Page 21 of The Quarterback
It was Nick.
You have your doctor’s appointment this afternoon, right?
Yeah.
I think I can make it back in time if you want a ride. I can pick you up.
Colton smiled.Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.
* * *
The doc freedhim from the Terminator sling for most of his daytime hours. He was given another sling, something less claustrophobic, to wear all the time except when he was doing his very simple baby stretches. He wasn’t allowed to reach or to lift.
“The worst thing you can do right now is rotate your shoulder and arm away from your body or stress your shoulder with weight,” the doc told him. “But you’re doing well, and if your healing progresses like this, you’ll be in good shape in a few weeks. We’ll keep evaluating you and adjust your physical therapy as needed.”
The physical therapist came in to see him, along with an athletic trainer the team sent over. He could go to the stadium and the athletic center to do his PT every day, or he could do it at home on his own and document his stretches and his pain levels on an app they had him install on his phone. Once a week, he was supposed to video himself and send it in if he didn’t go into the training facility.
For now, all he was allowed to do was contract the muscles in his right shoulder five times, three times a day, and extend his elbow, roll his wrist, and flex his fingers at least once an hour while not moving his shoulder.
At night, it was back to the Terminator sling for sleeping.
Two weeks ago, he’d been hurling touchdown passes down the field, doing push-ups on every ten-yard line, and jogging in the Texas sunshine. Squeezing his shoulder muscles five times was a far cry from his former exertions. But it was something, a step toward recovery. He was all smiles as they walked out of the doctor’s office. Nick was, too, and they celebrated by stopping for ice cream, slurping down their cones before they melted all over their hands and the sidewalk.
No word yet from Justin and Wes, only four hours into their cross-Texas drive.
It was different without them, in a way Colton couldn’t put his finger on. He and Nick had hung out together on their own plenty since his injury, but Justin and Wes were always a phone call or a text message away, or they were on their way back home or would be there in a few hours. Hadn’t Nick even said once that he’d stayed as long as he had with Colton just so he could see Justin?
With Justin away, he didn’t expect their time together to last, but there was a flicker of hope burning inside him, as tiny as a birthday candle.
They hung around the patio of the ice cream shop for an hour, Nick telling him about his there-and-back business trip and the uber-important client in Houston. Colton told him about the team moving out, the flurry of activity that ended in silence and emptiness. They laughed about Wes’s car, but Colton caught Nick’s wince and the way his shoulders went tight, and he stopped joking about the two of them breaking down in the middle of nowhere. “That truck looks like a piece of shit, but Wes takes good care of it. He’s always checking the spark plugs and changing the oil. He does it all himself. He knows that rust bucket inside and out. It will probably run another hundred thousand miles. The doors will fall off before the engine goes.”
Nick smiled at him, and that was thanks enough.
When it was time to leave, he asked Nick to drop him off at the mall instead of taking him back to the house. He wasn’t ready to go home to that tomb yet. Besides, he had clothes to buy.
“How will you get back?” Nick asked when he dropped him at the curb in front of the sprawling outdoor shopping center.
“I’ll call an Uber.”
“You know, I’d rather you show up Monday in shorts and a T-shirt than injure yourself shopping. What if someone runs into you?”
“No one will run into me. People usually get out of my way.” He was tall and big, and that had a way of clearing space around him.
“You’ll be careful?” Nick turned to him, one wrist slung over the steering wheel. He was frowning, a vertical line of concern creasing the space between his eyebrows. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. And I don’t want you to be in pain later tonight because you pushed yourself for this.”
“I’ll be careful.” He gave Nick a smile and then hauled himself out of the car. It was practically a full squat to rise from Nick’s low-slung Porsche. He bent down and stuck his head into the open passenger window. “I’m good, I promise.” He hesitated for a half second, then barreled on. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
Nick still seemed dubious, but he nodded. “All right. I’ll talk to you later. If you need anything…” He left the rest unsaid. Colton smiled, slapped the doorframe of the car, and stepped away. He waved as Nick drove off, engine growling as he made the turn and merged into traffic, heading toward downtown. He’d said he had to go into his office for a bit. Prepare for Monday. Prepare for Colton’s internship.
Colton went to Jos. A. Bank, because they could take his measurements and he didn’t have to try anything on after they did. One of the sales guys stuck to him like a mosquito once he realized Colton was there for a full professional wardrobe and was going to spend a shit ton of money. He was far too helpful, suggesting button-downs and matching ties, three different types of pants, and two suits, one in classic black and one in a softer, brighter blue than Colton thought was in style.What would Justin think? Should I text him?
No texts yet from the wayward cowboys. He counted the hours they’d been on the road. They still had a ways to go. As the saying went,The sun rises and the sun sets, and I haven’t left Texas yet.
He bought way too much stuff off the rack, more than he could carry one-armed, but the sales guy offered to wait with him for his Uber driver. Alone, outside the store, he confessed he recognized Colton, even with his ball cap shielding his face, and he recognized the injury from articles he’d seen online. Colton waited, gritting his teeth as he braced himself for the questions about Wes, but they never came. Instead, the sales guy loaded his bags into the Uber’s trunk and then told him he hoped Colton had a speedy recovery and that he was on the field in the fall.
The Uber driver helped him unload the bags onto the porch before he left, and then Colton started hauling garment bags up to his bedroom. His closet was mostly empty—what on earth did he have to hang up?—and used as a place to hide things. He pulled out old baseball bats and lacrosse sticks, pool noodles from the time the guys had played pool noodle lightsaber death match, and a couple of molding socks that had gotten lost in the far corners. He sprayed half a bottle of Febreze and let the closet air out as he slowly transferred his new shirts and pants to hangers. He set his phone to play music as he worked, trying to push away the unbearable stillness.
His phone buzzed when he was halfway through hanging up his new shirts. He dove for it, swiping on the screen before he even checked who was texting.
