thousand flashes lighting up the field. But… there. He turned to the Texas sideline and looked up at the VIP box where all the families of the starting-line players were seated. He put his fingers to his face mask and blew a kiss up to the box. “I love you, Justin,” he shouted, right as the ESPN camera swung around him for a close-up.
He imagined Justin blowing him a kiss back. Closed his eyes and breathed in. This moment was theirs. It was the team’s, yes, but it was also his and Justin’s. He was the only out NCAA Division I-A player now, and he was leading his team as they played in the national championship. A hundred news organizations wanted to interview him. Nick was acting as his manager-slash-bulldog for now, and he’d said time and again that he wouldn’t make any public statements until after this game. No one needed to know anything about him other than what he left on the field with his team. Everything else was a distraction.
But Justin… Justin was his life. He was a part of Wes, all the way down inside, so deep he was inside the atoms of his soul. When Wes played this game, he was playing not just for him, and not just for the team. He was playing for, and with, Justin, too.
He and Colton stayed loose on the sideline while Mississippi came onto the field, and a choir sang the national anthem as a flyby buzzed overhead. Colton took his hand in a warrior grasp and brought Wes to his chest, then said in his ear, “No fucking around this time. If they don’t acknowledge you, I’m starting shit.”
“Don’t get ejected from the game.”
Colton’s eyes flashed. “Then they’d better shake your fucking hand.”
They walked out for the coin toss together, and Colton didn’t extend his hand until both Mississippi captains shook Wes’s. Then he held his out, but the handshake he exchanged with the defensive captain looked painful, like they were trying to crush each other in a test of strength. The referee eventually separated them, eyeballing each for a long moment.
Mississippi won the toss and chose to kick, so Texas started with the ball.
Nerves thundered through Wes, electrifying his muscles and his veins. In the huddle, his breath shook. Everything was so bright, so vibrant. The grass had never been so green beneath stadium lights. The crowd had never been so loud. He watched Colton’s lips to hear the play over the roar.
After they lined up and set, one of the linebackers came up, leaned over his defensive end, and called out, “Hey, fag. Remember me?” He blew a kiss to Wes.
Josh, set on the offensive line and next to Wes, roared. He lunged across the neutral zone, trying to tear his way through the Mississippi defensive line to get at the linebacker. Mississippi’s players shoved him back, and then Patrick, Art, and Quinton were there, shoving Mississippi players off of Josh.
Whistles blew. Flags were thrown. The refs came running, and they hauled players from both teams off each other by the backs of their jerseys. The line ref pushed Josh back ten yards when he wouldn’t stop shouting. Colton took the head ref aside, and Wes watched as he tried to explain what had happened. The head ref shook his head.
“False start,” the ref called, reciting Josh’s number. “Five-yard penalty. Repeat first down.”
Colton called a huddle again. He looked at Josh and Wes. “What was that?”
“That fucking linebacker,” Josh spat, “said some fucking bullshit to Wes!”
“He was saying it all last game, too.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Josh spun out of the huddle, grabbing his helmet. He came back, cursing so hard his face was purple. “I didn’t fucking hear it last time. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not fine.” Colton ripped his helmet off. “Look at me. We teach these motherfuckers a lesson, right now. No one says shit to us, or about us. Any of us. Fuck the play. When I call the snap, fucking blow them away. Orlando, take the handoff and run it out. The rest of you?” Colton grinned. “Bring the fucking pain.” He clapped to end the huddle, and they all trotted out to the line again.
Wes’s heart hammered. The entire defensive line was blowing kisses at him and Josh, wolf whistling and making sex noises, grunting and groaning and moaning, just soft enough so the refs couldn’t hear. Wes could feel his teammates clench. Colton counted off the snap, far