Page 89 of The Jock
“Fans,” Wes choked out. He squeezed Justin’s hand. Justin could feel him trembling. Wes hadn’t shown an ounce of fear when he was retelling what happened to him out on that dark road, but now, facing Colton, he was quaking. “I ran into some guys who were pissed about the game. And me.” His voice was thick. He turned his face down, pressed his cheek against Justin’s. Closed his eyes.
“Wes…” Colton shook his head. His broad shoulders rose and fell as his hands tangled in front of him. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Jesus Christ…”
“I’m sorry.” Wes’s eyes opened. Tears spilled down his cheeks and fell onto Justin’s. He tasted the salt of Wes’s sorrow. Tried to fight back his rage. He held on to Wes, trying to shore him up with love. “I didn’t mean to hurt you guys. I never meant to hurt the team. I was trying to hide it. I was trying to keep it a secret.”
“You can’t hide how in love you are.” Colton looked like he was going to be sick. “And you shouldn’t fucking have to. Damn it, no one cares that you’re gay. No one.”
“I was trying to protect the team,” Wes said. “I thought if no one knew, nothing bad could happen.”
“Something bad did happen!”
“I know. I failed you guys—”
“No, man!” Orlando snapped. “No!”
“Someone attacked you! That’s what happened!” Colton’s face twisted, and he bit down on the corner of his lip. “Someone fucking attacked you, and we weren’t there. We weren’t there to fucking pound whoever it was into the fucking ground—”
His voice died, and he turned away, paced to the wall, and threw his fist into the tile. He roared, then flung himself forward, bracing himself on his forearms as he bowed his head. “Fuck!”
Justin’s dad squeezed the railing of Wes’s bed.
“Help me sit up,” Wes whispered. His arms shook as Justin helped him move, and he bit back a whimper that only Justin heard.
There was a heart and a soul to every football team. Wes may have been their captain, but he was only one half of the team’s heart. Even Justin, who knew nothing about football, had figured that out, watching Wes and Colton at the practices and the games and hearing Wes talk about him. The bond between them was the soul of the team. Their friendship, and how they’d trained and perfected their game until they were the best in the league. How much they gave and gave and gave to each other, how deeply they trusted one another.
The team’s heart and soul had shattered when Wes and Colton did. If there was going to be a way forward, it had to start between them.
Wes was still catching his breath, his hands gripping the bed rail and Justin’s leg, but he squared his shoulders and looked up at his friend. “Colton.”
Colton’s shoulders shook. He faced Wes, his jaw clenched, his hands shaking as they formed fists at his side.
“I never told anyone I was gay until I kissed Justin in Paris. I thought I could bury this until I got out of college. I never planned on coming out, or dating, or anything, not as long as we were playing. That’s why I never told you. Because it wasn’t a part of my life.” His gaze met Justin’s. He tried to smile, a quiver of his cheek and a pull of his split lip. “Until it was.”
“Wes—” Colton’s voice was wrecked. He stared at the ground.
“I never meant to hurt you or lie to you. And I never wanted to use you. I never wanted my life to touch you guys or be a problem.”
“Your life isn’t a problem, man.” Orlando looked like someone had kicked his puppy on Christmas morning. “That was never the issue.”
Wes’s gaze dropped to his hospital bed. “I’m sorry.”
Colton shook his head. He kept shaking it until his whole body was shaking, and he stumbled to the foot of Wes’s bed. He fell forward onto the mattress, his face buried in Wes’s hospital blanket as he grabbed onto Wes’s bandaged hand. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, Wes. Jesus, I’m so fucking sorry.”
* * *
One Hallmark momentdid not a recovery make, though.
There was still tension in the air, between the team members. No one knew what to say to Wes, or how to say it. There was hurt in their eyes, resentment that slid onto Justin when their gazes flicked from Wes to him and then back. Most of the guys hung around Wes’s hospital room for a few hours, grabbing chairs from wherever they could and crowding around his bed. But eventually they drifted away, heading back to the house to finish homework or essays, or to the gym to work off emotions they hadn’t yet been able to verbalize.
By the evening, Wes and Justin and Colton were alone in the room. Even his dad had stepped out, saying he was going to find food for them.
Colton sat at Wes’s bedside, and for a while, they did nothing but reminisce, revisiting memories of training camp and drills, of riding the third and then the second string, of being good enough the year before to have a handful of starts and more than a handful of finishes. Wes was a good player on his own, but he was great with Colton. And Colton had worked his ass off, but Wes made him look phenomenal.
Through it all, Justin stayed glued to Wes’s side.
“Come home,” Colton said to Wes, out of a moment’s quiet. He jerked his chin at the duffel on the couch. “Justin’s dad packed up all your stuff.” His eyes flicked to Justin, then away. “I mean, you can go wherever. You can move in with Justin, I guess. But you could come home, too. I want you to come home. We all want you to come home.”
“I don’t know if I’m eligible to live there anymore. You need to be an active player, and I don’t think I am.”
