The Quarterback by Tal Bauer

Chapter Nine

Every day seemedto move faster, and his mind filled up with accounts and client names and Nick’s sales pipeline. He still studied the tech, too, and he peppered Nick in the afternoons with question after question on how it all worked.

Dinner the first night together turned into dinner the second night… and the third… and then never stopped.

The fourth day, Colton swallowed his heart and packed his PlayStation and a half dozen games, along with his one-handed controller and the controller Nick had been using every time he came to the jock house, into his duffel bag. He didn’t say anything at the office or while they were walking to Nick’s condo, and he kept his mouth shut as he sipped the sauvignon blanc Nick had poured while Nick seared shrimp on skewers on the grill. After, though, he finally, sheepishly pulled open the duffel and showed Nick what he’d brought.

Nick laughed, his head tipped all the way back, Adam’s apple bobbing. Colton held his breath, biting down on the inside of his lip. Nick is a grown-ass man. He doesn’t want to sit around and play video games all night. He wants to drink wine and sit on his balcony, you dumbass.

He’d been so happy playing with Nick, though. Video games were a simple, easy way to share time and space with someone. He’d become attuned to all of Nick’s movements, his twitches and squirms and the way he frowned when he was trying to concentrate. How he’d slide Colton a small, triumphant smile when he beat one of the bad guys.

“What games did you bring?” Nick finally asked, twisting on the couch until he was facing Colton with one knee crossed over the other. He propped his head up on one hand, his elbow slung over the back of the sofa. In his other hand, he spun his glass of wine on the leather cushion between them.

“Halo, obviously.” Colton pulled out the game boxes one by one. “Madden, Destiny. I’ve been in the mood to play Red Dead again, and I blame the cowboys for that.” He grinned. Justin and Wes had become “the cowboys.” Every day, they sent photos from the ranch, and every day, they looked like two cowboys plucked out of a hardscrabble western movie. Despite Colton’s fears for Justin, Justin seemed to thrive in the bitter West Texas landscape. His smiles were always huge and the light in his eyes always bright, no matter the dust or the heat or the filth he was covered in. He was obviously, deliriously happy.

Having the love of his life by his side every day probably made life pretty perfect, no matter where he was.

“Let me see that one.” Nick held out his hand, and Colton passed over Red Dead Redemption II. It was a story game set in the American Old West, the player taking over the life story of an outlaw cowboy. There was riding, roping, fishing, hunting, and both cowboy and outlaw missions to complete. The fictional world was dotted with Old West towns straight out of Texas, and it was everything an air-conditioning-loving Texas boy could dream of.

“I’ve heard a lot about this one.” Nick’s eyes traced the box, reading the game blurb and the reviews on the back. “Is this two-player or one-player?”

“One.”

“That’s not something we could play together, then.” Nick tried to pass it back.

“I’ve played it before. It’s great. If you want to start your own game, I don’t mind watching. I love this game. I’d watch you— I’d watch anyone play.”

Nick considered, pursing his lips as he tapped the game box against the sofa cushion. “You sure? Seems rude to take over your PlayStation when you brought it all this way.”

“I’m sure. It’s been kind of a long day, so I could just do my stretches and watch you for a while.”

They played until shortly after midnight, all the way through the early training missions and the start of the story, until Nick checked the time on his phone and cursed. He drove Colton to his truck, but not before asking whether Colton wanted to take his PlayStation back with him. “No, it can stay. You’re having fun with the game, right?”

“I am. But I won’t play without you.”

Something warm pulsed inside Colton as he drove home. Something that felt like giddiness, like he’d rolled in sunshine and blue sky and a burst of Texas bluebonnets. His fingers drummed on his steering wheel to the beat of the radio, and when he pulled up to the curb outside the house, the world didn’t seem quite so empty and forlorn.

He face-planted, slept, and was up early to shower, shave, and get ready for work. His steps were light, and he sang to himself as he moved. Even his shoulder was aching a bit less.

Friday, Nick asked, “Red Dead and pizza tonight?”

Those were about the best words Colton could hear, other than “Your arm is magically healed” and “Get back out on the field right now.” He bought the pizza that night, and then they settled into the couch with bottles of beer and Nick’s controller. When their cowboys texted, they paused the game to chat about life on the ranch, heart the photos they sent, and listen to their plans for moving the cattle through Wes’s dad’s pastures.

Then it was back to their digital cowboy, and Nick played until Colton’s eyes grew heavy and he lay down on a pillow that rested against Nick’s thigh. He fell asleep to the sound of horse hooves over Nick’s TV speakers and the steady rhythm of Nick’s breathing, mixed with the plastic-on-plastic grind of button mashing and joystick swiveling.

He woke alone on Nick’s couch, covered in a blanket. Coffee was brewing, and birds chirped outside the open patio doors. Nick, dressed in pajama pants and an undershirt, waved from the balcony, clutching a coffee cup. His dark hair was mussed, parts of it sticking up, and there was stubble along his jawline, mostly dark but with a few flecks of silver peppered through. He looked soft, warm, and comfortable. Like the word home turned into a person.

Colton tore his gaze away and shuffled to Justin’s bathroom. He’d slept in his work pants, and he was uncomfortable. They were as wrinkled as if he’d crumpled them up and used them as a ball in a basketball game. He’d fallen asleep in his Terminator sling, so his shoulder wasn’t hurting too badly. It tasted like something had died in his mouth, though, since he hadn’t brushed his teeth the night before, and gargling could only do so much to address that.

When he came out, Nick was cooking breakfast, and he’d set out a pair of drawstring shorts, boxers, and a T-shirt for him. “Change, if you want. Breakfast should be ready soon.” Nick’s shirt—the largest he owned, he said—was a little tight, but Colton was infinitely more comfortable dressed down. They ate on the balcony until the rising sun forced them inside, and then Nick said he was stuck on something in Red Dead and wanted Colton’s help.

Saturdays, Nick said, he usually went out to Lady Bird Lake. Most of the time he jogged, but if Colton wanted to join him, they could just walk around and get some fresh air.

Colton leaped at the idea. Outside. Sunshine. God, he missed it so much.

They walked down past the capitol to the Congress Avenue Bridge, then hit the trail around Lady Bird Lake. Bikers and joggers and dog walkers zoomed past. Kids ran with kites and bubble wands as moms and dads picnicked on the lawn. Paddleboarders and kayakers floated up and down the lake. “Have you ever paddleboarded?” Colton asked.

“Once, in Mexico. We were on a family vacation. Justin was young. I was a little tipsy at the time,” Nick admitted. “I didn’t have the best balance. You?”

“Yeah, used to do it tons. I love paddleboarding. We should do it when I get better.”

“Sure.” Nick laughed. “As long as you’re not embarrassed when I fall off all the time.”

“You won’t fall off. It’s crazy stable.” He winked. “As long as you’re sober.” Walking felt amazing. Moving outside, in the sun, and feeling sweat bead on his skin again. Smelling cut grass and clean air. “This was a good idea.”

“Days like this, I wish I had a pool again.”

“Does your condo have one?”

“It does. It’s not the same as having your own. But I do have access to the building’s pool.”

“There’s always Barton Springs.”

“When you’re healed. After paddleboarding.” Nick grinned, and it was like an arrow going right through Colton. That effortless care, that kind regard. 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. Danger. He’s not your dad. You don’t have a dad.

They bought Popsicles on the loop back to the bridge and ate in the shade, and then Nick said, “You know, if you’d like, you can crash in Justin and Wes’s bedroom. They’re obviously not using it this summer, and you’re more than welcome to stay whenever you want.”

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?

Why couldn’t he spend time with Nick? Learn about white wines and what paired best with what food, how to best pick fresh strawberries from the whole slew at the store? Nick was depositing little nuggets of wisdom in his life left and right, from how to treat people he worked with—maybe Coach’s bellowing example wasn’t exactly the best—to how long to sear a steak on the grill before letting it rest to finish cooking.

And how to be a good—truly good—man.

How to be a man who loved his son with every breath he took.

How to be a man who took time to care for one of his son’s friends, someone who hadn’t known how much of a jigsaw puzzle full of holes he was until Nick arrived to trace all his missing pieces.

“Are you sure?” His voice was quiet, and he twirled his Popsicle as he tried to catch the melting syrup. “You’ve got a Fortress of Solitude thing going on up there. Don’t you like the peace and quiet?”

“It’s nice to have quiet now and then, but I was also married for a long time. I know how empty a home can feel after a few days, especially when you’re used to something else.”

Colton turned and stared at the rippling water, the white-tipped reflections of the sun dancing over the surface. Inside him, a little boy was jumping up and down, screaming, running wild. I want, I want, I want so badly.

But he wasn’t a kid, and Nick wasn’t his dad, and this had an end. It always had an end.

Was Nick using him as a surrogate son? With Justin gone, did he need an outlet for his boundless affection? No, that wasn’t fair. Nick had been there for Colton before Justin and Wes left town, before he even knew Justin was going to be gone. He couldn’t have been setting up some kind of long game, son and pretend son arranged in a row, Colton up at bat until Justin was back.

But… How far did this go before he hit the wall? Did he want to be left with the wreckage when whatever-this-was was over?

For fifteen years, at every game, he’d scoured the stands for his dad. And disappointment hardened inside him every time, until the hole he’d scooped out of himself to bury the shards of his hope had turned into a canyon that bored right through him.

Was Nick a bridge across that canyon? He was filling up all the cracks and crevices where Colton’s hope had withered and died. Or was he an earthquake that would undo him from the inside out?

Could he stand it if Nick vanished? If he wasn’t in the stands or in Colton’s life?

What if Nick was just another missing face he searched for game after game after game? If he ever played again.

He kicked a rock into the lake. Say no. Go home and stare at the walls. Toughen the fuck up. Like Wes. He’s tougher than you’ll ever be.

True, but Wes was a different man now that Justin was in his life. He could be an animal on the field and then cradle Justin’s face in his hands and leave the gentlest kiss on each of Justin’s eyelids, whispering twangy French to him as Justin smiled. I don’t want to be apart from you. Isn’tthat what he’d said?

What was better? Suffering in silence and hardening your heart against the world? Or owning what you wanted, what you needed? What would Wes be like if he’d turned away from Justin and said to himself, No, not him, not the guy who is my soul mate. What kind of man would he have become?

Say yes. Don’t let go. Don’t walk away.

He took a tentative step on the tightrope strung between his hope and fear. “Are you sure you’re cool with that?” he asked again. “’Cause I don’t want to say no, and if this is one of those life tests where I’m supposed to say no because that’s the polite thing to do, I think I’m gonna fail.”

The sun caught on Nick’s hair, winked off his sunglasses. He was in running shorts and a T-shirt, and even though he wasn’t built and brawny like Colton and Wes were, he was solid in his own way. A lean strength, like Justin had. He’d make a good kicker. “You spend enough time at my place that it makes sense for you to stay. Besides, your PlayStation is already there. Let’s swing by your house and grab some clothes and your toothbrush and anything else you want.”

His guts spun in never-ending spirals. “’Kay,” Colton said. He smiled and couldn’t stop. “Thanks. That’s— It’s—” He had no idea what to say to try to explain the big ball of feelings tumbling through him.

“It will be great,” Nick finished for him. “I’m glad you said yes. I get lonely, too.”

At the jock house, Nick carted down Colton’s work clothes and laid them in the back seat as Colton grabbed his toiletries. Toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream, deodorant. Oh, yeah, comb. Pomade. Mouthwash, too. He tossed his loofah and bodywash into his duffel, in case Justin had some kind of weird scent in his and Wes’s bathroom. He took his painkillers and antibiotics and grabbed a book he’d been trying to read for months, a few extra charging cables, and his ball cap. And his football. He hadn’t picked it up since he’d come home from the hospital. Maybe he and Nick could head back to Lady Bird Lake and Zilker Park and throw it around some day.

He gave one last glance around his bedroom—it looked like a hurricane had gone through it—and then thundered down the stairs to where Nick was hanging out in the foyer. Nick nodded at the wall. “Hard to believe that’s where we met, huh?”

“God, you were a dick that morning. But it was for a good cause, so.” He shrugged. Smiled.

Nick held out his hand for Colton’s duffel and the football under his arm. “Got everything?”

“Yep. All the essentials. Porn mags, beef jerky, Tic Tacs—”

Nick froze.

Colton laughed as he brushed by Nick and held open the front door. “Dude, you should see your face! Oh my God, I should have been filming. Jesus, no, I didn’t bring any of that.” He slid his key in the lock as Nick trotted down the front steps. “How gross would porn and beef jerky together be?” He held on to the doorknob. When he’d imagined one more year, he never would have thought that would mean spending a summer living with Nick.

He turned the key. Tested the lock.

Nick was in the driver’s seat of his Porsche already, Colton’s duffel tucked into the trunk. He had the football in his hands, and when Colton slid into the passenger seat, Nick passed it to him. “I’m glad you brought this.”

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.

* * *

Two weeks into the internship,Nick appeared at Colton’s desk. He leaned his ass against the desk edge and folded his arms.

Colton was putting together a slide deck for one of the account executives, a summary of one client’s quarterly activity and where it could grow with Nick and his team. He popped his earbuds out and smiled. “Hey.”

“How would you feel about traveling?” Nick asked. “Want to come down to Houston with me?”

“Sure!” It was either go with Nick or hang out in his empty condo—or, worse, move back to the empty jock house. It was a no-brainer. And besides, he’d love to head out of town. “Are we going to see your big client?”

Nick nodded. “I want to sit down with Riley Kimbrough and go over our next level of expansion. Kimbrough is the CEO of the biggest and most active drilling operation in Texas. He’s got rigs running all over the state and up into Oklahoma and even Louisiana. He wants his own mobile network for his rigs. He wants to maintain closer contact with all his sites, even the most remote, and says this will go a long way to improving safety. We’ve been rolling out the deployment in phases: Houston headquarters, then the Houston-area sites. Now we’re set to bring the first of ten drill rigs in the Permian Basin online this month. There are a lot of moving parts. I know there are going to be hiccups. We’ve planned for everything we can imagine, but I want to stay on top of it all and be as close as I can with Kimbrough.”

“How can I help?”

Nick gave him a few tasks: get the slide deck on their timeline and phases of operations from the account executive who was putting it together and check it over, pull all the data on the cell tower installations they’d managed at the phase three drill sites, and grab a few test phones and pack them and his laptop. After that, Colton needed to review the client as thoroughly as he could. They’d talk more about Riley Kimbrough on the drive down.

“Will do. When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I drive down.” Nick grinned. “Cheaper than flying, and much more fun. It’s a good drive in the Porsche.”

“I bet.”

“Your mom lives in the Houston area, doesn’t she? Do you want to stop in and see her?”

Cold fingers wrapped around Colton’s stomach and squeezed. He forced the smile to stay on his face. “Nah, she’s super busy. She wouldn’t have time. Besides, depending on where we’re going, it could be really out of the way.”

“Family is never out of the way.”

“Sugar Land isn’t fun to get to from any part of Houston. Seriously, she needs, like, three weeks’ notice before I make any kind of plan to see her.”

“Will she be upset if she finds out you were down there and didn’t at least say hi?”

“No. Like, no way. Not at all.”

Was that a flash of hurt going across Nick’s face? His frown was out in full force, vertical line creasing his forehead. “Well,” he said, pushing back off Colton’s desk. “I’ll have Lizbeth make the hotel arrangements. Is your suit clean?”

One of the tasks Colton had taken upon himself when he became Nick’s roommate was their dry cleaning. He carted Nick’s and his work clothes down to the dry cleaners attached to the condo and then collected it all the next day. Nick had finally stopped bugging him about the cost.

“Yeah, they both are. Not sure which I should wear.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose. “You want me to help you pick?”

“I’ve decided you’re decent at business fashion.” Colton swiveled left and right in his chair as he bounced a pen on the edge of the desk. He could feel the shit-eating grin stretching across his cheeks.

Nick barked out a laugh. He swatted at Colton’s knee as he walked past. “You’ve got some studying to do. Knock on my door if you have any questions this afternoon.”

* * *

They ate barbecuedbaked potatoes and homemade coleslaw on the patio that evening, their phones out on the table for when Justin and Wes would text. There wasn’t cell signal at the ranch aside from a few specific places, so they couldn’t text until the evening, most of the time. Occasionally he and Nick got a few morning texts, but Justin and Wes seemed to be hitting the ground running every day, too busy to stop for things like texting home.

Colton was sure Nick had a private side chat going with Justin, maybe even one with Justin and Wes that just excluded him. He didn’t dare think he was privy to all of Nick’s life or what he said or did with Justin. But…

But Nick hadn’t said anything about Colton moving in with him in their group chat. And that was the kind of thing that Justin would absolutely tease him over. He’d expected jokes about roommates and straight guys staying up late and playing video games together, and how Colton was messing up the vibe of Justin’s bedroom with his caveman ways. He’d expected all that and more, and he was ready with jokes of his own. He’d taken pictures with his football in the center of a pile of Justin’s dance shoes, and he’d purposely left his whiskers in the sink to get a photo of what looked like a Bigfoot massacre. He’d been ready, as soon as someone else went first.

But apparently, Justin didn’t know Colton was living in his bedroom.

Justin also didn’t know that, essentially, every single time he and Wes texted, Colton and Nick were sitting practically side by side.

Was that a problem?

Did Justin need to know? Wasn’t it assumed he and Nick would be hanging out, from all the jokes Wes and Justin had made before they left? They’d said it a half dozen times: Wes and Justin, off at the ranch. Nick and Colton, working in the office. Together.

Thistogether, though?

He hadn’t expected to be spending so much time with Nick back when they were joking about it all, but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, volunteering to go with Nick on a business trip was ratcheting up their one-on-one time.

Justin was his friend, but Justin was Nick’s son, and Colton was following Nick’s lead in what was said. If Nick hadn’t told Justin about Colton moving in, well, maybe it wasn’t that important to share. Nick knew Justin better than Colton did. He had to have his reasons. Whatever those reasons were, Colton didn’t push.

Their phones buzzed at the same time, and they sat back and swiped on their screens. Nick got his open first. Colton heard him gasp, heard him breathe, “Oh my God,” before he got his screen turned on.

Justin and Wes had sent three photos, each one a picture of them kissing. The first on horseback, leaning into each other. Taken by someone else. Graham, maybe. Them sitting on a split rail fence, heads turned just so, kissing chastely with their horses behind them. And the third, them close up, the camera centered on their faces as their lips locked and their hats tipped back, the sun shining on them. They were beaming so wide their eyes were crinkling and Wes’s dimples were out in full force, even as they kissed.

The caption was simple. The first year of our lives together. There was a simple check mark after.

“It’s their anniversary,” he blurted out. Foolishly, he realized. Of course that’s what the first year together meant. “They must have hooked up today last year. In Paris.”

“I knew it happened over there. I never knew when,” Nick said softly. He was saving each photo, hearting them on the text thread. He swallowed, tapping his thumb against the side of his phone. Finally, he texted Happy Anniversary along with three hearts. I’m so proud of you both. He looked like he was seconds away from tearing up.

Congrats,Colton texted. You guys make it look easy. His breath hitched after he sent the text.

Damn, they did. Even with all the bullshit they’d faced, even with what felt like the whole world against them sometimes, Wes and Justin made falling in love look effortless. He’d watched them build a new life together this past year, watched them take Wes and Justin as individuals and put them together to make Wes-and-Justin. They did it with smiles, with laughter, with held hands and a shit ton of French, kisses and quiet moments in the backyard or on the couch or during water breaks at practice. They were so obviously, so completely, so totally in love with each other. And happy. Radiantly, overwhelmingly happy.

“Have you ever been that happy?” he whispered to Nick.

There was something in the air, a weight that hung between them. Nick’s clenched throat, the way his leg was bouncing a mile a minute. Colton’s hammering heart, his lungs that wouldn’t work right. 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 don’t think so,” Nick choked out. He was staring at the close-up of Justin and Wes. Kept tapping to make his screen stay on. His thumb stroked over Justin’s smiling face.

They didn’t hear back from the cowboys, but that was hardly surprising. Colton lived with them. He’d heard Wes’s bed frame scraping on the floor almost every night. Wes had gotten better about muffling his sex noises, but until he figured out something to do about that bed frame, everyone in the house knew when those two were going at it. Their anniversary? He bet the horses and cattle would be spooked all night long deep in the heart of West Texas.

Nick was quiet after dinner. He poured himself another glass of wine, even though he usually stopped after one and a half. He watched the stars as Colton carried their plates and silverware back into the kitchen, rinsed them off, and loaded the dishwasher. He didn’t want to interrupt Nick’s solitude after that, but he needed his help. He puttered in the kitchen until Nick wandered inside.

“Ready?” Nick asked.

He didn’t forget.Colton smiled. “Whenever you are.”

He was four weeks into his recovery, and that meant a new phase of physical therapy. It wasn’t much, and he was still restricted to wearing a sling during the day and his Terminator sling for sleeping, but now, twice a day, he was supposed to raise his injured arm and lower it back down. But not on his own. He needed to either lift his arm with his other hand or, preferably, have another person help him.

It was belly-button-puckering to face Nick and lay his palm on top of Nick’s, let his shoulder go slack, and then let Nick lift and lower his right arm. It was intimate in a way he’d never known, not even while helping Wes regain his strength in the hospital. He and Nick faced each other, looked into each other’s eyes, and counted out loud. Hands together. Skin touching. He had to raise for five seconds, then lower for five. Repeat ten times. One hundred seconds of being face-to-face.

After ten lifts and lowers, his shoulder burned. The first time they’d done this, he’d been morose, convinced he’d never throw a football again. Nick had stayed by his side all evening, refusing to let him sulk alone. And, each day, the lifts hurt fractionally less. He was, marginally, improving.

Usually he held Nick’s gaze through his lifts, but that night his eyes kept bouncing to their joined hands, the countertop, his own fluttering bicep. To Nick’s pulse, steady at the side of his neck, or Nick’s phone.

The first year of our lives together. Check.

How much had Wes changed in one year? So much that, in some ways, Colton barely recognized him. He’d outgrown Colton, outpaced him in life. He was a man in every way. He loved someone, heart and soul, and someone loved him, and they were devoted to each other.

Could Colton possibly change that much in a year?

Would he ever find a girl to love the way Wes loved Justin? Would he ever find a girl who loved him that much? Would he ever smile that hugely, so broad it looked like his heart was going supernova?

“Thanks,” he mumbled when they were done. He must have clenched up, because his arm was shaking as he tried to fit his Terminator sling on. He winced, cursed, and then Nick was there, helping him strap everything down.

“Better?” Nick asked softly.

He nodded. “I think I’m gonna go to bed early. What time do you want to be on the road tomorrow?”

“No later than eight. We can check into the hotel at noon. Which suit did you decide on?”

“You were supposed to pick for me,” he said, small smile on his lips. “Black or blue?”

“What kind of blue are we talking about? Navy or Easter pastel?”

“Bandana blue.” There was probably a fancy name for that shade, something in between deep sky and wide ocean and bright eyed, but he didn’t know things like that. Justin did, not him.

“You’re young enough to pull that color off. Go with that one. Bring that. Jeans or shorts for the drive. We’ll change when we get there.”

“’Kay. G’night. Thanks again, for everything.”

“Always happy to help.”

“And… congrats. For Justin’s one-year anniversary.”

“It’s not my anniversary—”

“No, I know, but…” He fumbled for the right words. Screwed up his lips and frowned. “Justin wouldn’t be as happy as he is today if it weren’t for everything you’ve done for him. Today is also thanks to you. Because of that.”

Nick looked away. Blinked fast. His smile was fragile, and his fingers curled around his cell phone. “Thank you,” he whispered. “All I want is for him to be happy.”

Colton shrugged. “Well. You succeeded. He is.”

Nick turned that smile on him. His eyes were wet, prisms lining his lashes in the glow of the kitchen lights. “Good night, Colton.”

“Night, Nick.”