Page 12 of Who's Saving You
She stood with me at the hospital today, arms crossed, and each question she threw out felt like a challenge. Her one-liners were on point, and every word I gave her, I saw her turning over in her mind. She asked questions intending to trip me up, but covered them so smoothly I couldn’t help but answer. And when she looked at me? She didn’t falter. She met my gaze and held it, not caring I’m a football sensation and never once seeming to be affected by the tension swirling around us.
And add the banter at the gym?
I liked it. Too much.
I haven't seen her other exposés, but Dane told me she’s not like the others. Despite her not wanting the winning smile and more about wanting to find the dirt under the rug, he thought it would be a great way for the world to be introduced to Saint Nik Papas.
If he only knew.
But all of this makes her dangerous. What's worse? Something about her makes me want to like her, makes me want to believe that not all reporters are after something, even though I know better.
I agreed to the article because that’s what Saint Nik would have done. I used my charm, my smile, and had our first meeting at the children’s hospital because what's more wholesome than that? But I’ve got a feeling she saw right through me. And now I need to stay far, far away.
4
Noelle
Nik Papas is late.
I sit in the media lounge of the Warriors' facility, watching the minutes tick by. It’s gorgeous here, with leather recliners and big-screen TVs at every turn. There’s a concession stand, high-end, of course, that sells paninis and fancy coffees. No candy, but I’ve always got my own stash. There are marble counters with USB plugs under each chair for reporters like me to sit comfortably and get my story, though I prefer to use my notebook and pen.
I attended a practice session earlier where I detailed Nik’s actions, how he interacted with his team, and how they responded. I watched the coaches act like he was their son, proud and teasing at the same time. And when he was done running drills, he approached me with that same cocky smirk, dripping sweat like I saw in the gym.
“Did you film my routes? You can play them back in slo-mo. It’s pretty hot.”
“No, I’m more interested in whether you can outrun my questions.”
The flirty banter, expected but fun, is something that comes with the territory of a young football star. I’m leaning into it because I need him to feel comfortable with me so I can get him to open up. It will make my life much easier if he does.
I check my watch again and pretend I’m not annoyed. But I am. I’ve done dozens of profiles, and I’ve never waited more than five minutes.
It’s been twelve.
Twelve minutes too long. Long enough for my brain to start replaying that last moment of tension between us. The way he smiled at me that made my stomach do a flip, the way he smelled, and right down to the flash of irritation when Loving mentioned his college years. I like seeing different sides of him.
But the irritation wasn’t nothing. It was a crack, and where there’s a crack, it means something is trying to get to the surface.
I open my laptop and pull up the Zeiders University website. The Warriors team PR coordinator told me not to “go deep” into Nik’s college years, which, of course, means that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I skim all the college game logs, media releases, and archived interviews. Everything from Nik’s freshman year shines. He’s got impressive stats, glowing praise, and all the buzz of a rising star. His sister, who is a sports agent, was quoted as saying Nik is the one to watch and she wishes she could sign him herself.
But sophomore year?
Something happens. He’s still a starting player, but something is off. His numbers dip in the second half of the season, and one key game is completely pulled from the highlight reel, which is so weird because on the schedule, it’s a rivalry game. It’s one of the biggest games each season, but this particular year? Not a damn word. Just something about a vague “illness” that gets two lines in a press release. There are no interviews, no injury reports, no post-game commentary, nothing—just an “L” marked in the wins/losses category.
I search out Nico Loving and Nicholas Soba during the same timeframe, but all I get is more of the same narrative. It’s almost as if the game never took place. Then, as if nothing ever happened, their junior and senior years bounce back. Nik Papas, in particular, had articles written about having big wins and flawless routes. There was draft talk for all three, and his charity was started. Nik Papas was NFL-ready.
It’s like sophomore year just got... erased. I lean in, frowning.
“Something wrong with your screen?”
I don’t need to look up. I know that voice. I’ve been hearing it in my mind all day, and that’s a problem.
“Just wondering why one season of your college career looks like it was erased by an intern on their first day,” I say.
When I do look up, he’s leaning against the table, arms crossed, face tighter now, but still handsome as ever.
“Maybe it’s just boring,” he says with a shrug. “When your entire career is a highlight reel, it can get repetitive.”
