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Hobbs took a swing, but Wilson grabbed his fist in one hand, stopping the blow.
Everything came out, suddenly, like he was hemorrhaging. He dragged in huge gulps of oxygen as he scratched at the walls until his fingernails tore.
“But I could never compete with that. I thought maybe, maybe he could love me second to how much he loves you, but…”
Jesus, it was all his fault. He had been a distraction. Their dalliance had led Colton into ruin.
He passed out after screaming into his pillow for hours, crying so much he thought he’d wept out the blood that pumped through his heart until there was nothing left.
The pain of losing Justin made him wrenchingly, violently sick, but the agony of losing Colton…
He felt like part of him was festering. Collapsing. Dying.
He’d hurt the son he adored and lost the man he loved, and the common denominator in that equation was him. What was wrong with him?
He’d been so Goddamn happy with Colton he needed to invent a new word for it. Happy wasn’t big enough.
Like you didn’t want to go wine tasting or hang out with me, but you’d do it with your boy toy.”
Who told you he didn’t want to? Dummy
“Because I found something—someone—I loved more than football. More than being a quarterback. More than I loved the team, even.
“I can’t imagine finding something I love more than this game.” He scuffed his shoe against the cracked pavement. “That’s gotta be a hell of a thing.”
