Page 3 of The Quarterback
“Good answer. Loving my son should be a dream come true.”
Wes barked out a laugh so loud it broke over the ballroom like a thunderclap. Justin pulled out of his endless twirls in Colton’s arms and called out to switch again. Wes spun Nick outward, and he passed Justin in a blur of smiles, ending up back in Colton’s embrace. Colton pulled him close as the trumpets blared, and then Colton dipped Nick on the final beat of the song.
From his upside-down position, he saw Justin and Wes kissing, Justin’s arms winding around Wes’s neck, hands threading through Wes’s sweat-tinged hair. He felt Colton’s deep breaths, Colton’s chest moving against his own. Felt Colton’s thigh bracing his as the moment, the world, seemed to still.
Then everything was a rush, and he was back upright. Colton and everyone else were clapping for the band. The lights were twinkling, and the world was a roar in Nick’s ears, a head rush from the dance and the heat of so many bodies making his heart race and his skin flush. Colton was on his left, Justin and Wes were on his right, all of them smiling, the air humming with their joy, so powerful he could feel it all over him, could breathe it in and hold it inside himself.
This is all I want for Justin. All I ever wanted for my son.Pure, perfect happiness.
His own nights of happiness were in the past, but as long as Justin was smiling like that, as long as Wes was there to keep loving him, Nick’s life would be set. If his son was as happy as this for the rest of his days, that was all that mattered.
* * *
Hours later,the four walked shoulder to shoulder as they headed for Nick’s condo. Wes and Justin had their arms around each other, and Nick and Wes had pulled their bow ties loose, letting the ends dangle. Colton’s was askew, while Justin somehow still looked as manicured and put together as he had at the start of the evening. Easy conversation carried them through the lobby and into the elevator. Wes wrapped his arms around Justin from behind as Colton slouched against the back wall, his hands in his pockets.
They went straight to Nick’s balcony, the wide stretch of concrete and glass that overlooked downtown and the college campus. Two of the three bedrooms and his living room opened to the balcony, which ran the width of the whole unit. He’d set up a grill at one end and a patio couch and wicker chairs around a low table at the other. Wes and Justin took up half the couch, even though they were practically sitting in each other’s laps, and Colton took the other half, throwing himself down in an ungainly sprawl that made the furniture creak and groan.
While the boys shed their jackets and pulled off the remnants of their ties and cummerbunds, Nick plucked a bottle of champagne from the fridge and snagged four flutes from the bar. Laughter floated back to him through the open sliding glass door. Wes’s quiet chuckle, deep and soft at the same time. Justin’s higher, sharper, musical laugh. Colton’s boisterous, almost boyish giggles.
“Lemme help,” Colton said, bolting to his feet and reaching for the glasses when Nick came back out. His hands were huge, calloused and weathered from years of playing football, tanned and scarred from hundreds of scrapes over hundreds of games. The four glasses disappeared in his grip, and he passed two to Wes like he was handing him pens or pencils. Nick popped the champagne and poured for each of them.
He wasn’t much for toasts, but champagne and tuxedos and one a.m. on a starlit balcony begged for some kind of recognition, so he held up his glass and looked at his son and Wes. “To you guys.” He nodded to Colton, too. “To your guys’ future.”
They all drank, and Justin and Wes shared a brief kiss. Justin seemed to burrow deeper into Wes’s arms, as if he could somehow be closer to him than he already was. Nick chuckled under his breath as he took another sip of champagne and turned his gaze out over the city.
“Speaking of the future…” Wes started.
Nick whipped his head around. Was this it? Was this the moment? He held his breath—
“What have you decided?” Wes finished. He was looking at Colton, not Justin, as he spoke, his head tilted, his huge fingers pinching the rim of his flute. “You staying or going?”
Colton heaved a sigh. He set his glass down and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Man… I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” Wes said softly.
Colton shot Wes a glare from behind his spread fingers. His palms were still over his mouth, and his hands tugged on his skin, giving him a horror-movie expression as he exhaled.
“This about the draft?” Nick asked.
Justin and Wes both nodded as Colton groaned.
Most of the starting line was eligible for the NFL draft that spring, and the deadline for declaring whether they were in or out was fast approaching. Wes had been talked about as a prospective draftee all school year, but now that they’d won the national championship, his eligible teammates were being courted, too. Agents called every hour of the day, showed up at the house they shared, tried to bend the NCAA rules to woo the players into representation and declaration.
Wes had said, immediately after the championship game, that he was sticking it out at school until he graduated. He’d play another year at Texas and thenconsiderthe NFL. But it wasn’t a guarantee, he’d said, that he was going to join the league at all.
Most of the team followed in his footsteps, saying they were sticking around to finish their degrees, too. They didn’t want to break up, not when they were as cohesive and united as they’d become. If everyone stayed for another season, they could potentially go all the way and have a perfect record. Win the national championship—again.
Only Colton hadn’t declared yet.
“If I stay, that’s another year to develop my skills. Another year to improve.” Colton sent Wes a wavering smile. “Another year with you. But it’s another year of risk, too. If I’m injured, maybe no one wants me next year in the NFL. I’m a first-round potential right now. What if, next year, I’m nothing?”
“What if you’re first round, first pick next year because you’re the best quarterback two years in a row?” Wes countered. “What if next year is even better?”
Colton flopped backward, his hands sliding through his dark hair as he squeezed his skull. “But, like, do I even want to be a first-round QB pick? I mean… you’ve seen what happens to the guys who go first round to loser teams. Some of those teams are so desperate that they want a first-round draft pick to play like a five-year pro. But if the coaching staff isn’t there and the systems aren’t in place, the team collapses. Guys our age being told to carry an entire NFL team and bring them from Loserville to the Super Bowl?” Colton shook his head.
“You’re not like that. You know more than the spread offense or the run and shoot, which is all most college guys know these days. Most of those quarterbacks can’t hack it because the transition to the NFL is too steep. But it won’t be for you.”
“So maybe if I join the draft this year, I’ll be picked to be someone’s understudy. I wouldn’t mind learning for five years under one of the greats.” Colton picked at the fabric stretched over his thigh.
