Page 5 of Who's Saving You
“Same thing.” She waves a hand like she’s brushing away nonsense, her eyes wet but shining. “Your father would be—” She stops herself, lips pressing tight, then clears her throat. “He would be so proud.”
The air shifts, and I feel heavy with sadness but also with anger, the reason for his absence still fresh in my mind almost four years later. I stab a piece of potato and shove it into my mouth just to keep from answering.
Eva, mercifully, cuts in. “You know, Mom, your golden boy is going to be in every headline tomorrow.” I poke her hand with my fork at her golden boy comment, and she rolls her eyes. “The Saint is now a Warrior.ESPN’s already running with it.” Her voice is calm and calculated, like she’s rehearsing a press release before looking at me. “You need to be ready for the requests—appearances, endorsements, interviews. We’ve been through all this, so you know how to handle it. Say just enough to get them wanting more, then walk away.” She sips from her drink. “When you say too much, it’s too easy for them to trip you up.”
Mom tuts at her. “Eva, let him breathe. He is my son before he is anyone’s ‘headline.’”
“I’m just saying,” Eva replies smoothly, “this is where the real work begins. He can’t just play. He has to managehimself.”
I lean back in my chair, smoothing down my tie. “Are you trying to pick a fight,agapiti mou adelfi?”
She mimics my pose, only smoothing her hair back instead. “Certainly not,dear brother. We both agreed on themanaging aspect, but it doesn’t mean I won’t always be watching.”
“Esí,” Mom shoots back, pointing a fork, “you are always managing, always controlling. Tonight is not about business. Tonight, we celebrate.” She picks up her glass. “Yamas!”
Eva’s lips twitch. She doesn’t argue, but I can see the line of her jaw tighten. She’s always been like steel. “Yes, Mamá,” she replies as we both tap our glasses to moms.
I sip my wine, eyes bouncing between them. This is how it’s always been: Mom pulling me back to the table, Eva pushing me toward the world. One wants me to stay grounded, the other wants me to fly higher.
Mom reaches across and grabs my hand, the way she did back in the green room. Her fingers are small but steady and squeeze me tight. “Nik, remember this. No matter what city, what team, what people say, your name is important. Papas is strong, and it means respect. They call you Saint for a reason. You are a good man, priestly and–”
“Saint and priest are two different things, Mamá,” Eva cuts in.
“You break your mother’s heart by not being a priest.” She sniffs, and Eva and I exchange looks, trying to keep from laughing. Mom always loved to remind me that only heathens play football. And considering how deep my dad got into the game of football, I can see her point.
She just doesn’t know that this heathen saved her from all that.
“Mom, I love you, and I’m going to be the bestsaintlyfootball player for you.” I snort, and Eva watches, eyes softer now, though she hides it with a chuckle.
“Sópa!” Mom tells me to hush, and we laughout loud now.
“Don’t let her guilt you into calling home every night,” Eva says, spearing a bite of spanakopita. “But she’s right. Your name matters. Protect it.”
I shake my head, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “That’s rich, coming from someone who had a nose job to avoid looking like us.”
Eva freezes mid-bite, glares, then points her fork at me like she’s considering launching it. “I was hit in the face with a football, thrown by you, I might add. I had to fix it to breathe, you ass.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sis.”
Mom swats the air. “Your nose is beautiful. Both of you are beautiful. Stop fighting like little goats.”
“A goat's nose. I can see it,” I mutter with a grin.
Eva rolls her eyes. “Careful, rookie, or I’ll plaster your naked baby pictures all over social media.”
With a smug grin, “You’ll just prove I was a warrior back then, too.” I waggle my brows, and she screws up her face and smacks my arm.
Mom chuckles, covering her mouth with her napkin, and for a moment, the weight in my chest lifts.
“Férsou kalá,” she murmurs finally, giving my hand one more squeeze. Behave.
For the first time all night, I don’t feel so alone. I certainly don’t feel like a draft pick or even a headline. I’m excited for what’s to come. I’ll keep my head down, mouth shut, and be the best rookie they never saw coming.
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7Months Later …
Nik
