Page 81 of The Quarterback
He dropped his phone and sank to the floor.
He was Colton Hall, and he hadnothing. No one loved him. No future waited for him. He was alone, in a shitty motel, with a broken heart and two lost jobs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Fans were on their feet,screaming, clapping, chanting. Bucket drums echoed around the stadium. The music was so loud Colton could feel it vibrating in his molars. Everyone was waiting for the Texas team to run out of the tunnel and take the field, led by their new starting quarterback, Clarence Hobbs.
Colton, fifteen minutes ago, had followed the coaches and trainers to the sideline, skipping the grand entrance reserved for the players. Instead of pads and his jersey, Colton was in a Texas polo and khakis. Khakis he’d bought for his internship, to impress Nick, what felt like a hundred years ago.
Nickhadbeen impressed when he saw them, and, much later, he was impressed when he peeled them off Colton’s ass.
Damn it, it had been two weeks, and Nick was stilleverywhere. In all his memories. Lingering in his thoughts, every single thing he did connected in some way to a moment they’d shared. Khakis brought back their jokes about fashion and the feel of Nick’s hands on his thighs. Ordering pizza brought back the night they’d been so hungry for each other that they’d skipped dinner and tumbled into bed, fucking for hours, until they’d finally ordered a pizza and ate naked in the middle of the ruined sheets at midnight before tumbling into another round of sex that lasted until two a.m.
He’d tried to shop at the gas station for some food that could fit in the motel’s rattling icebox. He bought a box of Froot Loops, a couple pints of milk. Peanut butter and crackers. He’d wandered the small aisles, turning up one and down the next, until he hit the beer and wine aisle.
He couldn’t move past the bottles of summer red, a cluster of dusty bottles from that winery,theirwinery. He still had the selfie Nick had taken saved on his phone, and like an idiot, he still gazed at it, and all the other pictures he’d taken of Nick, whenever he was alone.
Colton bought a bottle of the wine and drank it out of the chipped coffee mug he found by the motel room’s bathroom sink. The last time he’d tasted the sweet wine, he’d been about to make love to Nick. There were candles burning, and Nick was so turned on his hands trembled when he reached for Colton. Nick’s kiss tasted like raspberries and sugar left in the sun. He’d drunk their wine and lit candles for Colton like that night was special and it was supposed to mean something to both of them.
Colton tried to blank his mind as the announcer roared out the arrival of the Texas team, and the players tore out of the tunnel and onto the field as the crowd went ballistic.
At the head of the team was Clarence Hobbs.
All week long, ESPN had been talking about Texas’s new quarterback. His name was on everyone’s lips, along with words likesaviorandhigh hopesandlast-minute replacement.Salvaged season.
Clarence was a hell of a quarterback. He was Wes’s size, six foot five and over 250 pounds. He had an arm that could launch footballs from one end zone to the other. He was raw power, with a fiery athleticism.
But he wasn’t polished. Not yet. His passes didn’t always hit their targets. Receivers sometimes had to scramble forward or backward, side to side, to make the play. Colton saw, the first time Clarence took the field at practice, where Clarence needed to put his attention. He’d called the younger man over after a passing drill to show him his notes.
“Look, I think we should work on accuracy drills this afternoon—”
“That’s all right, man. I’ve got drills set up with the receivers. We’re practicing routes.”
“Great. You guys need time to build your rhythms together. But I still want to spend some focused one-on-one time on accuracy. We can do a few hours every day—”
Clarence had grinned. “Don’t worry, man.”
“I’m not worried. I’m trying to help—”
“Look, Colton,” Clarence had said, leaning in like they were sharing a secret. “I know the team gave you this coaching assistantship so you could end your college career with dignity. I respect that, and I respect the hell out of your record. You did great things, back when you could play. But I got this team now. It’s cool.”
He hadn’t known what to say or how to respond. He’d blinked as Clarence had slapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him sideways, before jogging off to join the receivers, clustered on the forty and waiting for him. They were all smiles for Clarence, ready with fist bumps and slick high fives, eager to get to work on passing routes.
Like they’d used to be with Colton. Before.
And if the guys had to stutter-step a bit, push an extra yard or three to make the catch, well—
No one said a word. Not even Wes, who had never let Colton throw a shit pass without calling him out on it and then working with him on adjustments until they were perfectly in sync. Until he could throw with his eyes closed and know Wes was on the other end of his pass, already there, already catching the ball before it even left Colton’s fingers. They were connected by the parabolic arc, the soaring angle of leather and laces going from his heart to Wes’s.
Colton watched from the sidelines as Wes leaped for a too-long pass, diving into the grass to make the catch with his fingertips. He rolled, caging the ball, and jumped to his feet, starting down the field to finish the drill. But his movements were stiff, almost unnatural. Wes hadn’t had to make a diving catch in… years.
Was what Clarence had said true? Was he just there as window dressing? A way for Coach to feel good about sidelining him, to be able to point at Colton and say, nah, he’s not off the team, he’shelping. Like a water boy or a mascot.
He’d watched Clarence’s passes sail through the sky that first afternoon, counting up all the over- and underthrown yards like scratches against his soul.If you had worked harder, if you had spent summer practicing rather than falling in love like an idiot, your team wouldn’t be out there stutter-stepping and diving for the ball.
Wes would still be talking to you.
But he wasn’t, and Colton hadn’t, and the only thing he could do now was try to move forward and salvage the remnants of his life.
