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What did a divorce and a friend who was twenty-two mean?
With Justin away, he didn’t expect their time together to last, but there was a flicker of hope burning inside him, as tiny as a birthday candle.
He looked soft, warm, and comfortable. Like the word home turned into a person.
It was so easy for Nick to be awesome, like he was kind and thoughtful and caring so often that he never had to think about it. The right thing, the perfect thing, just came to him. His affection was like a star, and Colton was caught in his gravity.
Inside him, a little boy was jumping up and down, screaming, running wild. I want, I want, I want so badly.
What was better? Suffering in silence and hardening your heart against the world? Or owning what you wanted, what you needed?
Justin and Wes and their love had stunned them both, not just into silence, but into smallness. Who were they next to the sun and moon of Justin and Wes’s love?
“I’ve never seen Wes look at anyone—anyone—like he looks at Justin. They’re the definition of soul mates.”
I’m not gay. But Nick.
No, Jesus. Nick wouldn’t do that at all. Never in a million years. His eyes blurred until he couldn’t see Nick through the kaleidoscope of his tears. He stayed on his side, facing Nick, catching watery glimpses of the man every time he blinked.
I want to be your quarterback for the rest of my days.
If Coach had been beside him holding out a football and telling him it was that moment, then or never, to get back on the field and play again, he would have pushed the ball away.
Other guys liked hip-hop, and Wes liked that horrific western twang, but Colton liked his pep. He remembered hurling footballs over the crossbeam to Blur and Kesha and Usher.
If you loved me, I’d never make you regret it. I’d never give you a reason to wish we hadn’t met. If you loved me, I’d never let you drink to try to forget us.
I don’t want to be in the past. I only want to think about the future.
“No,” Nick breathed. “This is perfect.” He reached across the console—like his dreams, like his fucking dreams, just like this, one of them reaching for the other—and squeezed Colton’s hand. “You do know me.”
But he didn’t, and Nick didn’t. Nick, instead, climbed out of the car. The door slammed behind him, leaving Colton alone, staring at the empty space Nick had left behind.
Colton knew what he wanted to text. We hang out all the time. I’m living with your dad. I dream about him every night. I imagine kissing him every hour of every day. Wes, can you teach me how to suck dick? I want to, but I’m afraid I’m going to suck at it. Excuse the pun. I’ve never wanted to before, and I don’t have any idea what to do.
Kimbrough nodded, but his intense, weather-worn eyes seemed to see everything, including what wasn’t on the surface, when he gazed at Colton. Colton tried not to squirm.
It was like taking a sack, the wind knocked clear out of him. He stared back stupidly, hoping he was smiling, hoping he wasn’t smiling too much, hoping he wasn’t giving it all away. I want to be your quarterback. I want a million nights like this. I want you to always smile at me exactly the way you are right now.
This wasn’t the lost-little-boy look from a few months ago. This was something different, something far worse. Colton hadn’t looked this dejected, this downright heartbroken, even when he’d been in the hospital after his surgery.
He wasn’t gay, but he was attracted to Colton. As a person, as a human being, as a man. As a partner. As a potential lover, even.
We already have a life together. He’s already a part of my world.
“I’m not interested in taking more than I give. That’s not who I am. Besides…” He nipped at Colton’s quivering lower lip. “I was thinking about sucking your dick for half the drive.”
“I’m a giver.” He nuzzled Colton’s cheek. “I like seeing you come. I like hearing you say my name when you do, too.”
NFL players don’t have older men as lovers.
“You’re not supposed to touch yourself,” he whispered in Colton’s ear. “That’s my job.” “I’m trying not to come,” Colton whimpered. “I’m so fucking close.” “Roll over, and come in my mouth.”
If only the night would never end, and summer could last an eternity, and he could bottle time in the palms of his hands. Stay in this moment, with Colton kissing him like this, touching him like this. Keep the world at bay. Keep what they were uncovering between them hidden, and safe, and theirs. If only.
“Shh,” he breathed against Colton’s cheek. “You have to be quiet.” “I don’t know if I can.” “Then shove your tie in your mouth.” He squeezed Colton’s ass again, two handfuls of glorious, thick quarterback. “Bite down when you scream.”
The closest he came was Colton’s gruff, soul-wracked reasoning in the car after that morning in Houston: when you feel like you’re falling for someone, does it matter if they’re a guy or a girl? Or your son’s friend?
That’s all Colton had wanted, anyway: for Nick to have the stuffed animal he’d won. He wanted to throw his arm around Nick’s shoulders, too. Dig out his class ring and put it on a chain and let Nick wear it under his T-shirt. He bet Nick would look good in his letterman jacket.
“You’re beautiful, Colton. Sometimes I can’t breathe when I look at you.”
He left the football, the one-handed controller, and his broken heart behind.
Why did no one ever love him back?
He was Colton Hall, and no one loved him. Especially not the man he loved. Nick, if you’d loved me, I wouldn’t need any of them. Not the fans. Not ESPN. Not his name in neon. He wouldn’t need six Super Bowl rings. He’d only want one ring.
I’m sorry, Dad. I wish I’d run the right way for you. I’m sorry I kissed you, Nick. I should have kept this to myself. I shouldn’t have wanted more than I deserved, and I shouldn’t have come between you and Justin.
He’d been falling ever since Nick threw him against that wall, bursting into his life with the incandescent rage of a father who loved his son and would do anything for him.
You are Colton Hall, and you define yourself.”
He’d stared at the unfinished third bottle for two days before he put his lips around the neck and chugged. Summer red tasted like Colton’s lips and regret, and he’d collapsed again with the pain.
He only wanted to be loved, and cherished, and needed by one person in the world. And he was.
“The only thing I ever wanted more than football was for someone to love me.”
He’d never imagined himself this happy. Even when he dreamed about the NFL, something had been missing. He’d thought he wanted a team, and for a while, that worked. But what he really wanted—what he really needed—was a family.
