Page 8 of Who's Saving You
“That boy just sent a vet to bed.” @MondayMorningQB
“Can we skip straight to the Hall of Fame speech?” @GridironGods
It’s disgustinghow perfect he is.
That’s my first thought as I watch “Saint” Nik Papas, face of the South Carolina Warriors, kneel beside a kid in a Warriors T-shirt and start signing his cast. The kid’s eyes go wide with adoration. Nik’s smile is broad and genuine. His all-American,I want to save the worldface practically glows under the hospital lights.
Cameras flicker like a metronome. Flash. Grin. Flash. Flex. Flash. Smile harder.click-click-click-click.This man is a walking Hallmark card. I half-expect Christmas music to start playing every time he walks into a room. This is Mistletoe Falls, after all. There’s only been one other player to have this type of aura, and that’s Jackson Gage, former quarterback and the current coach of the South Carolina Warriors.
I’ll admit, Nik Papas is handsome. He’s six foot two, with dark hair that looks messy, but I’m sure is the style, and a body that is built for football. His arms are well-defined. He’s got muscle, but he’s not overly big. It looks natural. He carries himself with confidence but not ego.
All of this seems easy for him.
Too easy.
He’s been dubbed Saint Nik since before Draft night. Zeiders University painted him as this picture-perfect guy, with an outstanding high school career, loving family, and amazing friends. Trickie Nickies, as they call themselves, spent every waking moment since they were seven years old playing ball together in a small town just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Nicholas Soba, Nico Loving, and Nik Papas were the stars of the show in their high school. Zeiders University took note of their skill and recruited all three together.
This Nik was the calm balance to the other two wildNicks, and when they weren’t all drafted together like planned, the floor fell out beneath them.
Well, not for Nik Papas. The league built him up even more so. Saint Nik was going to join a new team, become rookie of the year, all while still managing to save him and his friends from discomfort with being split for the first time in sixteen years. That’s a lot of pressure for a young guy, but somehow, he’s handling it.
I pocket my phone, eat the last bite of candy before throwing out the wrapper, and tap my recorder, making sure it’s on. The PR handler had been very specific:Don’t ask about college. Don’t mention the canceled bowl game. Keep it light, and keep it moving.
I smiled, nodded, and internally loaded my questions like bullets in a chamber. Why would you ever tell a reporter not to ask certain questions? That only feeds our souls to dive deeper.
It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but across the pediatric wing of Mistletoe Falls General Hospital, the room is decked out in Christmas trees with tinsel and colored lights, fake candles, and charity banners fluttering slightly in the air.Papas’ Playersis a charity organization founded by the Papas Family while Nik was still in college for kids from under-resourced neighborhoods. However, today, a few team members are here in the hospital to distribute gifts and draw attention to encourage more donors.
I know the team is honored to be here, but it’s as if I can smell the artificial cinnamon and the staged sentimentality by the league from across the room. Christmas presents wrapped in bows and stockings hanging, but I’m sure each present is an empty box, and the stockings stuffed are really just stuffed with paper towels.
I’ve seen this show before, and I’m not buying any of it.
Nik moves from kid to kid like a politician on a campaign trail—hugs, high fives, back pats. It’s nauseating how good he is at this. But when he looks up and sees me, that smile falters for a split second. His eyes move from caring to guarded, and if I didn't blink, I would have seen the switch back to performative Nik. In an instant, that smile returned, brighter than before.
Saint Nik is in full effect.
He crosses the room toward me. “Ms. Moreno,” he says, offering his hand with a wide smile. “You’re shorter than I pictured.”
I don’t take the bait. “You’re taller. And a lot more movie star than football.”
He laughs with an effortless chuckle designed to charm everyone around him. “Media training.”
“Yup. I can spot it a mile away.”
His lips twitch as we shake hands. His hand is warm and strong. He oozes someone who’s always in control of the narrative. I pull my hand back and will my heart to stop racing.
“I was told we’d have thirty minutes for the initial interview,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.
Nik glances back at the kids, still buzzing with excitement around the hot chocolate station. “After hot chocolate. Unless you hate fun?”
“I’m a journalist,” I say dryly. “Fun is optional.”
He smirks. “Well, today it’s mandatory, so come with me.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m leaning against a wall, pretending I’m not enjoying myself. The kids are giggling and on a sugar high from too many marshmallows and Christmas cookies. Nik has a Santa hat slanted sideways on his head, and he’s just pulled a teddy bear as big as he isfrom behind a chair. Those presents and stockings I thought were fake? Real as I am standing here. And bought by the one and only, Saint Nik. The room explodes in excitement, and I hold back a reluctant smile at their joy.
He’s good—too good.
And that’s what bothers me the most.
