× Mercury

You could have sworn it was storming outside by all the bursts of light flashing through the bus windows, but when I looked out all I saw was a row of reporters and cameramen waiting to capture the moment when the London Lions enter the arena building. It wasn't anything new, journalists always wanted to talk to us and get a picture of our arrival, except this time the people waiting outside had tripled in size from our last game.

"Bloody hell," James said from the seat behind me, looking out the window observing the men in ties and woman in skirts holding out microphones or cameras. "We're going to get mobbed."

I ducked down in my seat and tried my best to stay out of sight from the people outside. I had just came from an hour and a half bus ride to Hastings, I didn't have any makeup on, I was tired as hell, my hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and I had a huge yellow mustard stain on my sweats. I so wasn't camera ready.

"Alright, listen up!" Coach shouted from the front of the bus. His short, black hair was a mess and his green eyes looked at us in turn. "As you can see, there are reporters out there - more than what we're used to. They're going to do anything they can to get you to answer their questions. I cannot stress this enough: don't answer them."

"None?" Reece asked from the seat beside me.

"None!" Coach barked, drawing attention to anyone who may not have been paying attention before. "You might say one thing, but they'll twist it into something else, even if the question is as innocent as asking about your diet. You. Don't. Answer. Them. Don't even look at them. Got it?"

The bus filled with nods and mumbles of agreements.

"Good, then let's go. Game starts in an hour."

Grabbing my duffle bag, I stepped out into the aisle as the team and I piled out of the bus. The second the first player stepped onto the concrete, the reporters went crazy. The flashes of cameras were nonstop - blinding everyone who got in their way - and journalists were spitting out questions so fast that it would have been impossible to answer if we were allowed to.

But that was nothing compared to when I stepped off the bus and into the commotion of shouts and bright lights. All hell broke loose then. People shoved to get closer to me, microphones and cameras where in my face. I couldn't even walk. It was like I was the Queen of England and not some American foreign soccer player.

"What's it like playing with the boys!?" someone shouted in my ear.

"Mercury! Can you give me a smile!?" another person with a camera said to my left.

A woman in a pink blouse and short blonde hair pushed herself right in front of me and held a microphone to my mouth. "Give me the latest gossip! Is it true that you and Horan snuck off after your last game to-"

The woman didn't get to finish her question as another person pushed her aside and started asking me about the last game we played.

I was never afraid of tight spaces or large crowds, but as I tried to get past these aggressive people, I found myself breathing heavy and automatically reaching up to grab the necklace around my neck. That was when I remembered that I had lost it and I suddenly felt very alone in the suffocating crowd.

"Hey, it's okay," Jace said from behind me and wrapped a hand around my waist and pulled me in close. "Just keep looking forward and avoid eye contact."

Not really sure how that could work since wherever I looked, someone was already there. But I just nodded and tried to do what he said as he pulled me forward into the crowd. My hands were shaking and I was endlessly being blinded to the point where I was afraid I might actually go blind.

The second the two of us broke out, we ran to the door of the arena where my teammates were waiting. Dylan and Matt were the last two to come through the doors. The reporters would have followed after them inside if security hadn't of shown up.

I couldn't seem to control my breathing and a terrifying thought occurred to me.

Where was Niall? Was he okay? I witnessed one of his panic attacks and there was no doubt he would have experienced one with the crowd outside. I found myself looking around, but when I couldn't find him, I started to panic.

"Lynn!"

I turned and saw Coach walking up to me. He clasped a hand on my shoulder and hurriedly pushed me along down the hallway, away from the flashing lights and muffled yelling through the window. The rest of the team followed after us.

"I'm sorry about this, I had no idea it was going to be so brutal," Coach apologized. "It had never been this bad before, I'm surprised security wasn't on them sooner."

"It's not your fault," I assured him.

"Niall was one of the first to exit the bus and got the same attention as you," Coach said as he continued to speed walk away. "It's bloody mental. It's not even about the damn sport anymore, and more about the latest gossip on you two."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"The locker room calming down," Coach said. Then he must have seen the worry in my eyes because he added, "Niall's fine. He's just a little wound up, is all. He'll be okay for the game."

I nodded, finding my heart settling in my chest from the good news. I stayed silent after that and let the echoing of the team's footsteps swallow us whole.

× × ×

Twenty minutes left in the game and the crowd was going nuts. The arena we were playing in wasn't as big as the one back in London, but with everyone in the stands jumping up and down and waving their hands, the energy alone made the stadium feel twice as large then it really was.

The commentators were talking above the noise, informing the people what was going on down on the field and anyone who might be listing in on the radio or TV. The score was 2-3 and despite the chill in the dome, sweat was glistening on all the players' foreheads. A mix of maroon and white littered the pitch as the players ran around, putting in everything they got to get out of this neck-and-neck game.

When the checkered ball was passed between two of the opposing players, I ran up to them and quickly snatched the ball away with ease. I was quickly engulfed in white and red from the Broncos' players, but I stayed on my toes and made sure they wouldn't get the upper hand on me.

Just when I thought I would lose it, I saw Niall fifty feet away. It was like tunnel vision - nothing was in focus but Niall and the field between us. No one was intercepting the path. I knew this was my last chance of gaining control, so I used the rest of my strength to shove off the Bronco player and side-kick the ball to Niall.

The ball skid across the turf like skipping rocks on water. Niall quickly stopped it under his foot before maneuvering it around and booting it right between an opposing player's legs and into the net.

"And another goal on the Broncos' by Niall Horan with the help of Lynn Mercury," one of the commentators said, their voice ringing throughout the whole arena.

"You know, you always hear about how great those two are - The Royal Duo - but it's a whole other thing seeing it in person," the other sportscaster said. "If you haven't yet, I'd recommend going to one of their games. It's a sight to behold."

Their voices faded off into the distance as Thomas jumped on me, Dylan and James following after. Across the field I saw William and Jace slapping Niall on the back and on the sidelines, Coach and the rest of the team were standing up and cheering.

It was a constant roar from then on out. We were back in the game, 3-3. All we needed to do now was score another goal and make sure the Broncos' don't. Easy.

Back at the center line, everyone got into their positions again. When the whistle blew, James psyched the opposing players out by pretending to pass the ball to Niall when at the last second he changed his footing and struck the ball to me.

Without hesitating, I went for it, dodging red and white players down the turf.

I was twenty feet away from the goal when a Bronco player ran up beside me, their shoulder pushing me aside so I would lose my footing. Knowing I wasn't going to make it any further before I lost control of the ball, I quickly looked around for a player to pass to. When I didn't see anyone open, I decided just to go for it.

Right before I got to the penalty line - right before I had the chance to kick the ball at the waiting net - the Broncos' goalie was there, right in front of me. He slid against the turf and kicked out at the ball, but he ended up tripping me instead.

The world spun around as I fell on my stomach and rolled. The distant shouting of the crowd was a low reverberation in my ears, the pain taking up all my concentration. Everything hurt - my ankle, my knees, my head, but mostly my nose. The cold grass pricked at my exposing skin and the stadium lights were flashing down on me so bright that everything turned white.

There was a nagging voice in my head that told me to brush it off and get up, but I couldn't. For the life of me I couldn't get up. I could hear soft voices around me, asking if I was okay, but I just kept my eyes shut until the pain subsided.

"Lynn," someone said. "Lynn, are you okay?"

"Can you get up?" someone else asked.

"Do I need to get a paramedic?"

That was when I opened my eyes. Paramedic. No, no, I would not go through what I went through last year with Katie. That was enough of a humiliation to last a lifetime.

James and Thomas were standing over me along with a referee and a Bronco player.

"I'm fine," I said and tried to stand up but nearly landed on my butt again.

The Bronco player held their hand out to me and I took it, finally standing up on my feet. My vision went fuzzy and my head felt like white noise for a moment, but it eventually went away.

"You get a penalty kick" James told me once the referee left us alone to talk to his partner.

"What?" I asked, touching my nose and instantly regretting it once a new wave of pain washed over me. "Why? Players trip all the time."

"The goalie's foot never touched the ball," he explained. "It was an illegal interference with a clear scoring opportunity. It also happened on the line of the penalty box; therefore they got a red card."

I looked back at the goalie talking to his coach and couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. He made an impulsive and desperate decision that cost him and his team big time. That's a hard lesson to learn on the field. It was only college soccer, but everything that happens in these games determines where you end up. I remember Coach telling me before the game that the goalie was only second string and now he was benched for the rest of the game. Goalkeepers have to be the most calm and collected player on the field - they make or break the game.

The whistle blew to signal the players to get into position. I backed away from the ball, preparing myself for the penalty kick, a new Broncos' goalie in the net.

My heart was beating just as fast as the throbbing pain of my nose.

Soon enough, the whistle blew again, but instead of once, it went off multiple times, signaling the game to a halt. I looked over my shoulder at the referee.

"Number 13, blood!" he said and pointed at me.

I was confused. There wasn't any blood - I wasn't bleeding. But just as I was thinking that, I tasted something coppery. I placed my fingers to my nose and when I drew them away, scarlet blood was left on my fingertips.

"Shit," I whispered under my breath.

Before the referee could summon me off the field, I started walking away, one hand pinching my nose as my other one caught the blood that fell off my lip.

Coach met me at the sidelines with a white towel. "Take this and sit down with your legs in front of you. Make sure your head is tilted forward." Then he looked at someone on the bench. "Matt, go take the penalty kick and proceed in Lynn's position."

Matt nodded and took off to the pitch.

I sat down on the grass and made sure I leaned forward. Closing my eyes, I let the sounds of the arena suck me in and put all my concentration on making sure the bleeding stops. I had to go back in. We were still tied and I knew if I had one more chance I could get a goal. But as the time ticked down, I knew that opportunity wasn't going to happen.

Fifteen minutes later a whistle blew, signaling the end of the game.

"Penalty shoot-out!" someone shouted and my heart dropped.

A penalty shoot-out is a process of determining the winner of a match that is drawn after playing time and it was the most stressful thing in the world. Even more so now that this was our last chance to make it into the BUSA.

I watched as Coach ran a hand down his face. He, too, knew how nerve-racking this was, and seeing him like that didn't make me feel any better.

"Come on, Lynn," William said, offering me a hand. "Let's watch this train wreck."

Coach and the rest of the team, along with the opposing team and their coach, met up in the center with the referees. Coach picked out the goalie and the five players to do the kicking as I stood next to him with the towel under my nose wanting nothing more but to join in. Shoot-outs may be stressful, but I was always good at them whenever they came up in a game. It was a shame London wouldn't see that.

The Broncos were the first to kick, but our goalie blocked it effortlessly. It went on like that, back and forth between the two teams, both not succeeding in making a goal. Then it was our last shot, and if we made the goal, we would be the winners and get into the BUSA. Niall was the one to kick, so, you know, no pressure on him or anything.

"It looks like Niall Horan is up to the kick," the commentators said. "If he makes this, it's game over for the Broncos."

I had abandoned the once-white-towel-turned-red and had my hands covering my mouth, anticipation running through my blood. This was it. If Niall didn't make this goal, our playing for the season was finished.

It all happened so fast. The last thing I remembered was Niall running toward the ball and then the next thing I knew everyone around me was jumping up and down, their shouts of victory ringing in my ear. I had to blink a couple of times to see that the ball was on the inside of the net, the goalie on the ground in defeat.

× × ×

"It hurts!" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the small bathroom walls. "Everything hurts! I'm dying!"

"Would you shut up? You're not dying," Jace said with a roll of his eyes.

He was standing in front of me, trying his best to get a good look at my nose without actually touching it. I had already seen it in the mirror and knew that it was an ugly shade of blue and purple. I was sitting on the bathroom sink just waiting for someone to diagnose it as broken.

We were back at the hotel, everyone in their rightful rooms relaxing before we had to get up and go back home to London. I, however, didn't want to be alone in my room like usual and hunted down Jace, knowing he could make me feel better about the game, and also check out my wound.

"Jamie's mad at you," I said, remembering the conversation we had during Thanksgiving. "She thinks she did something wrong and that's why you're ignoring her."

Jace looked at me, the lights in the bathroom bouncing off his deep blue eyes. "She didn't do anything wrong," he said sadly. "And I'm an arse for treating her like she did, but I'm just going through some things right now."

"Tell her that. Maybe she can help you through it."

"She can't," he said a little too quickly. "I mean, this is my problem to deal with."

I sighed and hunched over onto my elbows. "Whatever. But the next time you talk to Jamie, tell her that I kicked your ass. She'd appreciate it."

Jace laughed. "I'll make sure to tell her."

"Can you just get Coach?" I groaned, getting really tired of the pain throbbing at the center of my face. "He would know what to do."

"He's talking to the reporters right now."

"You would think being his star player that I would be more of a priority."

There was a laugh that didn't come from either Jace or I.

Niall walked around the corner into the bathroom and leaned against the wall. "You lost too much blood if you think you're his star player," he mocked with a smirk. "I think you've forgotten who took the winning shot today."

"Oh, congratulations. You won on a shoot-out," I ridiculed right back. "It would have been nice if you did that during the actual game."

"At least I didn't trip and make a fool of myself."

"That was the goalies fault!"

Niall was about to fire back, but right then Jace made a noise and caught our attention. He was looking at the two of us with a look I couldn't read.

"What?" Niall and I asked at the same time.

Jace just grinned and shook his head. "Nothing."

Suddenly, it was like my nose decided that I wasn't experiencing enough pain and started to throb.

"Ow, ow!" When I reached up to touch it, I immediately regretted it when a piercing pain shot up the bridge of my nose. "Shit, ow!"

Niall was there in a flash, standing tall in front of me. He had changed out of his soccer uniform and into jeans and a white T-shirt. His hair was still wet from his shower and sticking to his forehead.

My parents warned me about the drugs and the freaks on the streets, but never the ones with the most expressive blue eyes. They were the color of a clear blue sky through a broken prison wall, the color of a river hurrying to join the great ocean. To say that his eyes were blue was like saying that the sun was yellow - sufficient but not accurate to capture the heat. As I looked into them, I could feel him searching deep into my soul. I could feel myself getting lost in them.

"It looks swollen," Niall explained as he leaned in closer to me, our faces inches away. "It's going to be hard to tell if it's broken or not. Can you try and move your nose?"

Not entirely sure what he was trying to do, I did as he instructed anyways. It hurt like hell, but I tried my best to mask the pain on my face.

"Was there a rubbing feeling?" he asked me, his brows creased in concentration as he inspected my nose.

"No."

"Then it's not broken."

I looked at him. "How do you know that?"

Niall leaned away from me, but didn't step back. "When Bradley punched me in the face that one time. I thought my nose was broken, too."

"Chloe. She told you this stuff, didn't she?"

He didn't answer, instead he grabbed the towel I had been using to stop the bleeding and reached up and started gently dabbing at my nose. When the bleeding first started it was like rain drizzling down a window pane. By the time the game was over and everyone rushed back to the bus, I hadn't had any time to clean the dry blood that ran down my lips.

His touch was gentle. His touch - it had been too long without it that I was actually craving it. The heat from his fingers crept into my consciousness and I wanted him to pull away from me. I couldn't feel like this, it shouldn't be happening, but when I looked at his face - his full concentration of the towel in his hands to remove the dried blood from my lip - that feeling just grew stronger.

"The Notebook," he said suddenly. It was so random and out of the blue that I would have sworn that I just imagined it if I wasn't staring at his mouth when he said it.

"What?"

Niall dropped the towel on the sink and looked at me dead in the eyes that I had to look away. That was when I noticed Jace was no longer in the bathroom with us.

"The Notebook is forbidden love and it has a happy ending," Niall said.

My mind went back to Monday, all the books on the library table grouped together with one theme that ended in tragedy.

"No it doesn't," I argued. "They both die in the end."

"Have you read the book or just seen the movie?"

"The movie. But isn't it the-"

"No. In the movie, they both die. But in the book when Noah goes to visit Allie, despite her Alzheimer's, she recognizes him and they talk. That's it. No death or suffering."

He was so close to me, his jeans rubbing against my bare legs. His face was hard and eyes refusing to look away from me.

"Regardless of everything that happened," he added. "They end up together."