Hail Mary

Liam

I don't have enough time to figure out what I'm going to say to my dad before he comes back into the room. From the time I woke up and found him at my bedside with Coach Garvey, my stomach has been in one big knot. It's weird. I always thought that if I got injured, I would feel it personally. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. And I do, but not for the reasons I would've guessed. The idea of not being able to finish out the rest of the season sucks. Knowing that I may not be able to make the NFL after everything I've done throughout my entire life is even worse. But this whole time, I've just been thinking about how my dad is going to react to all of it. He's the one who put in the time. He's the one who put in crazy hours at two jobs to support us both. Sometimes, it feels like he has more riding on this than I do. And I just don't know what he's going to think of me when I tell him it may be all over. But I have to say something. There's no way I can go through the long process of recovery without knowing what he thinks one way or the other. Niall has given me the strength to confront my dad, and when he enters the hospital bay alone, a cup of coffee in his hand, I don't feel as much anxiety as I thought I would. "Niall's just outside," he says, as if he can sense the fact that I'd rather have my friend—my boyfriend—here. "It's cool. I want to talk to you anyway." He nods, and does that thing with his jaw that he always does when he's trying to steel his own courage. The last time I saw him make that face was at mom's funeral. That really doesn't bode well for me. Before I can say anything, he takes a seat at my bedside, looks down at his hands, then starts to say what's on his mind. "Listen, Liam. We never talked about any of this. I wish I could say I saw it coming, but I guess I had you so busy with football that you never really had time to figure it out. I just want you to know that I'm... Okay with it." It takes so much effort for him to choke that out, but I don't want to assume. I have to ask what he means. "Okay with what?" "With you being... The way you are. Gay. Or... Whatever you want me to call it." I swallow hard. It's difficult seeing a man I've respected all of my life have such a hard time talking to me. Then again, the relationship he and I have has never been the talking sort. The very fact that he can get this out is... Touching. And I'm not going to correct him. I know it's probably a big deal for him to accept this as-is. I don't want to complicate things by telling him I'm bi, or give him some false hope that I'm just going through some kind of phase or something. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot." He nods slowly. "Niall is a good boy. A good man." I smile. "Yeah, he is." "You've changed since he's been around. I think... I think he's been good for you." I do, too. But I never expected my dad to agree. Maybe there's hope for us after all. I let the conversation lapse into silence, until all I can hear is the slow beeping of the pulsox monitor. I try to think of how to phrase it—how to best break it to him—but I can only find one way. "What happens if I can't finish out the season?" He was here when the doctor told me it would be highly unlikely for me to play in the bowl game. If that's true, it means this is the end of my college career, either way. The NCAA won't allow me to play any games next year, even though I'm slowly facing the fact that I'm going to need another year of school just to graduate. "Never say never, Liam. You've worked your ass off for this. The doctor's just talking about people who sit around all day and don't put in the time." "But what if he isn't? What if he's talking about the best case, and it's going to take me a year or more to get better?" "Don't say that," he says quickly, and there's such pain in his voice that it kills me. Pain, but not anger. Maybe he's accepting the fact that my dreams are going to have to change, too. "But what if it's true? You know the NFL isn't going to want me if I'm injured." "Then I'll take you to every tryout in the goddamn country until we find one that sticks. As soon as you're better, we'll hit them all. I'll quit my job, we'll sell the car, I'll just —" "Stop," I say, and it comes out as more of a plea than a command. I just can't hear him talk like this. "I don't want you to sell the car or quit your job. I don't even know if..." I can't say the words. It's too much. Everything we've worked for is unraveling in one fell swoop. "You don't even know if what, Liam?" I let out what has to be the deepest breath of my life. "I don't even know if I want to play in the NFL." He doesn't say anything. His jaw clenches, and I can tell he's holding back. I suddenly wonder if Niall got to him. Either way, I decide to take advantage of the fact that he's letting me talk. "Football is all I am, Dad. It's all I've been since middle school. This past year, I finally had a chance to live a life outside of it, and... I like finding out who I am." He still doesn't say anything, and I sigh. "Don't you think there's more to me than just football?" "Of course I do. I wouldn't have pushed you so hard if I didn't think so." "I love playing football. I love everything you've done for me, and all the time we spent together because of it. And I really hope..." I choke on the words, clearing my throat. "I really hope that doesn't change if I decide not to play professionally." The look that passes across his face is one I can't decipher. It seems pained, but in a different way than before. It's as if he's finally coming to terms with something, and I have no idea if his reaction will be good or bad. "It won't change anything, Liam." He swallows, then clears his own throat. Like father, like son. "I love you. No matter what. And I'll support you no matter what. If you want to give professional ball a try, I'll do everything in my power to make you ready for it. If you decide you want to be a doctor or a lawyer or something, I'll stay all up all night with you studying for whatever the hell tests you have to take." I laugh, even as I feel a hint of moisture prick at the corner of my eyes. "Yeah, let's not go crazy." He gives me the most genuine smile I've seen from him in years. "Good. I don't like lawyers. Or doctors." He reaches for my shoulder and gives it an affectionate squeeze. I clasp my hand over top of his for a moment and smile. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. "Well. Now that that's out of the way, you want me to call Niall back in here?" "Sure. I've got something to say to him, anyway." I have a lot of things to say to him, actually. But only one of them I'm going to say in front of my dad. He ducks around the curtain, and I hear him call for Niall. They both enter, and I see my dad looking at him in a different way. A little wary, sure. But it seems like he's as proud of Niall as he is of me. Even laid up in a hospital bed like this, with my future completely uncertain, it feels amazing. That's something I would've never been able to say last year. And I know it's all because of Niall. I swallow back the sudden swell of emotion as I look at him. Gentle sea blue eyes look back at me, and his soft lips draw into a slow smile. "Everything okay?" "Yeah," I say. "Better than okay." He glances at my IV bag. "That's the painkillers talking." I laugh, even though it hurts. I think I may have bruised a rib hitting the ground so hard, too. But it doesn't matter. None of this does. I can see that now. "I'm not contagious, asshole. Get over here so I can tell you something." He arches a brow, then looks at my dad, and I know exactly what he's thinking. When he comes over to my bedside, I reach up for the collar of his shirt like I'm on my deathbed and I'm giving him my very last request. "You better win that fucking bowl game, or I'm breaking up with you." He just laughs, his relief obvious. "Yeah. I'm on it."