Page 90 of The Quarterback
The whole time, Wes stayed with him. Not just at his side, but facing him, eyeball to eyeball, inhale to exhale. Sometimes they were forehead to forehead, grunting out squats and rows as they stared inside each other’s souls. He tasted Wes’s salt, the oil of his sweat. He was sure Wes tasted his tears.
He watched Wes turn inward as they rounded forty-five minutes. Saw Wes’s gaze go long and thin. Wilson was shouting at them about finding their inner cores, finding the drive that made them a team. Finding the purpose that united and drove them all. Colton had heard that speech before.Before.Back then, he’d always pushed through the workout by imagining the team rallying in the fourth quarter. He imagined them all perfecting play after play, grinding out the grittiest game they’d ever had on the gridiron. Leaning on each other as they took yard after yard, until together, they got the touchdown that won the game.
Now…
He saw Nick in the stands. Saw him standing next to Justin like he always had. Saw him smiling, saw him cheering. Saw him shouting Colton’s name.
He launched a pass to the end zone. Instead of Wes, Nick was there, and he caught the ball like he’d caught all Colton’s throws in the park. He smiled and tossed it back. Colton reached out to catch it—
He reached for Nick, cradling his face in the bar in Houston. Kissed him for the first time, tasting the beer Nick had drunk and feeling his dry lips slide against his own.
He held on to Nick as Nick thrust inside him, so fucking deep he was almost touching Colton’s heart. His mind was screaming as he breathed in Nick’s breath, and he stared into Nick’s eyes, trying to tell him that heloved him—
“Time!” Wilson bellowed.
Colton collapsed, falling into Wes. Wes dropped his weights and grabbed Colton, going to the ground with him in a tangle of sweat and trembling muscles. The whole team fell to their knees and groaned in pain, faces pressed to the mats. But they’d done it, sixty minutes together. With Colton.
“You,” Wilson growled, pointing at Clarence. “You’re with me.” He pointed to the door that led to the field.
“I’m sorry,” Colton choked out against Wes’s neck. “Wes, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” Wes breathed. His arms wrapped around Colton’s waist. “The man I love is hurting because of you.”
Colton’s shoulder was on fire, and his muscles felt like they’d been peeled fiber by fiber from his bones, like string cheese shredded into the tiniest fragments. He tried to stand and couldn’t. Not yet.
Wes lifted Colton’s good arm over his shoulder and stood with him. Even Wes’s legs shook as they walked out of the weight room. Everyone they passed made an effort to hold out his hand, though, reach for a fist bump with Colton. Colton held a shaking fist back, until he couldn’t even hold up his arm anymore.
“I’m taking you home,” Wes mumbled. It sounded like talking was a Herculean effort.
Colton almost said, “I don’t have a home anymore.” Instead, he grunted, “Practice isn’t over—”
“Forget practice.” Wes shuddered. “I can’t drive. We gotta walk.”
A hundred yards from the stadium, Wes stumbled. He pulled Colton to him as he fell, taking the impact and rolling with Colton until they bumped against the tires of a parked car. They gasped for breath in the shade of the sedan, cheeks burning against the hot pavement, sweat making puddles on the ground like outlines of dead bodies.
Five minutes later, Colton pushed himself to his unsteady feet and helped Wes up, bracing himself against the car. Wes crawled up his body, using his thighs and his hips to pull himself up.
Another hundred and fifty yards. They leaned against a tree and gulped down oxygen for ten minutes, staring at each other. He had conversations with Wes through his eyes, saw cascades of emotions blur through him as they burrowed into each other.
They lurched from the parking lot to the street and turned toward the jock house. How had Colton never noticed it was an uphill climb from the stadium? He and Wes grunted with each step, each trembling clench of their ruined muscle fibers. When they were almost there, Wes pulled out his phone and dialed Justin’s number. Colton nearly collapsed when he heard Justin’s voice. “Hey, cowboy.”
“Justin—” Wes heaved.
“What’s wrong?”
“Workout.” Wes sucked in a deep breath. “Colton and I. Strength coach. He—”
“Are you guys all right?”
“We’re hurt. Are you done with rehearsal?”
“Yeah. There’s open practice for a few hours, but if you—”
“We need you.”
“Tell me how to help.”
“Come home. Bring ice. Lots of ice.”
