middle of the concourse, no longer hidden in a corner and out of sight. There he was, Wes Van de Hoek, one of the top college football players in the US, laying one on Justin like he was trying to give Justin part of his soul, break off a piece of himself and slide it inside Justin for him to keep. Justin dropped his carry-on and threw his arms around Wes.
Their lips brushed as they caught their breath. Justin blinked, the roar of the airport a dull hum behind him, the people and the overhead announcements and the airplanes racing down the runways all so distant in comparison to the feel of Wes in his arms, the taste of Wes on his lips.
That kiss felt like forever. Like a promise. Like a vow. Like everything he’d wished for, all in one moment. He brushed his nose against Wes’s. Smiled, and felt Wes smile against his lips in return.
“Mr. Swanscott?” This time, the gate agent came to him, hovering at his side instead of calling him over the intercom. “We need to board, Mr. Swanscott. Everyone else is already seated. Will you be joining the flight?”
“Yes.” He pulled away slowly. Held on to Wes’s hand as he grabbed his carry-on. Held his hand as he backed away, one, two, three steps, until their arms were extended and only the tips of their fingers were still touching. And then not, and Justin pulled his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then blew his kiss to Wes, who stood like a brokenhearted cowboy alone in a sea of humanity, people rushing around him like water breaking over a rock as he watched Justin walk away.
Justin let the tears fall as he settled into his coach seat. Let them rain down his face and soak his T-shirt while the preflight announcements filled the cabin. A flight attendant slipped him a box of tissue and a little travel bottle of vodka, and he gave her a shaky smile as he squeezed her hand.
He closed his eyes as the plane lifted off. He felt his heart fall free, sink back to earth, stay behind. He’d lost his heart to Wes, and he wouldn’t get it back until they were together again. God, I love you, you big cowboy. I’ll see you again. Soon.
Chapter Seven
Wes was a bleary-eyed mess when he finally tumbled off the bus at campus. He hitched his duffel onto his tired shoulders and walked the mile to his dorm. He hadn’t slept a wink on either flight. He’d stared out the window for hours, replaying memories of him and Justin, trying to hold on to every second, too afraid he’d forget the sound of Justin’s laugh if he closed his eyes. Too afraid he’d fall asleep and wake up sandwiched between two businessmen who wanted to type on their laptops, and realize everything, all of it, had been a dream.
Now he’d give anything for a few minutes of rest.
When he made it to campus, he found his truck in the back of a long-term parking lot and pulled down the rusted tailgate, then threw himself into the bed. He hadn’t worried about the truck while he was gone. No one was going to take this clunker. It was more rust than paint, coated in a patina of mud and deer blood from the ranch. Even his teammates didn’t want to bum a ride with him. They’d rather walk.
He lay on his back and stared at the sky. See Coach Young. Text Justin. Grab caffeine. He could make it a hundred miles before he needed to pull over and sleep for a few hours at a truck stop. It would cut the trip home tomorrow to only seven hours.
Groaning, Wes hauled himself up, dug out his keys, and dragged himself into the cab. The old rust bucket started up on the first go, and he smiled at the duct-taped dash. “Good girl.” It was only a six-minute drive to the stadium, and since it was summer, the parking lot was a ghost town. He passed an athletic trainer and the team doc as he made his way up to the coaching offices and the executive suite, on the same floor at the skyboxes. He spun his keys, his exhaustion replaced with a formless kind of anxiety, a buzz in his bones and a hum that bubbled his blood. He didn’t know if he was going to float away or collapse. He’d worked hard