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Sometimes a year changed a man in ways that couldn’t be measured in hours and days and weeks. Sometimes a year became the cornerstone of a life.
Justin had come down to lean over the railing and beam at Wes, who gazed up at him like Justin was the sun in Wes’s personal sky. Wes laid his hand over Justin’s, his grass-stained glove engulfing Justin’s slender fingers.
Wes and Justin were the darlings of campus… when they weren’t being reviled and ridiculed by the backward sports fans who believed only real men could play football, and that real men were testosterone-guzzling pussy slayers who ate, breathed, and shit sports and never felt anything more than a curl of indigestion. Certainly nothing that could be described as an emotion. The stereotypes that the world imposed on Colton, on Wes, on their identities as jocks, hadn’t really sunk in until Colton had been forced to face them after Wes’s outing. No wonder Wes had stayed in the closet.
Colton felt the distance opening between him and Nick like a canyon, the loss of Nick’s touch like the loss of the sun. He’s not your dad. You don’t have a dad. His molars ground against each other, and he kept his gaze locked on the doctor. “Doc, when will I play again?”
His first real friends in he couldn’t remember how long were his son, his son’s boyfriend, and their best friend, and that sounded like a midlife crisis in the making.
Colton slumped back on the couch, peering sideways at Nick. “Well, when you first barged into the house, you weren’t so cool. Not just ’cause you were beefing all over our place. You were sporting major dad fashion—”
Nick had his suspicions as he thought back to the horrific game he’d watched and the broken, dejected, angry faces the cameras had panned over on the Texas sideline. Of course it was the team, he’d thought. Bitter and furious over the loss.
But they weren’t the monsters he’d imagined. They were hurting, broken boys, wounded and scared and depressed and regretful. Colton especially had seized on to Nick’s pronouncement that Wes was in the hospital and repeated it like it wasn’t real.
“Bet I could sell a few mobile networks, though.” Colton flexed his left arm and pretended to kiss his bicep. Nick laughed. “I’ll need to go buy some clothes.” Colton sighed. “Think Justin can help me match some button-downs with these shorts?” “If anyone can, he can, but I’d like to see the lecture he’ll give you when you try.
“Dad, Wes has perfect fashion sense. He’s a cowboy, and he’s got authentic ranch style.” “Jeans and a T-shirt?” “And boots and a hat.” Justin wrapped one arm around Wes’s waist and leaned into his lover.
Now he had sleek leather furniture, minimal décor, modern end tables. The one nod to personalization was the digital picture frame he’d set on the kitchen island, where Justin emailed photos of him and Wes, and sometimes the rest of the team—and Colton—to play on a loop. There was an appeal to the lived-in warmth of Colton’s bedroom.
No need. My treat. Nick was sending a monthly allowance to Justin, despite Justin’s initial protests, but he was happy to splurge on Colton, too. The least he could do was feed Colton, and if spending time with him truly meant that much to Colton, well. Nick meant it when he said he’d be there every day as long as Colton needed company. Colton wasn’t his son, but he was… special. A friend, yes, but he wouldn’t take off work to spend his afternoons with just any friend, buying them mountains of food and losing at video games for their entertainment.
He wasn’t hanging out with Colton for Justin’s sake, either. No, he liked Colton all on his own, and he and Colton had a unique friendship independent of Justin and Wes.
Maybe he was verging on a midlife crisis. Maybe he was looking back, reaching for a youth he’d long since passed. What did a divorce and a friend who was twenty-two mean? A restart, new dreams to imagine, a new life to be on the edge of? Or the beginning of a crash, a face-first plummet into realizing no, he was old. Thanks, Colton texted again. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Colton shrugged. “I only take the pills to help me sleep. I try to stay distracted during the day.” “You must have one hell of a distraction. This is not a painless injury.”
“Clearly,” Nick said. “You seem a little excited.” If Justin had a tail, it would be going a mile a minute. Wes was still staring at him, smiling like Justin was a work of art. He’d even stopped eating to gaze at him. That was love.
“To summer,” he said. “To cowboys and internships.”
“And healing shoulders.” Nick raised his bottle, and the four of them toasted.
His son was happy and heading off on his great cowboy adventure with the love of his life, and he was going to be spending the summer with Colton, his improbable friend. Life was good. He smiled at Colton and sipped his beer.
He typed Do you want to come over— And then mashed the backspace button. No, Nick didn’t want to leave his million-dollar balcony and come hang out with him and play PlayStation. Nick was a grown-ass man. Don’t ask. Don’t even bother.
“I only know recipes for twelve guys. I can eat, but I can’t eat that much. And since I’m not burning as many calories, the nutritionist wants me to scale way back. I’m not on twelve-thousand-calorie days anymore.” “Only six thousand?” Nick teased as they waited for the elevator. “Thirty-eight hundred.” Colton made a face. “I was starving for a week.”
I’ll take the ranch, Justin texted, as long as it comes with you. Heart emoji.
“I didn’t know when I got this place if it was really my style,” Nick said with a sigh, settling back against the patio chair. “But I could get used to this.” So could I. Colton sipped his wine and tipped his head back. So could I.
He looked soft, warm, and comfortable. Like the word home turned into a person.
He spoke like he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb in the center of Colton’s soul. Colton’s heart was a drum. His guts were twisting and twirling themselves into knots. He shouldn’t say yes. He should distance himself, pull away, stand on his own two feet. Use this time of solitude to grow. Grow into what? An aching, lonely twenty-two-year-old?
What was better? Suffering in silence and hardening your heart against the world? Or owning what you wanted, what you needed?
He tried to toss the ball to himself with his left hand. He bobbled, and the ball bounced off his knee, smacked his chin, and hit the dashboard. “That’s Division I football right there.” Nick laughed, put his car into gear, and peeled away from the curb.
They were so obviously, so completely, so totally in love with each other. And happy. Radiantly, overwhelmingly happy.
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?
“Now, how’d you manage to get Colton Hall here to intern for you this summer? You’re good, but you ain’t that good, Nick!”
Kimbrough laughed again, tipping his head back as he hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “Nick, you are one smooth son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. You ever get tired of slinging cell phones and mobile networks, you come work with me. You could sell Jesus to the pope.”
Your hearts didn’t beat together. That’s the hardest damn thing about growing with someone: you gotta make sure you keep your hearts beating together and that you really know each other. It’s too damn easy to go spinning off on your own and leave each other behind.”
“Images of my future son-in-law I don’t need.” He laughed. “Wes has a different personality than Brad, though. And there’s a difference between being friends with someone who is gay and being hit on.” “It doesn’t bother me. None of that bothers me.” He took another sip of his beer, then frowned. “Actually, you know what does bother me? How come Wes never hit on me? Aren’t I a catch?” Again, Nick laughed. “I don’t think you’re Wes’s type.”
“Okay, that’s true. Wes only has one type: Justin.” “That makes me happy to hear.” “I’ve never seen Wes look at anyone—anyone—like he looks at Justin. They’re the definition of soul mates.”
The way Nick looked at him. No no no no no— He wasn’t attracted to men, but he’d just come to the imagined feel of Nick in his arms and the dream memories of Nick loving him, of the two of them taking a wildly different turn in their friendship. He clenched the sheets in his fists.
I’m not gay, but if the right guy comes along… Nick.
He wanted Nick to crave him like he craved Nick. He wanted Nick to kiss him, run his hands over Colton’s body. Wrap his arms around Colton’s waist, bury his face in Colton’s chest or the center of his back. He wanted Nick’s world to be full of Colton, like Colton’s world was full to the brim with Nick.
He could go to Nick, crawl into his bed. Straddle him, gently lower himself until he was on Nick’s lap. Pull the sheet down. Lean in and brush his nose along Nick’s jaw. Over his nose, too, smiling as Nick’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Colton was there. Nick would reach for him, slide his hand into Colton’s hair. Say Colton and then wrap his hand around the back of Colton’s neck, tug him down until their lips met— No, Jesus. Nick wouldn’t do that at all. Never in a million years.
I want to be your quarterback for the rest of my days.
“I’ll come with you,” Colton blurted out. Immediately, half of him wanted to crawl away and die. What right did he have, offering to go to Dallas with Nick on one of the most important days of his life? But who else would be there for Nick if not Colton? Justin wasn’t around. And Nick had thrown himself fully into Colton’s life, without apology. He’d changed Colton, had made Colton fall for him. He should expect Colton would throw himself into Nick’s life with at least the same level of care. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders.
Nick’s eyes rose to Colton’s, overflowing with watery gratitude. “I’d love that, if you’re sure you want to.” 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. “’Course I want to. That’s not something you face alone.” Nick’s smile grew both sadder and softer. “I was, until you walked in.”
“I get why someone would fall in love with a guy, or with their best friend.” Colton shrugged. He was trying to force his shoulder to stop seizing. “Because maybe they get each other, the way sometimes only other guys can?” Finally, his shoulder partially unclenched. Nick blinked. He didn’t smile.
“You sure?” Nick looked like he was willing to stay, to help Colton stretch his muscles. Every single one except the one Colton desperately wanted him to put his hands on, stretch it and stroke it until he shivered and shook and came apart. “Yeah, totally. I’ll be fine.”
Maybe he should sleep out here on the couch. How was he going to share a bedroom with Nick when he dreamed about the guy every night? What if he said Nick’s name in his sleep? Did he do that? He didn’t know. What if he came in his sleep? He did do that. What if he humped a pillow or the mattress until the bed squeaked and Nick woke up, and Colton came all over himself as Nick tried to shake him awake, and then he gasped Nick’s name? Maybe it was a horrible idea to come up here with Nick.
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.
“Do you trust me?” “After that?” Nick chuckled. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. But please, this isn’t some midlife-crisis thing, is it? Making me bungee jump or get an ear piercing? Or a tattoo?”
“I can’t see you doing any of those things. I know you, and none of that is you.” Nick smiled. “You know me, huh?” His heart skipped three beats. “I hope I do. I guess we’ll find out in an hour.” “I guess we will.”
He hates it. This was stupid. He was thinking about taking a woman here when he starts to date again. This is obviously a date, obviously romantic, and I fucked up. He fiddled with the keys. Turned them over in his lap. “We can leave, if you don’t want to do this.” “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.”
“He’s not my son.” He rested his hand on Colton’s lower back.
He’s not my son. That was true, but was it also… true? Was Nick saying something else?
