Page 27 of The Quarterback
“I’m sure. It’s been kind of a long day, so I could just do my stretches and watch you for a while.”
They played until shortly after midnight, all the way through the early training missions and the start of the story, until Nick checked the time on his phone and cursed. He drove Colton to his truck, but not before asking whether Colton wanted to take his PlayStation back with him. “No, it can stay. You’re having fun with the game, right?”
“I am. But I won’t play without you.”
Something warm pulsed inside Colton as he drove home. Something that felt like giddiness, like he’d rolled in sunshine and blue sky and a burst of Texas bluebonnets. His fingers drummed on his steering wheel to the beat of the radio, and when he pulled up to the curb outside the house, the world didn’t seem quite so empty and forlorn.
He face-planted, slept, and was up early to shower, shave, and get ready for work. His steps were light, and he sang to himself as he moved. Even his shoulder was aching a bit less.
Friday, Nick asked, “Red Deadand pizza tonight?”
Those were about the best words Colton could hear, other than “Your arm is magically healed” and “Get back out on the field right now.” He bought the pizza that night, and then they settled into the couch with bottles of beer and Nick’s controller. When their cowboys texted, they paused the game to chat about life on the ranch, heart the photos they sent, and listen to their plans for moving the cattle through Wes’s dad’s pastures.
Then it was back to their digital cowboy, and Nick played until Colton’s eyes grew heavy and he lay down on a pillow that rested against Nick’s thigh. He fell asleep to the sound of horse hooves over Nick’s TV speakers and the steady rhythm of Nick’s breathing, mixed with the plastic-on-plastic grind of button mashing and joystick swiveling.
He woke alone on Nick’s couch, covered in a blanket. Coffee was brewing, and birds chirped outside the open patio doors. Nick, dressed in pajama pants and an undershirt, waved from the balcony, clutching a coffee cup. His dark hair was mussed, parts of it sticking up, and there was stubble along his jawline, mostly dark but with a few flecks of silver peppered through. He looked soft, warm, and comfortable. Like the wordhometurned into a person.
Colton tore his gaze away and shuffled to Justin’s bathroom. He’d slept in his work pants, and he was uncomfortable. They were as wrinkled as if he’d crumpled them up and used them as a ball in a basketball game. He’d fallen asleep in his Terminator sling, so his shoulder wasn’t hurting too badly. It tasted like something had died in his mouth, though, since he hadn’t brushed his teeth the night before, and gargling could only do so much to address that.
When he came out, Nick was cooking breakfast, and he’d set out a pair of drawstring shorts, boxers, and a T-shirt for him. “Change, if you want. Breakfast should be ready soon.” Nick’s shirt—the largest he owned, he said—was a little tight, but Colton was infinitely more comfortable dressed down. They ate on the balcony until the rising sun forced them inside, and then Nick said he was stuck on something inRed Deadand wanted Colton’s help.
Saturdays, Nick said, he usually went out to Lady Bird Lake. Most of the time he jogged, but if Colton wanted to join him, they could just walk around and get some fresh air.
Colton leaped at the idea. Outside. Sunshine. God, he missed it so much.
They walked down past the capitol to the Congress Avenue Bridge, then hit the trail around Lady Bird Lake. Bikers and joggers and dog walkers zoomed past. Kids ran with kites and bubble wands as moms and dads picnicked on the lawn. Paddleboarders and kayakers floated up and down the lake. “Have you ever paddleboarded?” Colton asked.
“Once, in Mexico. We were on a family vacation. Justin was young. I was a little tipsy at the time,” Nick admitted. “I didn’t have the best balance. You?”
“Yeah, used to do it tons. I love paddleboarding. We should do it when I get better.”
“Sure.” Nick laughed. “As long as you’re not embarrassed when I fall off all the time.”
“You won’t fall off. It’s crazy stable.” He winked. “As long as you’re sober.” Walking felt amazing. Moving outside, in the sun, and feeling sweat bead on his skin again. Smelling cut grass and clean air. “This was a good idea.”
“Days like this, I wish I had a pool again.”
“Does your condo have one?”
“It does. It’s not the same as having your own. But I do have access to the building’s pool.”
“There’s always Barton Springs.”
“When you’re healed. After paddleboarding.” Nick grinned, and it was like an arrow going right through Colton. That effortless care, that kind regard. It was so easy for Nick to be awesome, like he was kind and thoughtful and caring so often that he never had to think about it. The right thing, the perfect thing, just came to him. His affection was like a star, and Colton was caught in his gravity.Danger. He’s not your dad. You don’t have a dad.
They bought Popsicles on the loop back to the bridge and ate in the shade, and then Nick said, “You know, if you’d like, you can crash in Justin and Wes’s bedroom. They’re obviously not using it this summer, and you’re more than welcome to stay whenever you want.”
He spoke like he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb in the center of Colton’s soul.
Colton’s heart was a drum. His guts were twisting and twirling themselves into knots. He shouldn’t say yes. He should distance himself, pull away, stand on his own two feet. Use this time of solitude to grow.
Grow into what? An aching, lonely twenty-two-year-old?
Why couldn’t he spend time with Nick? Learn about white wines and what paired best with what food, how to best pick fresh strawberries from the whole slew at the store? Nick was depositing little nuggets of wisdom in his life left and right, from how to treat people he worked with—maybe Coach’s bellowing example wasn’t exactly the best—to how long to sear a steak on the grill before letting it rest to finish cooking.
And how to be a good—truly good—man.
How to be a man who loved his son with every breath he took.
