the crook of Justin’s neck. “Don’t ever say that.”
Justin held him through it, stroking his back as Wes trembled. Colton waited, watching. He reached out and laid his hand on Wes’s thigh.
Wes pulled back and rubbed his snotty nose on his arm. “I’m not sure everyone wants me to come back.”
“Like who?” Colton asked.
“The fans, for one. That was a lot of booing at the Mississippi game. And…” He gestured to himself, to his neck and his face.
“Fuck the fans,” Colton growled.
“Colton—”
“I’m serious. Fuck them. Fans”—he spat out the word like it was diseased—“did that to you. Fans booed us for walking on the field, before we even made a bad play. Boo me for throwing an interception. Boo me for calling a bad snap. Boo me for playing like shit. Don’t boo me, or you, just for being there. So, yeah, fuck the fans.”
They lapsed into silence, memories of Friday morning tumbling around them. “What about the rest of the team?” Wes finally asked.
Colton blew out a long, slow breath. “I think you should talk to everyone and lay it all out there. Why you thought you had to do what you did. Everyone thought you were using us, you know? You had your own world that no one knew about and that you didn’t trust us with, but you sure as shit were fine with us catapulting you into stardom. When I read that article…” Colton’s jaw moved left and right. “I thought, Jesus, I’m only good enough to throw you sweet passes. Give you touchdowns, give you yards, get you some good stats and wall-to-wall ESPN highlights. But apparently I wasn’t good enough to really know you. Like I was just someone you put up with to get what you needed. That I—none of us—were really your friends.”
“That wasn’t what it was at all.”
“I know that now. And the guys know it, but there’s a difference between knowing and feeling. I think if you talked to them, they’d get it. They’d understand. And then we’ll be good. Listen, no one—and I do mean no one—cares that you’re gay. Fuck, we’ll paint the locker room rainbow if you want. Orlando has already texted me a link to order everyone rainbow sweatbands. Like, that’s not an issue, at all. I swear.”
“Please don’t paint the locker room. That’s a horrible idea.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a great idea.”
“No way, dude. Come on.”
“I’m texting Orlando. He’ll get the paint today. We are so doing this.”
“Colton!”
“It’s done, man. It’s happening.” Colton pulled out his phone and texted, grinning like an idiot. Wes made a weak grasp for it, but he didn’t have the reach with his bruised ribs. He ended up leaning into Justin as he held his hand over his side, laughing and wincing at the same time.
Colton shoved his phone back in his pocket and grabbed Wes’s hand, holding it like they were making a warrior’s vow. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? I swear, we’re gonna get through this. I’m going to help you with all your recovery and shit. And I’m going to find whoever did this to you, I swear to God—”
“The police are investigating. They’ll handle it.”
“Whatever. No one fucks with you and walks away. No one.” His eyes shifted, landing on Justin. “Or you. No one fucks with you, either. The team will kick anyone’s ass for both of you guys. Got it?”
Justin nodded. Wes squeezed Colton’s hand, and they seemed to communicate through white knuckles and trembling forearms for thirty seconds, holding each other’s stare until Colton finally looked down.
“So… come home? We’ve got a lot to do. And we’re here for you.” He stood, stumbling over his feet, over the chair. He looked like a drunk horse instead of the league’s best quarterback. “And, uh, Justin? You should come, too. I mean, Josh’s girl spends, like, four nights a week in the house. No reason why you can’t be with us.”
Chapter Thirty
It was time for lights out on the ward before Wes, Justin, and Justin’s dad were all in the room together, alone. The nurses and the doctors had finished their night exams, and Wes was declared both on the road to recovery and damn lucky. He would stay through the week for observation and to make sure he was truly on the mend.
This wasn’t the ideal way to meet the father of the love of his life, but Wes was nothing if not stubborn. After being stripped and prodded and examined,