The Quarterback by Tal Bauer

Chapter Twenty-Six

Eyeballs followedhim as he walked into the weight room. His teammates went still in the middle of their workouts. Weight machines squealed. Dumbbells hit the floor.

Neil Wilson, the strength coach, a bald, squat bulldog who’d spent over a decade forming raw young men into Marines at Camp Pendleton, zeroed in on Colton from across the room. “You showed up,” he bellowed.

Colton swallowed.

He was, nominally, still part of the team, and that meant he was supposed to go to the team workouts. In fact, he was supposed to work out with Clarence every day. Clarence had made it clear that he had no need of Colton, though, and Colton hadn’t made the effort to get to the weight room. He didn’t need to if he wasn’t ever going on the field again. He’d figured no one missed him anyway.

But he was here today.

Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.

I want you to show everyone that no one in this world tells you who you are.

Wilson marched at him, exactly like he must have stormed across the barracks in Camp Pendleton. Face forward, shoulders bunched, back ramrod straight. “You.” He pointed to the right of Colton, to a guy in the corner pumping out reps on the chest press machine. “C’mere.”

It was Clarence, and he groaned as he came off the machine.

“Stand in front of me. Both of you.” Clarence slouched, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he glared at the ceiling. Colton’s shoulder twinged. “You both think you’re quarterbacks, huh? Guess we’ll see.”

Wilson crossed the entire weight room to lead them to the leg press. The team worked out in rotations through the day, small groups coming through so Wilson could give everyone focused attention. These were the starters. Colton’s closest friends, supposedly. They all stared at him, wide-eyed, faces blank. His heart pounded. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

“Colton. Get in.”

He folded himself into the machine, sitting on the padded seat before pushing his feet against the platform that held the weights. Wilson stacked weights on the bars, each one making a clang as he added more, and then more. More than Colton had pressed last year, when he was in peak physical shape. Before.

Clarence stood to the side, shifting from foot to foot as he shook his head like he had far better things to do than be attached to Colton during his workout.

Wilson’s gaze shifted to Clarence. “On the ground. Push-up position.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Wilson pointed to the ground. “Front-leaning rest, now.” He waited until Clarence slowly got down, and then he turned his dark eyes back to Colton. “Ten reps. Hobbs, while he’s pressing, you’re pushing. Go.”

Clarence bitched under his breath as he started pumping out push-ups. Colton began to press, extending his legs and pushing the weight Wilson had loaded for him until his knees almost locked. He bent his knees and lowered the weight until his knees reached his chest. Sucked in a breath. Repeat.

By the seventh rep, his legs were shaking, and every muscle fiber screamed for mercy. It was too much weight. He was too out of shape. He couldn’t—

Don’t ever give up, Colton.

He swallowed his breath and pushed. Fire shot through his quads, his hamstrings, his calves, his heels. On the floor, Clarence loudly counted out his reps, as if trying to put an exclamation point on how many push-ups he was doing to Colton’s paltry seven leg presses.

Colton gritted his teeth. He shoved the heels of his palms into his seizing thighs. He dug deep, closing his eyes as he forced out another three reps.

“Switch,” Wilson said.

“Finally,” Clarence mumbled. He rolled his eyes as Colton tumbled sideways out of the machine and crawled into the front-leaning rest position. Sweat puddled on the floor below him.

Wilson’s eyes locked on Colton’s. “Go.”

Clarence knocked out the first five reps almost lazily, as if the leg presses were an annoyance he had to endure. Shame burned up Colton’s spine, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. Was he that out of shape? Had this been a mistake? Was he just embarrassing himself in front of everyone?

Colton was twenty push-ups in when Clarence started to slow down. He stopped with his legs to his chest, breathing hard.

“Did I say stop?” Wilson snapped at Clarence. “Keep pushing!”

Clarence glared. He pushed.

Colton’s shoulder twanged. Thirty push-ups.

Clarence did one more leg press.

Forty push-ups.

“Man, you put too much weight on!” Clarence snapped.

“Three more presses.”

Fifty push-ups. Colton tried to shift his weight to his other shoulder. Wilson’s eyes snapped to him. “Don’t stop, Colton.”

Grunting, Clarence forced out another leg press before he flopped back and shook his head. “I’m done.”

“Two more.”

“Man, I told you!” Clarence shouted. “I’m done! You put too much weight on, and I’m not risking an injury for you!” He tried to stand.

“Get the fuck back in that seat and finish!” Wilson roared. “You’re not done, Hobbs!”

“Fuck you!”

“Two more. Now!”

Clarence threw himself back in the machine and pounded out his last two presses. Rage propelled him, made him stronger than he’d been a minute ago. He pushed with ease, the weights rattling from the force of his extensions. On the ground, Colton passed sixty shaking push-ups.

“Break,” Wilson said as Clarence finished. “You have ninety seconds. Then, Colton, you’re back in the press.”

Clarence cursed for the entire minute and a half, trying to walk off his quivering calves. Colton lay on the ground, stretching his arms and his legs as far as he could as he took deep, slow breaths.

After ninety seconds, he folded himself into the leg press again and set his feet wide on the platform. Clarence’s under-the-breath muttering and cursing wasn’t so under the breath anymore, and Wilson stared him down as Clarence assumed the push-up position.

“Go,” Wilson said. “Count them off this time.”

One… two…Colton bit down on his lip. He squeezed the seat and roared. “Three!”

Clarence wasn’t counting his reps anymore. All Colton could hear was Clarence’s grunts, his huffs and puffs as he pushed slower and slower.

“Four,” he whispered, almost too breathless to speak. He sucked down oxygen like he was marooned in space. He saw stars. Closed his eyes. Dragged in another breath and heaved. “Five…”

“Man, this is too much!” Clarence shouted. Colton’s eyes popped open, and he watched as Clarence stopped and glared at Wilson.

Wilson got right in his face. “Quitting, Hobbs?”

“You can’t wreck my arm like this! You’re trying to ruin my throw! Coach will fucking blow!”

“Who do you think told me to push you? Who do you think wants you right here, on the ground, pushing on the earth like you need to make it spin?”

Clarence snarled as he rose to unsteady feet. Colton pressed another rep.

Instead of screaming, Wilson spoke in a quiet, dangerous hiss. “You are nothing but a quitter, and the whole coaching staff sees it. You quit today before you come close to your line, just like you quit on Saturday on the field—”

Clarence shoved Wilson. Wilson didn’t even budge. “Fuck you!” Clarence roared.

“You don’t know how to endure. You blame anything but yourself, and you want everyone else to give you everything the easy way. But the truth is, you don’t have the guts to keep going.”

Hobbs took a swing, but Wilson grabbed his fist in one hand, stopping the blow.

“Everyone!” Wilson bellowed. “Everyone, stop your workout! Hobbs is done! That means all of you are fucking done, too! This team doesn’t work without a quarterback! When Hobbs is done, everyone’s done!”

Machines stilled. Dumbbells clattered to the mats. Curses echoed against the walls.

Clarence’s shoulders heaved. “Fuck you,” he hissed. “We don’t have to put up with this.” He turned to the team as if he could mount a mutiny against Wilson.

Colton pushed another rep in the silence of the weight room. Six. Pain bloomed like a flower inside him.

“Hall, what the fuck did I say?” Wilson snapped. “I told you to fucking stop. Hobbs is done. The team is done. Not a damn person on this team can keep going if the quarterback quits, and yours just gave up.”

“I’m not stopping,” Colton ground out. Seven. His eyes blurred, darkness ringing his vision. He’d fought through worse on the field. He’d played through losing consciousness before. Played with broken fingers and bruised ribs. He’d gone to the grass and thought he wouldn’t get up a dozen times, but he always did. He could do this.

Wilson’s head whipped around. Three steps took him to the side of Colton’s machine. “What did you say?”

Eight. “I’m not quitting.”

“But didn’t you already quit on the team this summer? You didn’t come back ready to play, did you?”

He roared through the last two reps and then hauled himself out of the machine and stood on shaking legs to face Wilson. He squared his shoulders, straightened his spine. “What’s next, Coach?”

Wilson’s eyes gleamed. He looked Colton up and down. Nodded, so minutely only Colton could see. He took him to the dumbbells and the free weights and handed him a hundred-pound weight. “Hold it in front of your chest. And squat.”

“How many reps?”

“Until I say stop.”

Sweat stung Colton’s eyes and fell over his cracked, chapped lips. He tasted salt and the tang of his own blood. All around him, the weight room was still, crackling silence building like a thunderstorm as he felt twenty pairs of eyes scour his skin.

He spread his legs and hefted the weight. Breathed in, sucking oxygen through his burning lungs.

Wilson got right up beside him, hand hovering over his back with his lips almost against Colton’s ear as he started his first squat. Some part of Colton recognized that Wilson was close enough to grab him and the weight if he collapsed, but that knowledge was drowned out by Wilson’s voice. “What’s the point to this, Hall? What point are you trying to make? You should give up while it’s still easy, like Hobbs did. He’s the quarterback for the team now, anyway. Not you. You lost the team because you quit over the summer, and now they gotta follow him, and he’s decided to quit, too.”

“Three,” Colton choked out. He closed his eyes on the push upward.

“Why did you bother to show up today? I already crossed you off my list. I shouldn’t even have let you in here. I don’t let quitters in.”

“Four.” Wilson’s voice echoed inside him, his words tangling with Justin’s voice, with the words he’d said that day. With the anger and the rage and the hurt. God, Justin had been so hurt by them. By Colton. By what he’d done. If you hadn’t kissed Nick, none of this would have happened.

“What happened to you, Hall? You used to never quit on me, but here you are, a has-been. What made you do it? What was the moment you decided something else was going to come before this team?”

“Five.” His body moved almost automatically as his mind drifted away. He felt something run down his face. Sweat? Tears? He didn’t know.

He had put Nick in front of the team. He had, and he’d known he was doing it. He’d made the choice—Nick, not football—every day. He’d wanted, and he’d chased, and he’d hoped for a future built out of unstable dreams with a man who’d never thought he was worth more than a few months of fucking.

“Was it pussy? Did you finally find some pussy over the summer? Fuck, I hope she was good enough to trade this entire team for.”

“Six.” Colton’s vision blurred. He saw Nick’s face. Saw Nick in front of him like he was really there. Like all those dreams he’d had of Nick in the stands and on the field, right there when Colton turned and sought him out.

But he wasn’t there. No one ever was. A sob broke from him, turning into a scream as he squeezed his eyes closed.

“What’s keeping you going? Why are you pushing, Hall? You have nothing. You’re not a quarterback anymore. You have no team. You don’t even have friends, do you? You’re all alone here. There’s no point to this.”

He roared as he pushed through the seventh rep. Tears were raining down his face. He could taste them, feel them soaking into his hands as he gripped the weight. Agony tore through him, deeper than physical pain.

“You are alone—” Wilson shouted.

He was alone. He was so fucking alone. All he wanted, in the whole world, was for one person to love him. Nick.

“No. He’s not.”

Colton’s eyes fluttered open. Even lifting his eyelids took a physical effort he almost couldn’t spare.

Wes grabbed a hundred-pound dumbbell from the rack, the same weight as Colton was hefting, and held it in front of his chest as he spread his feet into the squat position. “He’s not alone.”

Wilson craned his head to Wes. “No?” he breathed.

“No.” Wes dropped into a squat, mirroring Colton’s moves. Their eyes met and held.

Colton’s next breath came out as a raw, broken sob. His muscles were being flayed inside him, and he didn’t know if he could keep moving, but having Wes there made it easier to breathe. Like part of him could lean on Wes, even if it wasn’t physical.

Wilson jerked his chin at Colton. “You think he’s worth following for a game?”

Wes stared at Colton. His nostrils flared. “Yes.”

Wilson’s lips curled. On someone else, it might have been called a smile. “Then we’re gonna do all sixty minutes of a full game in here. We’ll see who gives up first.” He turned to the rest of the weight room. “Anyone else think this man is worth following?”

Orlando grabbed a set of dumbbells. So did Art. Josh and Patrick each went to the row of monster tires and grabbed on to the tread. Dante took hold of the climbing rope. Anton sat on the rowing machine.

Clarence cursed. He started toward the chest press—

“Not you!” Wilson bellowed. “You do nothing. You watch.”

For sixty minutes, Wilson led the team—except Clarence—on a circuit workout, barely giving them more than sixty seconds of rest between exercises. Squats, lunges, burpees. Rows, jumping jacks, push-ups. Orlando and Anton puked. Colton had to crawl to the pull-up bar, and he nearly fell to the floor when his shoulder failed after three pull-ups. He switched his grip and hooked an elbow over the bar, catching his breath until he could lower himself to the floor one-handed. He wouldn’t let go and drop, though.

The whole time, Wes stayed with him. Not just at his side, but facing him, eyeball to eyeball, inhale to exhale. Sometimes they were forehead to forehead, grunting out squats and rows as they stared inside each other’s souls. He tasted Wes’s salt, the oil of his sweat. He was sure Wes tasted his tears.

He watched Wes turn inward as they rounded forty-five minutes. Saw Wes’s gaze go long and thin. Wilson was shouting at them about finding their inner cores, finding the drive that made them a team. Finding the purpose that united and drove them all. Colton had heard that speech before. Before. Back then, he’d always pushed through the workout by imagining the team rallying in the fourth quarter. He imagined them all perfecting play after play, grinding out the grittiest game they’d ever had on the gridiron. Leaning on each other as they took yard after yard, until together, they got the touchdown that won the game.

Now…

He saw Nick in the stands. Saw him standing next to Justin like he always had. Saw him smiling, saw him cheering. Saw him shouting Colton’s name.

He launched a pass to the end zone. Instead of Wes, Nick was there, and he caught the ball like he’d caught all Colton’s throws in the park. He smiled and tossed it back. Colton reached out to catch it—

He reached for Nick, cradling his face in the bar in Houston. Kissed him for the first time, tasting the beer Nick had drunk and feeling his dry lips slide against his own.

He held on to Nick as Nick thrust inside him, so fucking deep he was almost touching Colton’s heart. His mind was screaming as he breathed in Nick’s breath, and he stared into Nick’s eyes, trying to tell him that he loved him—

“Time!” Wilson bellowed.

Colton collapsed, falling into Wes. Wes dropped his weights and grabbed Colton, going to the ground with him in a tangle of sweat and trembling muscles. The whole team fell to their knees and groaned in pain, faces pressed to the mats. But they’d done it, sixty minutes together. With Colton.

“You,” Wilson growled, pointing at Clarence. “You’re with me.” He pointed to the door that led to the field.

“I’m sorry,” Colton choked out against Wes’s neck. “Wes, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” Wes breathed. His arms wrapped around Colton’s waist. “The man I love is hurting because of you.”

Colton’s shoulder was on fire, and his muscles felt like they’d been peeled fiber by fiber from his bones, like string cheese shredded into the tiniest fragments. He tried to stand and couldn’t. Not yet.

Wes lifted Colton’s good arm over his shoulder and stood with him. Even Wes’s legs shook as they walked out of the weight room. Everyone they passed made an effort to hold out his hand, though, reach for a fist bump with Colton. Colton held a shaking fist back, until he couldn’t even hold up his arm anymore.

“I’m taking you home,” Wes mumbled. It sounded like talking was a Herculean effort.

Colton almost said, “I don’t have a home anymore.” Instead, he grunted, “Practice isn’t over—”

“Forget practice.” Wes shuddered. “I can’t drive. We gotta walk.”

A hundred yards from the stadium, Wes stumbled. He pulled Colton to him as he fell, taking the impact and rolling with Colton until they bumped against the tires of a parked car. They gasped for breath in the shade of the sedan, cheeks burning against the hot pavement, sweat making puddles on the ground like outlines of dead bodies.

Five minutes later, Colton pushed himself to his unsteady feet and helped Wes up, bracing himself against the car. Wes crawled up his body, using his thighs and his hips to pull himself up.

Another hundred and fifty yards. They leaned against a tree and gulped down oxygen for ten minutes, staring at each other. He had conversations with Wes through his eyes, saw cascades of emotions blur through him as they burrowed into each other.

They lurched from the parking lot to the street and turned toward the jock house. How had Colton never noticed it was an uphill climb from the stadium? He and Wes grunted with each step, each trembling clench of their ruined muscle fibers. When they were almost there, Wes pulled out his phone and dialed Justin’s number. Colton nearly collapsed when he heard Justin’s voice. “Hey, cowboy.”

“Justin—” Wes heaved.

“What’s wrong?”

“Workout.” Wes sucked in a deep breath. “Colton and I. Strength coach. He—”

“Are you guys all right?”

“We’re hurt. Are you done with rehearsal?”

“Yeah. There’s open practice for a few hours, but if you—”

“We need you.”

“Tell me how to help.”

“Come home. Bring ice. Lots of ice.”

“Be there ASAP.”

Wes hung up without saying goodbye. They were at the front porch steps, which might as well have been the Rocky Mountains for all the strength Colton had left. He looked at them and wanted to cry.

Each one took a full minute. They went up a step, leaned on each other, and then took the next, until they fell against the front door like collapsing elephants. After another minute, Wes pushed it open, and they made the trudge across the foyer to the stairs, where they began their slow climb again.

They both fell at the landing, Wes to his knees and Colton to his chest. Wes grabbed him by his waistband and forced him to his knees, then crawled with Colton into Colton’s dusty, abandoned bedroom.

He hadn’t been inside that room since he’d moved out with—

Wes hauled them both into the attached bathroom. It wasn’t large. It had been carved out of the master bedroom sometime after indoor plumbing became the norm, and it had a single pedestal sink, a toilet, and a combined bathtub and shower. Colton heard Wes turn on the water in the tub as he lay facedown on the bathmat.

“Strip,” Wes said. He peeled off his T-shirt, distended from sweat, and then kicked off his shoes, his socks, his shorts, and his jockstrap, leaving himself buck-ass naked. Colton couldn’t move right, and he fumbled with his shoes, his socks. Wes helped him like he was a child, stripping him until he was naked, too.

They climbed into the bathtub on shaking legs, helping each other sit at opposite ends. Their long legs tangled in the middle, their knees hairy mountains rising over the water, as they sank back with their eyes closed.

That’s how Justin found them, five minutes later.

Colton had been naked in front of so many guys, over so many years, that he shouldn’t have been embarrassed. He didn’t care that he was naked and in the bathtub with Wes, but this was Justin. The son of the man he’d slept with. Shame made him shiver, made him drag his legs up until he curled into the fetal position and turned his forehead against the tiled wall.

“What happened?” Justin whispered.

“Team workout. Clarence gave up,” Wes said. “Colton didn’t.”

Justin tore into the four bags of ice he held. “It’s going to get cold,” he warned, right before he tipped the bags into the tub.

Wes groaned. Colton jerked. His fingers clawed at the grout.

Horrifyingly, he began to cry. Burning tears streamed down his cheeks, soft whimpers first, then bitten-off moans, followed by choked sobs. His spine curled as he trembled, as he tried to escape from Justin’s searching gaze and Wes’s warm, solid presence. He wanted to escape from his life.

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. Wes grabbed his wrists, hauling him around until he had to face the two of them again.

Colton dropped his eyes, focusing on the ice cubes that bobbed and melted around their steaming bodies. His tears made ripples in the bath water, rings that raced for their bellies and knees. “I’m sorry,” he forced out. “Justin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He heard Justin’s slow, deep sigh, the only sound other than the cracking of ice and the sloshing of the water. “How did my dad come between us?”

“It hasn’t really been ‘us’ for a while. You guys… you’ve been in your own world. It’s like watching you through glass, or like you were in a movie: the Wes and Justin love story. There hasn’t been room around you for anything, or anyone, else.”

Justin hissed. Wes’s hands squeezed around Colton’s wrists.

“It’s hard to be on the outside of that. It got… lonely.”

“So you turned to my dad?”

“I mean, that wasn’t—” He shuddered. His shoulders fell even farther. Guilt pushed his face closer to the water’s surface. “It didn’t start like that. I wasn’t trying to— I didn’t even imagine—” He shook his head. Watched an almost-melted ice cube bob toward Wes’s knee. “Nick was wonderful. Wonderful to me, especially when I was hurt, but before that, too.”

Silence. His chest heaved.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with him.” He closed his eyes as his voice cracked.

A hand grasped his chin and lifted. It wasn’t Wes. Wes still had an iron grip on his wrists. “Colton,” Justin said, “Look at me.”

He swallowed but opened his eyes. He didn’t want to. Justin had Nick’s jawline and cheekbones. Colton had never noticed before, but it was all he saw now. He saw Nick’s shadow in Justin’s face, but the wrong eyes were looking at him. He wanted to scream.

Confusion tore through Justin. “You love my dad?”

“I do. It wasn’t— It wasn’t just sex for me. I fell in love with him. God, I fell so fucking hard. I wanted everything. I wanted a future with him.” He laughed, high and tight, before another rush of tears raced from his eyes toward Justin’s fingers, still wrapped around his jaw. “I was so stupid.”

“I thought you guys said it was a fling. Something that just happened over the summer…” Justin shook his head.

“That’s what Nick said. And that’s why I’m so fucking stupid. I didn’t see how he really felt about me.”

Justin sat back on his heels. His eyes flicked to Wes, and silence filled the bathroom. Colton sagged against the wall again, the water sloshing around him and Wes as ice cubes melted against their skin.

“None of this sounds like my dad,” Justin finally said. “It doesn’t make any sense. He’s never been with a guy. And he’s not… He’s never been…” He scowled. “He doesn’t think with his dick like that.”

Colton shrugged. “It’s my fault. I never told him how I felt, but it should have been obvious to me how it was going to go. And I was the one who started it. I mean, I chased him. I kissed him, and he was so freaked out…” He thunked his temple against the tile. “But then he kissed me back, and…”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Wes asked

“I was too scared. I wanted everything, but I didn’t know how to get there. I just hoped things would never end if I didn’t want them to.” He shrugged.

His eyes drifted to Justin. “I was scared of you, too. You were always there. Always with us. It’s one of the things I love about him, how awesome of a father he is—”

Justin’s gaze fell to the floor.

“But I could never compete with that. I thought maybe, maybe he could love me second to how much he loves you, but…”

“Have you guys talked since that morning?” Justin didn’t look up as he spoke.

“No.” His voice shook, and his vision swam. “We were going to go to the park, and then—” His cheeks flushed. He picked at the grout where the tub met the tile. Tried to hold back the flood of words, but it was unstoppable. “We were together every day. I woke up in his arms each morning. We’d walk to the office, and then we used to text each other while we were there. We used to eat lunch and get coffee together, steal moments to be around each other. We spent the evenings in the park and then we went home and ate dinner and watched Netflix or played PlayStation. We were always together, and now—” He dragged in a breath, holding it as his eyes flooded again. “He’s gone. He’s gone, and it happened so fast, and—” This time his cries were soft and small, tremors that left him shivering as he traced broken tiles with his shriveled fingertips.

Wes took his hand, holding it in the space between them. Justin cupped water in his palm and let it fall over Colton’s shoulder. The remains of an ice cube raced down his scar, over the skin where Nick had left the ghost of his touch and his kisses.

He groaned. “Nick used to massage my shoulder when it was sore.” Memories slammed into him, again. He’d never be free of the moments they’d shared. “He’d rub it at the park after we tossed the ball. When we watched Netflix, too. Or tried to watch Netflix. He’s so impatient with the TV.”

A fractional smile curved one corner of Justin’s mouth. “He always has been.”

“He taught me about wine, about whites and reds and what went with what. We tried so many different kinds when we went to that winery. He bought two cases of the wine I liked best.”

Justin dragged in a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Colton sobbed. “I’m sorry, Justin. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Don’t apologize for falling in love,” Justin said after a long moment. “Love happens, whether you want it to or not.”

Colton’s lips trembled, and he shook his head. “I wish I didn’t love him. I wish I could close my eyes and forget about him, like he’s forgotten about me.”

Silence filled the bathroom again as they sat with the echo of Colton’s words. Wes squeezed his hand as Justin dribbled more water down both of their backs, trying to cool their overheated muscles. Colton’s tears slowly tapered off and then dried on his cheeks as his anguish turned to an aching, hollow numbness.

After ten minutes, Justin told them it was time to get out. He grabbed towels Colton had left hanging on the shower rod months ago and held them out, averting his eyes when Colton rose and dried himself off.

Colton and Wes limped into Colton’s bedroom. Their housemates were finally getting home, and he heard groans and curses and heavy footfalls on the stairs. Justin closed the bedroom door before anyone wandered in and saw Colton was there. Colton and Wes curled up on the mattress, facing each other like they were four-year-old brothers sharing a bed.

Justin sat at the foot, stroking Wes’s calf. “Where have you been sleeping?”

“Motel. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.” Colton buried his face in his pillow. Was it his imagination, or could he smell the faintest hint of Nick buried in the cotton pillowcase? How long had it been since Nick had been in this bedroom? Had he permeated the air, like he’d permeated Colton’s life? “And it’s hard to be back here.”

“’Cause of the team?” Wes asked. He brushed a wet strand of hair behind Colton’s ear.

“That. But also… Nick and I hung out here. We started really getting close right here, you know? He spent so much time with me right after I was hurt.”

Justin’s nostrils flared. He glared at Colton’s window, at the bending branches of an oak tree swaying in front of the glass.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking about him. I’m trying to stop thinking about him. It’s so hard.”

“It’s not your fault.” Justin squeezed Wes’s calf, then grabbed Colton’s bedspread and pulled it over both of them like he was tucking them in. “You guys get some rest, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Wes asked. His eyelids were already drooping.

Unconsciousness called to Colton, dreams reaching out and sinking their claws into him. Dream-Nick standing in the crowd at the stadium, waving to Colton. Coming to him after the game and meeting him in the center of the field. He surrendered, powerless against the pull toward the man he loved. As his eyes closed, he ran to Nick and folded him in his arms. I missed you so much.

“There’s something I need to do,” Justin said softly. It was the last thing Colton heard before Dream-Nick took Colton’s hands in his and kissed him like he wanted to love Colton forever.