Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose

Chapter 3

"Stupid, sloppy handwriting," Harry muttered. He rubbed his thumb on a blot of ink where a word was supposed to be. "Stupid, correct Louis."

He reached across the kitchen table and grabbed his dog-eared paperback of Hamlet. He propped the open book on top of his notes and looked back to his laptop, biting his bottom lip. He started to type again.

There was a knock at the front door. Harry didn't look up from his work, but saw Chase jog through the living room in his peripheral vision. The door creaked open.

"Oh, shit, hi!" Chase practically squealed. "Welcome. Please, come in. It's an honor, sir. A true honor!"

"Thank you, son. Excellent game, last weekend."

Harry craned his neck towards the door with furrowed brows. He stood from the kitchen table. The sight of a familiar broad back in a tight grey polo made Harry walk faster. He walked into the foyer full of over-excited frat boys.

"Dad? What are you doing here?"

JD patted Harry on the shoulder and grinned, his face tan and glowing.

"I just finalized my divorce and thought I could come party with y'all." A horn honked outside. "That'd be the kegs, I reckon."

"Kegs?" Harry asked amidst loud cheers.

Another horn honked.

"And that'll be the wings," JD said on a laugh. He thumbed over his shoulder. "You boys think you can help with the ladies?"

Harry asked, "What ladies, dad? What are you talking about?"

"Don't ruin this for us, Styles," Chase whispered beside Harry, his eyes bulging. "Wings and beer and ladies and the Dallas Cowboys should never be questioned!"

"I like how this boy thinks," JD said, patting Chase's back. Chase stared at him with his feet practically levitating off the floor. "How about you boys go grab those kegs, hm?"

"Dad," Harry said firmer. "It's almost midterm week."

His father, and the rest of the football team, stared at Harry in confused silence.

"And?" JD asked.

"And I have to study."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to pass my classes."

"Isn't that what your tutors are, for?"

Harry flushed and grit his teeth behind his closed lips.

"Because I don't want to use tutors. I want to get an education. For real."

JD cackled, "A bit late for that, don't you think? Dunno why you even stuck around for senior year. You're here for football, not your smarts, son."

The crowd of football players and frat boys laughed, causing Harry's flush to deepen. The mob filed outside towards the beer and wing trucks.

"I stayed because Mama wanted me to get a degree," Harry said tightly. "You know that."

JD stepped up to Harry and held both of his shoulders.

"Let's turn that frown upside down, son. Why don't you send a tweeter to some of those cheerleader friends of yours. Surely, you'd be willing to share with your old man?" JD pinched Harry's cheek and grinned slyly, his dimple popping. He patted Harry's cheek. "C'mon, Hugo. Time to party. Let your old man show you how it's done."

. . .

Louis poked his pot of ramen with a wooden fork. Thunder boomed outside, rain pattering against the living room window. He left the fork in the pot and went to the living room to shut the window. His gaze caught on a dark, tall blur coming closer to his building. Louis squinted through the foggy glass. He opened the window and stuck his head out.