Page 42 of The Jock
“You’re right. I’m scared.” Six foot five, two hundred sixty-four pounds, and he curled forward like he was five years old and scared of the dark. “Not about me, or who I am.”
There was no possible way to feel worse, he thought, until he saw the devastation on Justin’s face. It hit Wes like he’d caught a train in the center of his chest. “I’m gay,” he breathed. “I know that. I’m not— That’s not—” He fumbled his words, tripped over his thoughts. “I’m not ashamed that I love you. But I don’t know how to live with all these different pieces of me.” His shoulders rose, stiff and hanging by his ears. “I always thought football was just a tool, you know? I got my scholarship because I decided that was how I was going to get out of West Texas. I thought I’d just play football through college, then get on with my life. I thought, what was four years when I’d have the rest of my life to find someone special?”
His eyes flicked to Justin’s, then away. Jesus, he couldn’t stand seeing Justin like this. Tears soaked Justin’s face, and he was trembling, clenching his cell phone so hard it looked like it was about to shatter.
“But then I met you, and… I didn’t want to wait anymore. I wanted to love you—Iwantto love you. I do love you. And I want to be with you, every day, but…”
“But what?” Justin’s voice shook.
“When Coach told me I’d made first string, he sat me down and said everything was about to change. He said my life was about to be turned upside down, inside out. That everyone was going to know everything about who I was. They were going to dig into my life, find out everything. NFL scouts, and reporters, and fans, and stalkers, and…”
“And you got scared people would find out about us.”
“Yes. Butnotbecause I’m ashamed.”
“Then—”
“Coach also said the whole team was counting on me. I was the one who could take us higher than we’d ever been. And if we have the kind of season he believes we could have, that meant everyone could reach their dreams. Be invited to the NFL combine, or into the draft. NFL contracts.”You can bring everyone to glory. Everyone is relying on you.
An exhale punched out of Justin.
“What would happen to your dance team if, right before you guys went on stage, you dropped a bomb on them?” Wes asked. “What if you told everyone the deepest secret you ever had, something you knew would throw everyone off their game? Something that would break every bond of trust you’d ever built with each other?”
Justin’s eyes squeezed shut, and he shook his hands in front of him, as if that could somehow shake out whatever he was feeling. “What about telling them before the games started? Preseason? During training?”
“The season is our performance. We’re on from the very first moment we suit up, from that very first practice. We have to gel on the field, fast. The psychology of it …” It was Wes’s turn to shake his head. “I’ve played with this starting line for going on three years now. We’ve bled together, cried together. Hell, we live together. We’ve seen things inside each other no one else has. The best and the worst. In some ways, I’ve never been closer to anyone in the world than I am to these guys.” Dizziness grabbed him, nearly threw him to the ground. He swayed. “How can I tell them that I’m not the man they thought I was? That I’ve been lying to them for years about something so huge, so fundamental to who I am?”
“Why do they care? Who gives a shit!”
“People care.” The fans would be a mixed bag. Some would be supportive. Others… Hell, he was called a worthless faggot online just for dropping a pass or not breaking through the linebackers. Was told to choke on a dick and get himself fucked in the locker room to teach him a lesson. And that was just from people who signed their comments#1 fanand whodidn’tknow he was gay.
Maybe the guys would be okay. He didn’t think Colton would disown him. Not look him in the eye because he couldn’t get the image of Wes on his knees, cock in his mouth, out of his mind. “It’s telling the team the truth now, after so long, will break us apart. All that trust we have in each other will be broken.”
If the guys were thinking about how he wasn’t who they thought he was yesterday… Everything would be broken, not just their trust in him. Their rhythm, their connection as a team. They’d hesitate, when they’d never hesitated before. Colton hesitating in those quarter seconds before he threw, thinking, even if he didn’t mean to, about how gay Wes was. A moment’s hesitation here, another there. Linemen a little slow on the block. Eyes sliding sideways to him instead of focused on the ball. Microseconds determined the difference between champions and losers.
“I’m the team captain, and I have to make sure we’re all focused on the exact same goal: winning. There’s no room in that for me coming out. It’s… unnecessary.” The word tasted like poison. He wanted to spit it out. “I’d be a distraction. I’d hurt us all if I came out.”
And if he hurt the team, he’d be dropped faster than the jobs fled West Texas when the oil prices collapsed. He’d have his scholarship taken from him. He’d lose everything.
Justin wiped his eyes with his fingers, collecting his tears and rubbing them into his palms. He stared at the sky. “You said something like that in Paris.” His voice trembled. “But you also said we could figure out the season together. That we’d have to keep it quiet, but that you would. We would. I thought that was the plan. We’d be discreet. I would have,” he said, his voice thin. “I would have done anything you asked.”
Wes fell into a squat, his hands running through his hair. His vision narrowed, tunneling down to a pinprick as the world went neon. He was going to hurl, and he was going to pass out. He wasn’t breathing right. He got one palm on the ground and heaved in a ragged inhale, fighting back the darkness.
Images flashed like fireworks in his mind. Him and Justin in Paris, walking arm in arm. Him and Justin, kissing beneath the Eiffel Tower. His first-ever kiss with a man. Justin astride him, riding his cock, Wes’s hands running down Justin’s chest as Justin tossed his head back. Justin wearing his hat and nothing else, winking at Wes as he shook his hips.
Justin glaring at Wes, sayingI like being anonymous.
Justin surrounded by screaming football fans. Justin chased by a raging mob bellowing and calling him a faggot, a sissy, a cocksucker. Wes tried to get to him, but the mob was roaring at him, too, and keeping them apart.
He saw the mob take Justin down. Saw the punches start to fly, the kicks. Heard the cheers.
Vomit rose, and he couldn’t hold it back this time. He fell forward, both palms flat on the ground. Rancid bile, the remnants of his protein shake and the lunch he’d eaten at the dining hall, painted the asphalt. He coughed, his stomach still seizing.
Gentle hands guided his face up. He followed the touch, opened his eyes, and saw Justin crouching beside him. Justin’s tears were like diamonds on his skin, fallen stars forming waterfalls on his cheekbones.
Wes spat the last of the bile from his mouth, then melted into Justin’s touch. He kneeled on the ground, his cheek buried in Justin’s palm. He breathed in the scent at Justin’s wrist.
“That’s not the only reason why I ended things,” Wes whispered. “I’m terrified—petrified—of something happening to you. Because of me. Because of us.”
