is a big deal to him. To me. He knows if I don't graduate this year, I'm either going to have to quit school before I get a degree, or skip the draft." "Five classes is a lot to take in a semester when you're doing as much as he has you doing." I just nod. I already know that. That's why I signed up for three. "So what was your plan?" My defenses fire off, and it's on the tip of my tongue to snap back at him. But it isn't an accusation. I can hear it in his voice. He just genuinely wants to know. "I don't know. Double up in the summer, maybe. Take night classes or something with a lab to get extra credits. I really don't know." I let out a long sigh. My whole body is tense, caught between wanting to get the hell out of here, and wanting to just curl up and go back to bed. That's what my life has been like at Eastshore so far. Nobody in the world knows that, and right now my biggest fear is that Niall Horan is starting to figure it out. I guess I'd better head him off at the pass. "I looked at the catalog over the summer. Tried to find classes I thought would be easy. But I just stared at those last two spaces." I remember feeling physical pain as I thought about the pressure of trying to juggle that much football and that many classes. "It was a stupid decision, but I couldn't put two more on there." I hear Horan let out a sigh of his own, and when I glance down at him, his brows are knit together. He looks at me, then away. "You're not going to like what I have to say." "I don't like much of anything about this day right now, so it can't get any worse." "I think you need to register for those last two classes. You need to tell your dad that you have enough time in practice to get everything done when it comes to football." I let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. That'll go over well." "It's either that or you don't graduate. And what happens if you're injured in the NFL? What happens when your career ends? I know your dad wants your life to be nothing but football, but what do you want?" Nobody's ever really asked me that. Sure, maybe a high school counselor. Once. But from an early age, my life plan was pretty much laid out before me. I never had a problem with it. I love football. It's the only thing I'm good at, and the only thing I'm ever going to be good at. But something changed in college. I don't know if life just got harder, or I got weaker. It started to overwhelm me, and now I feel like it could all unravel at any moment. I'm scared shitless of that happening. And I don't really have an answer to Horan's question. "I don't know." I want things to be easy like they were when I was a kid. When getting to train all day with my dad was a dream, and not something that constantly beats me down. But that's never going to happen. "I'll help you with school. I've kept up a 3.9 GPA for my first two years here, and I don't really have any commitments outside of football. Sign up for those two classes, and we'll figure it out. Okay?" "I don't need your sympathy, Griffin. I can figure it out on my own." "Yeah, no. It sounds like you been trying to figure it out on your own for a long time. And who the fuck doesn't need sympathy?" When I look over at him, he offers me a small smile. I try to match it, but I only feel my lips move the tiniest bit. "Come on. We can walk to Denny's from here. I'll buy breakfast." I can't say no to a big plate of greasy bacon and overcooked eggs. But it's mostly the fact that Horan is willing to put this shit behind us. Only one thing holds me back from immediately accepting his offer. "Hey... I don't really want this getting out. Nobody else knows." Horan just shrugs. "No problem. You keep my secret, I'll keep yours." He smiles again, and those damn dimples come back. This time, a weird little flutter in my stomach accompanies them. "You wanna pinky swear on it?" I reach up and shove at his arm. He barely moves. "Asshole." But he's got me smiling for real this time. And laughing, too. It's not that this shit gets me so down that I don't feel like I can be happy, but I'm not used to being able to bounce back so quick after getting hammered by my dad's disappointment. As we get ready to go, I start to feel a little more comfortable with Horan knowing my secrets. He's a good guy. Somehow I already know I can trust him. And it's been a long time since I've had somebody to lean on. Maybe that's what's been missing from my life.