wasn’t Colton captain? Why wasn’t his face everywhere on campus? Why was it Wes’s life that had been turned upside down, inside out?
He stared at the ceiling. Hot tears flooded the surface of his eyes. If he didn’t move, didn’t blink, they’d evaporate.
Colton sighed. “You wanna rest? Okay. Christ, you need it. But we’re gonna have to talk about this. You’re worrying me.”
Going to have to talk about what? How he’d fallen in love? How he’d met the man he wanted to spend forever with? He loved Justin, loved him so damn much, but he’d destroyed what they had, and now there was nothing left. He didn’t even feel human anymore. Didn’t feel like he could ever love again—or make love again. He’d never find another guy as captivating and wonderful and alive as Justin, someone who would feed ducks with him, who’d listen to him talk about the ranch, who could teach him about modern art and ballet, and who would smile when Wes tickled his cheek with a sprig of lavender and baby’s breath.
Fuck. His tears spilled over, racing down his temples. His pillow was half salt by this point, weighed down with endless nights of crying. He didn’t move. Tried not to breathe. Maybe Colton wouldn’t notice.
Of course, Colton did. “Wes…” Now he did shut the door, and he sagged back against it, head tipped so he, too, was staring at the ceiling. “Something happened over the summer.”
It wasn’t a question. Wes didn’t have to answer. He sniffed. Tried to swallow his snot.
“She really broke your heart, didn’t she?”
It wasn’t Colton’s fault he missed the mark. He had no idea that Wes was gay. It wasn’t even in the realm of his possibilities for him. Wes had gone to all the parties, flirted with all the girls. He’d never dated, but the rest of the team chalked that up to his shyness, his aw-shucks charm, his old-school style of politeness. There’d never been even a hint of suspicion, not a single question. It would have been easier, maybe, if there had been.
And anyway, if Colton were faced with a choice—football or a girl—he wouldn’t have even blinked before he dumped the girl. Football was Colton’s soul in a way it wasn’t quite Wes’s. Colton wanted the lights and the stadium and the NFL. Wes… The path was there, open and waiting for him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to take it. But who turned down an easy jog to the NFL?
It was the one rough edge between him and Colton, when they were usually smooth as silk together.
“I just need some time,” Wes choked out. Time. He’d need the rest of his life at this rate. The pain was no less excruciating—no less eviscerating—today than it was the day he’d sent those texts to Justin. He hadn’t moved on, hadn’t moved forward. Not one inch.
“Well, screw everyone else,” Colton said. “I have the new Madden. Why don’t I bring it in here? We can play.”
Wes didn’t have a TV or any kind of video game system in his room. He lived like a monk, with a bed, a desk, and his backpack, his books piled on the floor or lined up against the walls. He had an ancient laptop from the librarian at his high school, a gift when he graduated. It took five minutes to boot up.
Why wouldn’t he go to the NFL? He’d never have to worry about money again. He could buy a new laptop, a new truck. Hell, he could buy new laptops for every kid in his high school. A new truck for his dad. He could buy a nice headstone for his mom, too, something delicate and pretty, caved with a quote and some doves. Or a swan.
He was made to love the white swan.
Wes’s breath hitched, but he scrubbed at his eyes. Forced himself to sit up. Colton was waiting for him, gnawing on his chapped lips as he stared at Wes’s pile of textbooks. “Or I’ll just hang,” Colton said, shrugging. “We don’t have to do anything.”
It was when he did nothing that everything fell apart. When his memories flowed and the days and nights and the love he and Justin had shared rose to the surface. When everything was right there, so close he could feel it.
His memories gutted him, and every night he ended up on his side, fingertips tracing the printouts of Paris, Justin’s photo balled in his tear-soaked fist.