When the coach called a break, Wes tore his helmet off and turned toward the stands. He didn’t jog over, but he stared at Justin as he squirted water onto his face and into his mouth. Justin smiled. Didn’t wave. He didn’t have to. Wes knew he was there.
After the break, Wes played like he’d activated beast mode. He was faster, stronger, moved with even more ferocity. The defense came to face off against the offense, and Wes shredded their plays, easily spun out of tackles, made linebackers and safeties whiff and fly face-first at the grass. He was untouchable, and after thirty minutes, the coach pulled him out and gave him a clipboard and a hearty pat on the back.
Again, Wes looked at the stands.
That was amazing, Justin texted. Wes’s phone was surely in his locker, and he wouldn’t get the message until way later, but he would get it. You’re amazing.
He left after another thirty minutes, heading back to his room to finish his homework and wait for Wes’s texts.
Around nine, Wes messaged. I was showing off for you.
Maybe you were, but you’re excellent all on your own.
I’m going to show off for you Saturday, too.
Yeah?
Yeah. I’m going to win this game for you. <3 I’m going to win every game for you, mon amour.
Chapter Sixteen
Being in the stadium was different in a million ways from watching the game on TV. When Justin was a kid, he’d hang out, coloring on the floor as his dad watched the Texas game on Saturday or the NFL on Sunday. The TV tried but could never really capture the tens of thousands of roaring fans, the pounding music, the electric energy pulsing with every heartbeat.
He’d never understood people’s obsession with football or with going to games. In high school, he’d liked hanging with his friends in the stands more than watching the game. His suburban school had been serious about football, but not so serious they went all out on a bond measure to build a $50 million stadium, like some other towns did. And even the most energetic of away games he’d been to in high school didn’t hold a candle to this.
Now, wedged into the student section in the middle of the crowd, the stadium so raucous he felt the pulse and thrum rocking his bones, he got it. Justin was on his feet, shouting and cheering along with the rest of the student section. Three rows below him, five shirtless bros were banging on bucket drums. Another four rows down, four blondes in short shorts and university T-shirts had pom-poms and were leading cheers. The stadium was a sea of university logos and their school colors. Jerseys were everywhere, the ones he’d seen at the bookstore and almost bought.
And then there was his jersey. Wes’s jersey. It fit him closely—not skin tight, since it was made for Wes, but it was fitted and looked like the real deal, especially next to everyone else’s. He’d put it on over a long-sleeve gray Under Armour, and he’d thought he looked especially badass with his pompadour teased up higher than usual.
“Hey, man, that’s an awesome jersey! Where did you get that?”
Apparently other people thought he looked good, too. “Oh, I got it from a friend,” he shouted to the frat boy.
“Cool.” The guy gave him a fist bump and moved on, downing his beer as he went.
The best part about the jersey? It had Wes’s name on the back.
Sure, so did a lot of other jerseys around him. He counted at least twenty Van de Hoeks in his line of sight. But this was Wes’s actual jersey. He’d worn it down there, on that field. It was like he was wearing Wes himself. Mine. None of you know, but he’s mine. I love him, and he loves me.
Justin pulled out his phone and took a selfie, and then another, trying to look sexy and happy for the camera, and capture the wild crowd around him. He sent the best to Wes, along with a text. In the stands and so ready to watch you play. You’re going to kick ass. Xo
He didn’t think Wes had his phone on him, but he also had no clue what the team was doing down there before the game. They’d finished warm-ups and run-around drills half an hour ago. According to the countdown clock, there was fifteen minutes before kickoff. Inflatable tunnels were being pumped up outside the team tunnel entrances. Cheerleaders