Page 86 of The Quarterback
“I didn’t do that on my own.”
“No, you and Van de Hoek were a powerful pair, but a pair is made up of two. Two outstanding men, one of whom was you. Now, this guy has a lot to learn, and he can learn from you, if you show him.”
“He’s not as accurate as he needs to be. His skills aren’t up to where he thinks they are.”
“Another thing you can teach him. You can land a football on the ass end of a fly.”
Colton squeezed down on his glass.
Kimbrough leaned forward. “I want you to show everyone that no one in this world tells you who you are. You’re not some kind of sideline sideshow. You’re not a Goddamn mascot. Boo-hoo, look at our little injured quarterback holding a clipboard. You are Colton Hall, and you define yourself.”
He stared into Kimbrough’s oil-dark eyes. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Yes, you do. Start with the basics. Work your way up from there.”
He was Colton Hall.
HelovedNick Swanscott.
It was a truth he couldn’t escape from, run from, or bury. He couldn’t hide from what he felt or what he wanted or who he wanted. And it didn’t matter if Nick didn’t love him back. The heart craved what it craved, and he loved Nick whether Nick loved him or hated him or wanted nothing to do with him.
Everything else was in flux, but he knew—knew—that much. The rest of who he was… well. He’d have to figure that out, like he’d planned to figure out before he’d tumbled head over heels for Nick. One year to grow, he’d said. One year to become the man he was supposed to become. He’d thought that would be tighter spirals, better footwork. Better quarterbacking.
In six months, he’d changed in ways both obvious and obscure. He’d fallen for a man and opened himself up to the exquisite ravages of love. He’d uncovered dusty corners of his psyche, forced sunlight into crevices that had withered in silence for the length of his life.
“Do those things, Colton,” Kimbrough said, “and then come back to me. You’ll be well on the way to becoming the man I know is inside you. The man Nick saw when he looked at you with all that emotion in his gaze. And when you do, I’ll give you any job you want. I’d be a damn fool not to.” He held out his hand for Colton to shake.
Colton did. “Thank you.” His voice was choked, hard and cracked like the dirt of the Permian Basin. “I’ll try. I’ll try to make you proud.”
“You already did that, son.” Kimbrough knocked back the last of his whiskey. He let out a loud exhale as he set the glass down, squinting at the cut crystal catching the flickering candlelight. “Don’t give up, Colton. Don’t ever give up.”
Easier said than done. And easy for Kimbrough to say, standing atop his empire, with the love of his life in his arms and a lifetime of success under his belt.
Colton didn’t have a job. He didn’t have a football team. He didn’t even have a best friend anymore. He had the taste of sweet summer wine on his lips and memories of candlelight flickering on someone else’s skin.
He was Colton Hall, and he loved a man who didn’t love him back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eyeballs followedhim as he walked into the weight room. His teammates went still in the middle of their workouts. Weight machines squealed. Dumbbells hit the floor.
Neil Wilson, the strength coach, a bald, squat bulldog who’d spent over a decade forming raw young men into Marines at Camp Pendleton, zeroed in on Colton from across the room. “Youshowed up,” he bellowed.
Colton swallowed.
He was, nominally, still part of the team, and that meant he was supposed to go to the team workouts. In fact, he was supposed to work out with Clarence every day. Clarence had made it clear that he had no need of Colton, though, and Colton hadn’t made the effort to get to the weight room. He didn’t need to if he wasn’t ever going on the field again. He’d figured no one missed him anyway.
But he was here today.
Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.
I want you to show everyone that no one in this world tells you who you are.
Wilson marched at him, exactly like he must have stormed across the barracks in Camp Pendleton. Face forward, shoulders bunched, back ramrod straight. “You.” He pointed to the right of Colton, to a guy in the corner pumping out reps on the chest press machine. “C’mere.”
It was Clarence, and he groaned as he came off the machine.
“Stand in front of me. Both of you.” Clarence slouched, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he glared at the ceiling. Colton’s shoulder twinged. “You both think you’re quarterbacks, huh? Guess we’ll see.”
