Page 88 of The Jock
You didn’t work for years to synchronize your existence with someone only to rip them out of your life in a single moment.
Of course, you didn’t lie to that person, either.
Why had Wes lied to him?
How had he missed the truth, though? He’d seen how gone Wes had been this season, how head over heels in love he was. Why didn’t he see that the person Wes loved was right in front of him—literally? Justin, and not Jessica or Jennifer or Julie? Justin.
“Wait,” he called out, chasing Justin’s dad. “Wait!”
Nick hesitated at the base of the stairs. He didn’t turn around.
“Take me to the hospital. Take me to Wes. Please.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
If he closed his eyes,it was almost like they were lying in bed together. Like his cheek was pillowed on Wes’s chest and they were drifting off to sleep in the bed of Wes’s truck, wrapped in the sleeping bag that smelled like campfire smoke. Or they were in Justin’s bedroom, on one of those stolen nights. Or they were in Paris, where he’d fallen in love with his football-playing cowboy.
But when they were together before, Wes’s arms were always around him. Wes always held on to him, cradled him against his big chest. He held Justin like he was precious to him, like he loved him. Because he did.
Now, Wes’s arms lay limp. He wasn’t holding Justin, even though Justin was curled against his side, their bodies fitted so perfectly it was like they were made to be together. And that constant beep drowned out the heartbeat Justin wanted to hear, the steady thump deep in Wes’s chest that always soothed him right to sleep. No matter how much he wished it, this wasn’t another night. And things weren’t okay.
He clung to Wes, his face pressed to Wes’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop crying. It was like all the blood in his body had been replaced with tears, and his broken heart was hemorrhaging out the sorrow in his soul.
“Wes…” His breath hitched. His snot pooled on the thin fabric of Wes’s hospital gown. He squeezed Wes’s arms, digging his fingers into the meat of his biceps. “You have to wake up. You have to come back.Please.”
Wes was power and strength wrapped in a human body. His bones were his convictions, and his muscles were his promises, and his soul was made out of his dreams. He was the strongest man Justin had ever met, in body and mind. This couldn’t be his end. This couldn’t be their end.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please come back to me.”
He’d talked to Wes for hours, all night and all morning, whispering his dreams for the two of them as he stroked Wes’s hair. He reminisced about his favorite moments with Wes, all the way back to when Wes walked into their shared room in Paris and looked at Justin with those big blue cowboy eyes. That first bus ride and how devastatingly polite Wes had been. He’d rocked Justin’s world from that first day.
And Justin had fallen for Wes so fast. There was never a choice between Wes and the Riviera, or the Alps, or Vienna. He’d watched Wes scatter duck feed into the pond, his muscles rippling beneath his faded T-shirt, and he’d gone all in. To hell with common sense. What was the point of being common, anyway? He was going to chase the wild beat of his heart, spend all his free time with Wes. Go to the market and the Sacré-Coeur and the Museum of Modern Art, and if it was agony at the end, when Wes’s eyes turned to some gorgeous French girl, well. He’d have had a beautiful day with a gorgeous man to remember.
But Wes had kissed him beneath the Eiffel Tower, and there went the rest of his life.
“I can’t pinpoint when I fell in love with you,” he whispered. His fingers traced Wes’s heart, over his chest and down his side, then up his arm before starting the circuit again. “It was just there one day, inside me. I didn’t want to be without you. And then Icouldn’tbe without you. That’s when I knew you were the love of my life. You’d become a part of me, and my life was incomplete without you.” His lips brushed over Wes’s jaw, the stubble on his chin. “You’re it for me.Tu es mon plus grand amour.”You are the love of my life.
For a moment, it seemed like there was a hitch beneath him. Like Wes’s breathing had shifted. Justin stilled. Stared at Wes and willed him to move.
Nothing.
It had probably been his own body shaking. Justin smothered an open-mouthed cry as his fingers dug into Wes’s chest. “Je t’aime de tout mon coeur.”
Stubble grazed his forehead. Lips ghosted over his hair. “Tu es mon plus grand amour…” Wes’s voice was broken, fractured and catching on his words, but it was there. His shaking fingers curled around Justin’s hand. “Justin…”
Justin screamed. Screamed for the doctors and the nurses, screamed Wes’s name. Grabbed Wes’s hand and squeezed, then kissed each of his fingers. Ran his hand down Wes’s bruised cheek and kissed him right over his split and torn lip. Wes’s eyes were still swollen, only one able to partially open. But Justin saw a sliver of blue—lake blue, moonlight in a meadow blue, the blue of a Paris summer sky. He smiled, finally, trembling as he cradled Wes’s face and smoothed Wes’s hair back.
When the doctors and the nurses were finished examining Wes, they told him he was one lucky, strong son of a bitch. They asked what happened, and Justin’s tears rained down as Wes recounted the details. His voice was ragged, his throat still swollen and bruised. But he spoke, and he didn’t falter, not even when he told them about the brass knuckles or the man with the belt, how he’d stood behind Wes with it wrapped around his neck as the rest of the men took turns beating on him.
“They tried to kill you,” Dr. Williams said. “But they didn’t even come close. You’re way too strong for five guys to take out.” He smiled at Wes, then tilted Wes’s chin up and gently examined his neck. “You’re going to recover, Wes. You’re going to be all right. We’ll get you back on that playing field.”
Wes didn’t say anything to that. Eventually, the nurses followed Dr. Williams out, leaving Justin and Wes alone again. Justin peppered firefly kisses on every inch of Wes’s skin he could. This time, Wes held his arms out for him, and Justin crawled right into his hold. He kissed Wes softly, pressed their foreheads together. Cradled his face and stared into his eyes, whispering in French and English how much he loved him. Wes tried to speak, but Justin kissed him quiet. “Don’t talk. Let your throat heal. I’m here, I’ve got you,mon coeur.” Wes smiled, and he threaded their fingers together–
The hospital room door opened. His dad walked in, followed by Colton, and then Orlando, and Art. All the rest of Wes’s housemates. Most of the starting line, offense and defense. All there, suddenly, watching them kiss in Wes’s hospital bed.
His dad dropped a duffel on the sofa beneath the window and came to stand behind Wes and Justin.
Colton went pale as he came closer and saw the extent of Wes’s injuries. The rest of the guys followed, eyes wide, Art and Orlando cursing under their breath. “Dude,” Colton whispered. He hovered a few feet from the bed, his hands grasping the air like he was searching for a football. “What happened?”
