Page 93 of The Jock
“Cynthia started coming home with all sorts of hateful, horrible ideas. That you were broken and needed to be fixed. That you needed to go somewhere so the church could fix you. I told her she was way out of line, that I wouldn’t put up with that crap. I wouldn’t hear it in the house, and I wouldn’t let her talk about you like that. That the only person who was wrong was her, and her damn pastor.”
Justin’s eyes rose, but now his dad wouldn’t look at him. It was his turn to play with his coffee cup, avoiding Justin’s gaze.
“And I can’t—I won’t—put up with that. I can’t listen to anyone saying my son is—” He didn’t finish his sentence. “I told Cynthia I wasn’t going to stick around if she believed any of that trash. I won’t put up with anyone thinking that of you. Not even her.” He blew out a long breath. “So, what happened? Sometimes you can love someone for years, and then something happens, and you realize you love someone else more. I love my son—you—more than I love the woman she’s become.”
“Dad…” Justin reached across the table and grabbed his father’s hand, prying it from the cardboard coffee sleeve he was peeling apart piece by piece.
His dad clung to him, squeezing his hand so hard the table rattled.
“I’m sorry to dump this on you. I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry she’s lost, and that she got brainwashed by those people. I don’t know if you’ll hear from her, to be honest. And if you do, it might not be the greatest conversation. I wanted you to hear this from me, and sooner rather than later. Cynthia and I agreed to call it quits, and I’m in the middle of packing up. I’m looking for places to live now, and—” Finally, he met Justin’s gaze again. “With my job, I travel so much that I can be based anywhere. I was thinking about moving down here to be closer to you, and to Wes, now that I’ve met him. But only if you want me to. If you don’t, I understand.”
Justin’s mind spun, and he squeezed his coffee cup like it was an anchor to the world. “I’d love it if you lived here,” he whispered.
“He’s good to you? Really?” His dad peered at him. “I know what you said, and I know what you’ve told me. It sounds like you guys were made for each other. But I also know what happened over the summer. I can’t forget how brokenhearted you were.”
“That was both of our fault. Yes, Wes broke up with me, but… I had a lot of pride, and I didn’t reach out to him to ask why. Maybe if we’d talked about it, we could have figured out a few things sooner than we did.”
“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. If he ever makes you unhappy…” His dad trailed off, letting the promise linger between them.
“He never will. We were made to be together. He’s the love of my life.”
“You guys have a real love. Something that goes deep. I can see it, and I’ve only been here a day.”
“Thank you, Dad. For… standing up for me. Loving me.”
“Never thank me for that. You’re my son. I will always love you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Monday morning,at the crack of seven, Colton showed up, waking Wes and Justin. They were sleeping together in Wes’s bed, and if Colton was shocked or horrified by that, he didn’t show it. He’d brought coffee and bagels and Muscle Milk, and he fed the two of them as he took up a position in the chair next to Wes’s bed.
“Don’t you have classes?” Wes asked. “It’s finals next week. Don’t you have stuff to do?” Wes’s eyes were ringed in black and blue, like he was wearing a cartoon robber’s mask. The bruises on his cheeks and his jawline were fading to a poison-orchid violet and bile green, save for the still-black belt loop around his throat. Justin’s heart broke a little every time he looked at him, anguish for the pain Wes had suffered and bone-melting gratitude that he was still here, that he was going to be all right.
“Dude, I’m an ergonomics major.” Colton snorted. “And the rest of my classes are with Coach. So no, I’ve got nothing going on.”
“What’s your final for ergonomics this semester?”
“Making a better mouse pad.” Colton winked. “I’ve got the best idea: a waterbed for your wrist.”
“I think they figured out wrist support a few decades ago,” Wes said.
“But have you ever seen a waterbed on a mouse pad? Or one for your arm?”
“You’re duct-taping a hot water bottle to a mouse pad, aren’t you?”
“It works great. I’m telling you. After a game, when you’re tired as hell, but you gotta get that Call of Duty in.”
It was strange to all of a sudden be fine with being out in front of Colton. Justin was used to hiding his and Wes’s relationship, to sliding away, to sneaking around. He wasn’t used to Wes’s hand gliding up and down his back as he lay against Wes’s side and the two ball players went back and forth, laughing like they hadn’t broken each other’s hearts three days ago. Poking fun at Colton’s major turned into talking about the team and then the conference standings going into their bye week.
Nothing was the same, but everything that mattered to him was the same. Him and Wes. Their love. Their foundation.
Wes and Colton were rebuilding their foundation, too. Justin could still sense the strain, feel the tendrils of hurt curling off them both. See the way their eyes lingered when they thought the other wasn’t looking. But every hour strengthened them. Every shared memory, every quiet laugh. Colton was as much a part of Wes as Justin was. Wes couldn’t excise his best friend and the game they shared, just like he couldn’t excise Justin from his life after Paris. Wherever their future lay, Colton would be a part of it. Maybe football would be a part of that future, too.
Justin was okay with that. More than okay, in fact. If Wes was happy, if Wes could have everything he dreamed, all the different people and moments that made him smile, that was a good life. The best life.
After lunch, the nurse told Wes he needed to get up and move, to get out of bed and walk up and down the hallway at least once. Colton reacted like he was born for that very moment. He cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Are you ready to recover, bro? Cause I am so ready to work you.”
Colton and Wes limped up and down the hospital’s long hallways for an hour. Wes started off leaning most of his weight on Colton, but by the end of the first lap, he was standing on his own two feet, and he stayed that way for a full up-down of the hallway before he faltered and had to lean against Colton again.
