Hail Mary

Niall

I thought I was over this. I thought I was better. But as soon as I'm faced with a tackle, I just freeze. My muscles lock up, my brain screams at me to get the fuck out of the way, and I can't seem to override it. Seeing those two guys rushing toward me, it's just a straight shot of bad memories. It all happens in a flash. I remember the pain; a sharp ache coursing down my spine and into my legs. And then nothing at all. This time, at least I can feel something. I feel the defender bump into me as he tries to slow his momentum. I feel the rush of air as his teammate snatches the ball and runs it down the field. I can't seem to make myself move to stop him, so I just stand there and watch uselessly as he's finally run out of bounds. There's a reason I avoided playing football for the first couple of years at Eastshore. I thought I was over it, but it's like it's happening all over again. I can hear my teammates swearing and yelling, and the harsh whistle from Coach Garvey as he calls us back to the sidelines. Someone herds me over there, and somehow I get my feet to work. Some of the guys talk shit under their breath, and they have every right. What good is a football player who's afraid of getting tackled? "Horan," I hear Coach say, and his voice is rough with disappointment. "Come over here a minute." The walk of shame has never felt more real. At least this time I know they're talking about my performance, not my personal life. Coach Garvey waits patiently at the end of the line, and I can see Payne standing beside him. Great. That's exactly what I need. Sanders said the way to a starting position was getting in good with Payne. It seems like I'm going to find out if the inverse is true now. "What happened out there, son?" The day I signed my papers, Coach Garvey asked me about my high school career. And about the day that ended it. I told him the truth back then, and I know that's why he's not just tearing into me. I almost wish he didn't know, though. I'm pretty sure he would rip into any other guy who did what I did. "I don't know. I froze up. It won't happen again, Coach." "You know I don't have any use for a football player who's afraid of getting tackled, Horan. I told you that when I brought you on." "I know," I say, in a voice that sounds small to me. "I can work with him, Coach." Coach and I are both surprised by Payne's sudden interest. "You know that's not going to guarantee you the captain spot, Payne. Anything you choose to do with Horan has to be on your own time." "He's a good receiver. Shows a lot of potential. I think he can get over this. Right?" He finishes, looking at me. I'm too shocked to speak. Hell, shocked doesn't even begin to cover it. Payne doesn't know me. Even the completions I pulled off today don't stack up against that massive fail. But for some reason, he wants to help me. "Jesus," I hear the other receiver grumble. "What did you do, rookie? Suck him off before practice?" I'm still too stunned by Payne's offer to react. I'm used to this kind of locker room talk; there's no way I could play any kind of sport without having a thick skin. But there's still a small part of me that wonders if he knows. Right now, though, it's the least of my worries. I never told Coach Garvey I was gay, but I think he knew, regardless. I'm glad he didn't encourage me to tell the other guys. It would only bring out the worst in everybody involved. At least this time, I know Matthews is just saying it because he's an asshole. Not because he thinks it might be true. "Thank you for volunteering to start your 40s right now, Matthews," Coach says. For a second, it looks like Matthews is going to stand up to him. But even he's not that stupid, apparently. He tosses his helmet and jogs off toward where the other guys are running their drills. "Payne, if you want to take on Horan as your personal project, you have my blessing. You're right. He is a good player."He claps me on the shoulder, then goes back to observing the teams on the field, leaving me staring up at Payne . I'm not a tall guy, but he has a couple inches on me. I'd say he's 5' 11 or 6' even at the least. A wall of solid muscle standing in front of me, scrutinizing my reaction. I still can't believe he'd stick his neck out for me, and I really don't know what to say. "Thanks," I manage, even though I owe him a lot more than that. "Don't worry about it. Meet me after practice. We'll figure out a plan." Just like that, he heads off to do his drills. I bust ass for the rest of practice, knowing I have a lot to make up for. But the whole time, I can't help but watch my new mentor. Having one-on-one time with Liam Payne  is either going to cure me of every mental hangup, or give me another one entirely: Him.