The Quarterback by Tal Bauer
Chapter Twenty-Four
Colton had nowhere to go.He couldn’t go to the jock house, not with Wes and Justin back in town. And the place he’d thought of as home for the past six weeks—
He’d never be going there again.
He almost bit the bullet and drove down to Sugar Land, almost headed for his childhood home. But his mom would be as thrilled to see him appear on her doorstep as Justin had been to see him come out of Nick’s bedroom.
If one more person looked at him like he was a barely tolerable presence, someone to be put up with—it was just summer—he was going to shrivel up and blow away. He already felt desiccated on the inside, like all those places that had bloomed under Nick’s affection had turned to dust, coating the shards of his broken heart.
No to Sugar Land. No to the jock house—and not only because of Wes and Justin. What did he say to Orlando and Art, Josh and Patrick? When everyone came home with their stories from the summer, of their vacations or their jobs or their girlfriends, and asked Colton what he did and how his summer went. Did he hook up with anyone? Finally find a girl to go out with? And how was that internship he stuck around for? It was with Justin’s dad, right?
He smashed the sob that wanted to escape, pounding it down inside until he couldn’t feel the sting of tears in his eyes any longer. On the road ahead, off the county highway, he saw a fleabag motel with a lit Vacancy sign. It was a way station for truckers and drifters and the homeless.
That was him, now.
He guided his truck into the lot and grabbed his duffel from the front seat. The old man at the check-in desk looked like he was three hundred years old, like managing the front desk was his second job after his first career as a scarecrow. He peered at Colton as Colton scribbled his name on the check-in slip and passed over his debit card.
“She break your heart, son?” the old man asked. He was stooped almost in half, the skin on his hands as dry as paper sacks. Colton could see the creek beds of his veins snaking up from his wrists under the hem of his flannel shirt.
He frowned.
The old man motioned to his face and grunted.
Colton’s hands flew to his cheeks. Tears ran silently from the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away angrily when the man’s back was turned.
“You’re in room 223,” the old man said. He handed Colton an actual key, with a maroon plastic diamond dangling from the key ring. “There’s pay-per-view if you want it. Pizza delivers from Sal’s, but they take forever. If you go another five miles up the road, there’s a gas station that sells some decent microwave burritos and has a good selection of booze.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s hard to live in this world, son,” the old man said. “Some days are harder than others. But they even out, in the end. Eventually.”
Eventually. Someday, maybe, he wouldn’t feel like this. Like he’d spent his whole life waiting for one person to love him, but when he thought he’d found them, they scooped him out and left him hollow and empty like an old fruit rind.
Maybe someday he wouldn’t feel so stupid. It was just summer.
Maybe someday he wouldn’t feel like something irreplaceable had been ripped out of him.
Not today, though.
He took the key and his debit card and found room 223. He threw his duffel in the corner and lay facedown on the bed.
A minute later, he pulled one of the motel’s lumpy pillows to his chest and curled around it. “Nick…” He buried his face in the pillow as the sob he’d bullied away since he’d walked out of Nick’s condo—not home anymore—broke loose. He screamed into the dusty cotton pillowcase. Punched the mattress, once, twice. Grabbed the pillow again, as if he could grab on to Nick, hold him tight and never let go. “I love you,” he moaned. “I love you.”
Why did no one ever love him back?
Why was it so easy for people to leave him? What was wrong with him that made everyone walk away, go back to their own lives, and leave him behind?
It was just summer.
You’re my whole world, Justin.
Why wasn’t he anyone’s whole world?
He buried his face deeper in the pillow.
* * *
“Yo, Colton, my man!”Orlando was all smiles as he jogged across the field to Colton. He held out his hand for a fist bump.
Colton sent another football sailing toward the crossbar of the uprights in the end zone. Like the twenty-six he’d already thrown, it fell short. Well short. He’d littered the field from the end zone to the thirty-yard line with footballs, passes that didn’t have the power to go the distance of a warm-up throw.
Before his injury, he could launch footballs from just about anywhere on the field and slam them right into the crossbar. He could drop back from the line, haul off like he was trying to strip the laces from the leather, and still bounce it three inches to the right of the upright on the bar like he was calling the pocket in a game of pool.
He hadn’t hit the uprights once today.
He grunted as he released the next ball, trying to give it more power, more force. His spiral suffered, and the ball wobbled before tipping end over end and burying itself in the grass just shy of the five-yard line.
He sniffed and reached for another ball.
Orlando’s fist dropped. He watched Colton’s twenty-eighth failed throw. “Your shoulder still bothering you, huh?”
Colton grabbed another football from the pile at his feet. He said nothing.
Orlando hung around to watch another football wobble through the air before he said, “You’ll get there, man,” and jogged to the rest of the team coming out of the locker room.
If he was going to get there,he would have gotten to that point over the summer. Or he should have, if he’d been diligent about practice. If he’d spent the six hours a day he should have, he’d be where he needed to be. He’d be making these easy throws.
He’d arrived before dawn, so he could avoid the rest of the team. He’d changed in an empty locker room and then grabbed three bags of footballs and headed for the field. He was early enough that he saw the light in Coach’s office turn on while he was on the thirty-yard line. An hour later, the offensive coordinator and the quarterback coach came out to watch him fling balls as hard as he could.
They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.
The rest of the team warmed up on the other half of the field as he jogged out to collect his littered balls. Everyone else ran warm-up sprints between the yard lines, catching up and reconnecting as they shook out the summer kinks. Colton stayed in the shadowed corner of the end zone, gathering his footballs for another round of failure.
His teammates, his friends, tried to talk to him as practice got going. Everyone except Wes, who conspicuously remained far away from him.
He hadn’t seen Wes since he’d left him in Nick’s condo. He hadn’t seen anyone else, either. He’d been curled in bed for two days, watching the shadow of the sun arc against the wall through the gap in the motel’s nicotine-stained curtains.
Before, they would have been inseparable. Would have tossed the football between them as they talked. Would have jogged the field together, playing bullshit chase games and testing each other’s sprinting to try to catch each other off guard. He would have sat on Wes’s back as Wes did push-ups, and then Wes would have stood in front of him like a damn giant, trying to bat down his throws as he warmed up against the net. They would have been happy, together, the way best friends were.
Now, Wes kept his back to Colton. He never looked his way.
The team noticed. How could they not? He felt their stares. Started to hear the whispers, too, as the hours dragged on. The muttered curses as his throws got worse, not better. Shorter yardage. Less height. He couldn’t even make the end zone now.
By lunch, his shoulder was killing him. Stabs of pain shot down his arm and his spine, and his muscles were alternating between seizing up and going numb. He tried to shake it off between each throw. Tried to roll his shoulder loose when it got so bad his tears blurred out the crossbeam and he couldn’t see a thing when he let go of the ball.
He and Nick had never pushed this hard. They’d always kept it fun. Instead of spending hours perfecting his form, he wanted to stop and sit on the grass with Nick. Gaze into his eyes. Feel his hands on his shoulder. Listen to him talk. About work, about Kimbrough, about Justin. Anything, as long as he could hear Nick’s voice.
He should have been in the gym more, working on strength training and his rehab, instead of lying with his head in Nick’s lap as they tried their third Netflix show of the week. He’d laughed into Nick’s thigh when Nick sighed in disgust and turned the show they’d just started off. At the rate shows bored him, they’d run out of Netflix in a month, he’d teased.
Why had he sacrificed his training to spend time with Nick? His future was his arm, but he’d been careless with himself. Why? Didn’t he want what he’d spent his whole life chasing? Hadn’t he set his entire life up to enter the NFL? As a kid, he’d lain awake at night and stared at the ceiling as he held his football and thought of a million fans screaming his name, looks of adoration in their eyes as they watched him every week. He wasn’t going to be nobody, he wasn’t going to be forgotten. He was going to be Colton Hall, and he was going to be loved—
His arm collapsed before he completed the forward arc of his pass. The ball dropped, hitting the grass and rolling away. Running away, like everything and everyone in his life had left him.
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.
You are my whole world, Justin.
Justin had no idea how loved he was. How lucky he was. Nick picked him every single time. Of course he did. Justin was his son.
Fathers didn’t always pick their sons, though. Sometimes they left when their sons ran the wrong way the first time they ever got their hands on the football, too excited and sugared up from orange slices at halftime to know which direction to go.
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.
Damn it, Justin was his friend, too. Not anymore, but he had been. He loved Justin in the way you love the person your best friend loves. Justin was a good guy. He didn’t deserve being stabbed in the back.
I should have known how this would end.
He was always going to think Nick hung the stars in the sky, probably one by one, and probably designed specifically for Justin’s personal joy. There was no stopping how hard he’d fallen for Nick. 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.
“Hall!”
He jerked his head up as Coach called his name. He’d gotten lost in the grass, staring at the footballs he’d littered in the red zone. Coach looked like he’d sucked a lemon for breakfast, and he glared at Colton as Colton jogged across the field.
“Yes, Coach?”
“Come with me.”
He followed Coach into the stadium and up to the executive floor, to Coach’s personal office. The last time he’d been there, he’d signed with Texas as a high school senior. Coach had shaken his hand over his big desk and told him he was going to be the next Tom Brady, and that he had a Gronk for him, too. Wes.
“Sit.” Coach sighed. Colton sat, his pads squeaking. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to be honest with you. We’ve been watching you all morning, and Colton…” He spread his hands. “You are not where you need to be at this point. You’re not recovered from your injury, and I’m afraid if you push yourself too hard to try and catch up, you’re going to hurt yourself worse. Maybe even permanently.”
Coach’s words ping-ponged inside him, echoing in all his empty places.
“You’re also not where the team needs you to be.”
Colton flinched. He looked down.
“Now, I have to make a lot of hard decisions as the head coach here. This may be one of the hardest I’ve ever had to make. You’re more than just this team’s quarterback. I’ve watched you grow, watched you develop. In some ways, you’re like a son to me. But I’m paid to win, not to be you boys’ daddy.”
Colton nodded.
“You know Clarence Hobbs? The quarterback out of Libertyville University?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear about the NCAA blowing up their program this summer?” Colton shook his head. “It was the third time the recruiting staff got caught offering bribes to high school kids to sign with the team. Cars for the kids’ families, all-expense-paid luxury apartments for the incoming players. You know the NCAA doesn’t take kindly to players and teams making a mockery of them. They penalized the program for the next five years. But they also told the current players they can transfer out to another school and not lose a year of eligibility. Players who transfer now can start this upcoming season.”
He stared at Coach. “You’re replacing me.”
“We need a starting quarterback, and right now, you’re not that guy.” Coach sighed, again. “We were waiting to see how you looked when you came back. But I’ve seen enough. Hobbs is being courted by a dozen schools, but he said he’d sign with us today if we could guarantee he was the starter.”
“Are you cutting me from the team?”
“No, Colton. And you’re not losing your scholarship. We’re not taking that away from you. What I want is for you to come back later this season, after you’ve had more time to recuperate. Maybe after some focused rehab. I think we should call a specialist in, too. Were you working out with the schedule the trainers made for you this summer?”
He swallowed. Shifted. “No, Coach. I’m sorry.”
Coach’s eyebrows rose. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I am moving you, temporarily, to the coaching staff. You’re going to assist the quarterback coach. I want you working with Clarence on skills. He’s a hell of a quarterback, but he’s not a Texas quarterback. Not yet. You can help him get there.”
“You want me to help him take my place?”
“Colton… I’m sorry, but this is for the good of the team, which is what I have to think of. What’s best for the hundred guys out there, hungry for another national championship title. You haven’t seen it, because you’ve been throwing balls at the ground, but the whole team is skittish right now. They’ve come back from summer, and their star quarterback is making holes in the grass with his passes. That’s not the foundation of a championship team, Colton. They know it. I know it. You know it, too, deep inside.”
He looked out the giant windows lining Coach’s office and watched the team run drills on the field below. He searched for number 87. Wes, God, I need you right now.
“Clarence reminds me of you, back when you were a sophomore. I think he has your potential. I think you can help him become someone great, if that’s what you want to do. The choice is yours, Colton. You can come back tomorrow and work with the coaches, and Clarence, on the field. Or you can stay at home, and we’ll work something out with the athletic department regarding your place on the team. You can medically retire. No one will think less of you after the injury you had.”
Colton’s eyes slipped closed. He took a breath. Held it. What had happened to his life? He was the best quarterback in the league a year ago. Everything had been set. His streets were paved in gold. He’d had a runway to the NFL. Hell, he’d been invited to the draft.
One year to grow, he’d thought. One year to become something more.
One more year with the people he loved.
He had no one and nothing, now. Not the man he loved or his best friend. He didn’t even have his dreams anymore. Not the fragile dream of a life with Nick, or his dream of playing football.
“Think about it.” Coach’s voice was unusually soft. Almost kind. “Take the rest of today and go home. I know this is hard to hear. It was a hard decision to make. I’m not lying when I say I want to see you back out there later this season. I think you can get there, too. You just need more time.”
Even if he did get back on the field, who would be in the stands to see? A hundred thousand fans filled their stadium, but he only wanted to find one face. The face he’d never see again.
He rose slowly. “I understand, Coach. And I’ll do what’s best for the team. I’ll be here tomorrow to help Hobbs.”
“Thank you, Colton.” Coach stood and held out his hand. It was like four years ago, when he was a wide-eyed kid and he thought his life was finally beginning.
Now his life was ending.
* * *
His phone buzzedwhen he got back to the motel, and he grumbled as he fished it out while shouldering open the door. On the way home, he’d stopped for a bag of ice and a bottle of Tylenol, and he was planning on lying on the ice bag and chewing four Tylenol and staring at the ceiling until his eyes bled. The painkillers wouldn’t do anything for his broken heart, but maybe his shoulder would stop feeling like a cat had clawed it raw from the inside.
He didn’t want to talk to any of his teammates. He didn’t want to hear what anyone had to say about his shitty throws or Clarence Hobbs joining the team.
But it wasn’t a text from his friends. Instead, an email popped up from the school’s internship coordinator.
Please see attached letter from your internship manager. Credit for your placement will be assessed after review of your early termination.
He slumped on the end of the bed and opened the letter.
To whom it may concern:
Please accept this letter as a termination notice of Colton Hall’s internship. Through no fault of Mr. Hall’s, the position he filled came to an end, and Mr. Hall’s internship concluded as of today. Mr. Hall was an exemplary intern. He more than exceeded my expectations in his performance. He has my highest and greatest recommendations in any and all future pursuits and endeavors.
Sincerely,
Nick Swanscott
Executive Vice President
He dropped his phone and sank to the floor.
He was Colton Hall, and he had nothing. No one loved him. No future waited for him. He was alone, in a shitty motel, with a broken heart and two lost jobs.
