Page 76 of The Quarterback
He left the football, the one-handed controller, and his broken heart behind.
* * *
“Justin!”Nick shouted, running through the condo’s parking garage. One of his neighbors, a waifish, sixty-year-old woman, froze in the middle of putting her yoga mat in the trunk of her Mercedes. Her wide eyes snapped to Justin, to his shaking hands trying to work the key in the lock of Wes’s truck, and then to Nick, in his boxers and his undershirt, bare feet slapping on the concrete. “Justin,” he said, finally catching up to his son. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his heart pounding. He grabbed Justin’s shoulders and tried to spin him around.
“No!” Justin roared. He shook Nick off, shoving him backward so hard Nick slammed into the Jeep parked next to Wes’s truck. He’d given Wes and Justin the second parking space that came with his condo. He’d told them to make a second home in his home, that they were always welcome there. That his life was theirs.
Now Justin was pushing him away.
Cries echoed through the cavernous garage, filling the dark concrete corners and clinging to the exposed pipes. Justin doubled over, falling to his knees as he clung to the truck’s door handle above his head. He dug his face into a dent in Wes’s door, violent sobs racking him.
“Justin…” What had he done to his son? What kind of a father, what kind of a man was he?
“Don’t!” Justin snapped. “Jesus, Dad, don’t!”
“Please, I just want to talk—”
“I can’t even look at you!” Another sob ripped through Justin, and he turned his face away from Nick as he wept. “All I see when I look at you is you andhim.”
Colton. He wanted to carve himself in two, one half staying with Justin while the other half ran back to Colton. He’d be on his knees before both men, begging for apologies he didn’t deserve.
“For years,” Justin choked out, “years, Dad, I wanted you to love me.” Waterfalls ran down his face, fat teardrops raining from his chin and his jaw and soaking the pavement. “For years, I wanted you to love me as I was. I wanted you towantto spend time with me. I used to daydream about the two of us going to New York and seeing the ballet. I imagined I could tag along on a business trip with you and we could go to Broadway. We could go to the trendy restaurants and window-shop on Fifth Avenue. I thought maybe, somehow, you could like me, Dad.”
“I do. I do like you. I love you. I love everything about you—”
“But you did all that withhim!” Justin’s body heaved with his weeping. Nick tried to reach for him, but Justin curled away, slapping his hand through the air between them. Nick retreated, helpless as his son shattered before him. “You took Colton to all those places you and he like because you guys are such a better fit, right? Those pictures you and he sent—” He gasped, choking on his tears. “I thought they were just moments, but they’re not, are they? They’re the relationship you always wanted with the son you didn’t have!”
“No—”
“We could have had moments like that,” Justin moaned. “Why don’t you want to do things with me, Dad?” He let go of Wes’s truck handle, burying his face in his hands.
Nick started forward. He was going to wrap his son up in his arms and tell him he loved him so much—he’d always love him, forever, no matter how much Justin fought him. He was going to repeat himself until his vocal cords shredded, until his body withered, until his bones turned to dust. He was going to tell Justin every single day that he loved him, until Justin believed him again.
Legs wrapped in dusty Wranglers stepped between him and Justin, blocking his path. Strong arms reached down and gathered Justin up, helping him stand. Justin collapsed into Wes’s hold and buried his face in his chest.
“Nick,” Wes said. His voice was granite. He looked someplace beyond Nick, over Nick’s shoulder. “I’m taking Justin home.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking permission.
He closed his eyes as Wes loaded Justin into his truck. Justin clung to him, and Wes kept one arm around Justin like a shield, as if he could protect Justin from Nick.
Neither Wes nor Justin looked at him as they backed out and peeled away.
Numb, he stumbled through the garage and back up the stairwell to his condo. The door was unlocked, thank God, and he walked in in a daze. He took two steps and then collapsed, his legs buckling as he let out a scream and dug his hands into his hair.
Silence echoed around him. Silence and stillness, the weight of emptiness. His condo hadn’t felt like this since—
“Colton?” he whispered.
He heard his own heartbeat, frantic, like a desperate hummingbird. He heard the hum of the air-conditioning whispering over his skin. He heard a single drip from his kitchen faucet.
He didn’t hear Colton.
He scanned his condo—
The PlayStation was gone. He’d gotten used to the black box squatting on his floor, cables snaking to the wall and across to the couch to charge their controllers. But now the floor was empty.
He lurched to his feet and tore into the bedroom. The smell of Colton and sex slammed into him. They’d made love hours ago, right here, in this room. He’d wrapped his arms around Colton and kissed the back of his neck, and he’d tried to give Colton everything he was as he thrust inside him. He’d wanted that night to be so good for Colton, so wonderful that Colton would never forget him. That he’d never regret them, even years later, when all Nick was was a memory.
He knew Colton was going to leave. He’d known it from the start. But he didn’t think it would happen like this.
