Page 96 of The Quarterback
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Something buzzedon the mattress beside Colton’s head. Wes groaned like a bear and rolled over, taking half of Colton’s blanket with him when he did.
Colton glared at Wes and then his phone. It was facedown next to his pillow, dancing across the sheets like it was being paid to. He flipped it over and squinted at it. Night had fallen, pitch black shrouding his bedroom, and the glow of the screen was like an ice pick to his brain.
Five missed calls, all from the same number. He frowned. He didn’t recognize the caller.
His phone rang again in his hand, that same number. He swiped to answer and shoved the phone against his ear as Wes started to snore. “Hello?”
“Is this Colton?”
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“Do you know a Clarence Hobbs?”
Fuck. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, pretend he never got the call. “Yeah…”
The voice on the other end sounded pissed off, which was rich, considering he was calling Colton at just after midnight. “I’m the bar manager at the Broken Spur, and I’ve got your guy Clarence in here and he says I need to call you. I don’t know how good of friends you are, but if you’re not gonna come and pick him up, I’m going to call the cops.”
Colton scrubbed his face with one hand and groaned as the bar manager said, “Are you coming to get him, or what?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Fuck, okay, yeah, I’ll be there. Where are you?”
The bar manager snapped out an address as Colton stumbled out of bed. He was still wrapped in the towel Justin had given him after his and Wes’s ice bath. He balled it up and chucked it at Wes’s lump beneath his blanket before opening drawers and rummaging for clothes. Most of the things he usually wore had been taken to Nick’s, then hauled out of there and dumped in the motel. He found a pair of boxers that passed the sniff test, athletic shorts, and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off.
I don’t think I can accept fashion criticism from a guy who wears basketball shorts and torn T-shirts. Do you dress like that to go to class?
Of course not. I put a hat on, too.
He shook his head clear of the memories as he grabbed his phone and his wallet and his keys and slipped out of his bedroom. The rest of the house was quiet. Everyone had probably cratered into their beds after that group workout.
Were things better between all of them now? Were they cool? Well, that was probably up to him. He’d been the one to pull away first. He’d abandoned those friendships, like he’d abandoned the house and the team.
He slumped down the stairs and out the front door, then remembered his truck was parked at the stadium. Groaning, he turned toward downtown, each step pulling on his aching leg muscles.Damn it, Clarence. What the hell did you do?
He heard the commotion before he arrived at the Broken Spur. He could hear Clarence’s booming voice bellowing for Colton, asking, repeatedly, where he was. Shit. Was he walking into a fight? Walking into a very drunk and pissed-off Clarence? He didn’t know the guy enough to guess.
“Colton!” Clarence roared when he pushed through the door. Three bouncers, two bartenders, and the guy he assumed was the bar manager all glared at Colton. Well, fuck you, too. He could have just not answered, left them to deal with Clarence’s blitzed ass and the cops and that headache on their own.
Clarence stumbled toward him, arms thrown wide. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were cold, as bitter as ice. The bouncers followed him, herding him toward Colton and the door. Colton grabbed Clarence’s sleeve and dragged him out, then pushed him down the sidewalk.
They made it ten yards before Clarence turned on him. “You,” he growled. He tried to point his finger into Colton’s face. He missed by a foot.
Colton fisted his hands in Clarence’s shirt and shoved him down the alley next to the bar, into the darkness and up against the bricks. “What the hell is your problem?” Colton hissed. “They were going to call the cops on you! Do you want to be thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly? Do you know how Coach handles that kind of shit? He kicks you off the team!”
“Then do it!” Clarence shouted. “I shouldn’t have come to Texas anyway! Biggest mistake I made was saying yes to Coach.”
“Biggest mistake?” Colton drove Clarence against the bricks again. “What’s wrong with you? You’re on the best team in the FBS. Do you know how many kids dream about even having the chance to suit up and walk onto that field? How many kids work their asses off for the chance? And you wereaskedto come here!”
“Yeah, and you know what I thought?” He shoved Colton off him. Pointed to the sky. “Best team.” He slapped his own chest. “Best player. Easy runway to the NFL, paved in wins. I was supposed to be a star!” he roared. “And you weren’t supposed to be in my way!”
“I’m not in your way! You’re in your own way, Clarence! I’m no threat to you. I’m done.Over. I’m never going into the NFL.”
Clarence stilled. He stared at Colton like Colton had just said he had an inoperable tumor and only days to live.
“I’m not the quarterback anymore.Youare, or you’re supposed to be. You could be.” He shoved Clarence’s shoulder. Clarence rocked backward like he weighed nothing.
“Then what the hell was all that shit in the weight room? Why did you show off like that in front of the team? What was the fucking point for you—to make me look bad?”
