The Team #2
Falling for his friend's straight dad might be the worst mistake Colton Hall has ever made.
Colton's best friend is gay. He's not: he's never been attracted to men. So why the hell is he fantasizing about his friend's dad? Besides, Nick Swanscott is straight. A devoted father and the best man Colton's ever known. He deserves more than to be the object of Colton's crush.
The NFL is waiting for Colton, but he decides to stick it out for his senior year in college before joining the league, a decision that proves disastrous when an injury tears him from the game. In the blink of an eye, Colton goes from being a top draft pick to potentially never playing football again.
But Nick is there through his recovery. He takes care of Colton every day and shows him a future that might hold something more than being a superstar quarterback. Maybe Colton's life isn't over.
And Colton's crush explodes: full-on, head over heels, hopelessly falling in love.
He's so screwed. He's got to get these feelings under control. All those dreams of kissing Nick can never become reality. And there's no way Nick could ever love him back.
Right?
A slow burn, friends to lovers, bi awakening, age gap MM romance.
Chapter One
Tuxedos and tablecloths. Flickering candlelight. A big band in the corner, pouring out tunes.
Justin looked amazing in his tuxedo. Wes, too, but Justin was his son, and it was the first time Nick had had the chance to see him dressed to the nines. The two of them were on the dance floor, Justin’s right hand over Wes’s heart, the fingers of his left twined with Wes’s as they swayed to the Glenn Miller cover. They were beaming and gazing into each other’s eyes. This is what their wedding will look like.
Wes was shy about what he’d done on the field after the national championship game. He’d turned scarlet when Nick had asked him if that, him on the ground and offering Justin a football, was his marriage proposal. He’d fumbled his way through explaining that he’d wanted to commit to Justin in front of the whole world, and whether Justin called him his fiancé or his boyfriend, he was Justin’s for as long as Justin would have him. Then he’d fidgeted on the couch as Nick stared at him, the Texas wind coming up and over Nick’s balcony.
“Dad, stop interrogating the love of my life,” Justin had said that night, and he’d winked at Wes, smirked at Nick, and not clarified a damn thing.
It would happen, though. All Nick needed to do was spend three seconds watching Justin and Wes, and he could see the love between them. He’d never seen his son as happy as he was with Wes. Never in his whole life had Justin radiated such joy. Not even Christmas mornings as a child, or the birthday when Nick had surprised Justin with his first bicycle.
It made his heart ache, seeing Justin so in love.
Had he been that in love with his ex-wife all those years ago when they’d first fallen for each other? He thought he had been. He’d been in love enough to decide to propose. Marry, and forge a life together. A life that brought Justin into the world.
There was nothing he cherished more than being Justin’s father.
Hopefully he wouldn’t screw it up this time.
He and Justin had had a close relationship… until Justin was about ten years old. Nick had been a good dad, he’d thought. Bicycle riding and Little League. Playing catch in the backyard, Lego in the loft. Trick-or-treating together every Halloween. And then Justin grew older, and… Nick hadn’t worked as hard as he should have to keep them close. Justin turned inward, hiding his secret until he’d exploded. Keeping his sexuality concealed had carved him off from his parents, put an impenetrable wall between them, one that stood for too many years.
If he’d realized, if he’d suspected, he would have said something years ago. Would have tried to let Justin know, even if he had to take him by the shoulders and force his chin to raise, that there was nothing, not a single thing in the whole world that would end his love for his son.
But he hadn’t realized, and Justin had withdrawn, and they’d lived separate lives in the same house, living around each other instead of together. Justin going off to college had seemed like the slow end to a long goodbye that began in middle school.
And then things changed.
Nick watched Wes twirl Justin in his arms, then tip him backward for a dip as the song came to an end. Wes beamed. Justin laughed, and as he rose, Wes’s arms wrapped around Justin’s waist and Justin’s hand cradled Wes’s cheek. They kissed, still smiling, as the crowd clapped. For the band, and maybe for Justin and Wes, too.
They were, after all, the guests of honor.
It was an evening celebrating Wes and his team’s national championship victory, along with the personal victories of all the other out college athletes who had played that season and any past season. LGBT+ organizations, ESPN, and even the NCAA had joined together to honor Wes and his fellow LGBT+ athletes—present and past—and memorialize those who had passed away in a first-of-its-kind reception. Out former professional athletes mingled with college athletes across the major sports: football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. Rainbow lights dazzled off rainbow bunting, strung in arcs across the high ballroom ceiling. Rainbow-dyed roses clustered in low vases on the dinner tables.
“This is so wild, isn’t it?”
The voice came from behind Nick. It was deep, but with a young man’s cadence. He turned and saw Colton Hall, the Texas quarterback and Wes’s best friend. Now, too, Justin’s good friend, after a shaky start.
“I never imagined this is how our season would end.” Colton passed Nick a fresh beer and held his out for a toast.
“Didn’t think you’d be national champions?”
“I mean, I thought that.” Colton grinned, rolling his head sideways to Nick. One hand jiggled in the pocket of his tuxedo pants. “C’mon, we’re the best.”
Nick laughed.
“This is amazing,” Colton said, his voice softer. “I don’t think this could have happened four years ago. It should have, but…” He frowned, and his gaze found Wes and Justin, dancing still. “He deserves this. All of it.”
“Justin?” Nick asked, sipping his beer.
“Uh, I mean, of course, him, too.” Nick smiled as Colton stuttered, flushing. “I mean, he deserves to be recognized, of course, for who he is and supporting—”
“I’m teasing you.” He clapped Colton on the shoulder. Colton grinned, relief crossing his face in a tidal wave. “They both do. Wes is an amazing player, and he’s been an exceptional leader on your team. And he’s a role model for other young gay athletes.”
“Yeah. Justin is, too, though. He’s a great guy. Just the best.”
Colton was still trying to fix his little slip. “I happen to think so.” Nick took another sip of beer, then turned back to the ballroom. “Where’s your date? Who’s here with you?”
“No one.” Colton shrugged. “I’m not dating anyone. And my mom couldn’t make it up. She’s a lawyer, and she’s got some big case to prepare for. What about you? Where’s your date?”
Nick felt his smile fall short of his eyes. “No date for me, either.”
Colton raised his beer bottle for another toast. “Bachelor life. Right on.”
He clinked, and then they fell silent, watching Wes and Justin on the dance floor.
So deeply in love. Would he find that again someday? He wasn’t ready to look yet, not so soon after separating from Cynthia. The hurt was still too fresh, like a deep bruise or an ache he couldn’t stretch out. The long, slow death of his marriage was worse than a quick gut punch. If Cynthia had gone out and had an affair, he could have ended things cleanly, used his anger to package up his past and then move on. But the gasping way they’d hung on even as they grew further and further apart, until Cynthia was a stranger to him, made it feel like he’d been torn in half from top to bottom.
It was the betrayal that hit him hardest: the betrayal of who he’d thought Cynthia was as a person. He’d thought there was no way she could ever choose anything or anyone over her son. That she could never look at Justin and think he wasn’t wonderful, the best parts of the two of them combined. He was a handful, to be sure, but a good person, the kind of man Nick had lain awake at night and prayed his son would turn out to be.
There was nothing in his entire life that matched the stab to his heart when Cynthia told him she thought their son was broken and needed to be fixed.
There wasn’t any coming back from that moment. He loved Justin exactly as he was. Cynthia didn’t. And he wasn’t willing to share his life with someone who didn’t accept Justin. Cynthia wasn’t willing to change her beliefs, so there was nowhere for them to go but apart.
He wasn’t ready to let anyone else in yet. Wasn’t ready to open himself up. The only thing that mattered to him now was the happiness he saw in Justin’s eyes every day.
“You know,” Colton said, rocking back on his heels, “I tore up the gym in fifth-grade PE class when they made us learn swing dancing.”
The music shifted to a faster beat, and couples began flying around the dance floor. Wes spun Justin in and out of his arms, pulled him close, laid him out in a back-bending dip.
“Did you? My ex and I used to dance when we were dating. Swing, blues, ballroom. We were pretty good, way back in the day.” Then Justin was born, and there wasn’t time for dance nights or even dates anymore. But, huh. Was it any wonder Justin was a dancer now?
“I won the Sugar Land Elementary All-Fifth-Grade Swing Championship,” Colton bragged. “You can’t top that.”
Nick set his beer down behind him and held out his hand. “Put your money where your mouth is, and show me those skills.”
Colton blinked.
Colton, like Wes, had one of the most recognizable faces in college football. His picture was plastered on ESPN weekly. Almost daily. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done since Wes had been outed had been turned over, examined, dissected. After the national championship game, Wes and Colton had sat down for one joint interview with ESPN. More than what they said, how they’d interacted, the obvious connection between them, had solidified their public identities as inseparable brothers. And while support for Wes had been significant, and seemed to grow larger with each passing month, there were still those who despised Wes for who he was, who accused him of trying to change the culture of football. Who hated Colton, too, for his unwavering, unflinching public support of Wes and his place on the team.
There had also been whispers and hateful rumors passed along internet forums and message boards: that Colton was Wes’s bitch, that he was as gay as Wes was, that the whole team was a bunch of pansies. That Colton was on his knees for Wes and he’d do anything Wes told him to do as long as they kept winning.
None of it was true, but that didn’t matter. Hate didn’t need truth to spread like wildfire.
But Nick still should know better. Stakes were higher for Colton than for him. And there was a difference between supporting your best friend on the field and on ESPN and by standing beside him at banquets, and taking the hand of another man and dancing with him in public. Nick was established, successful, and as secure in his identity as a recently divorced middle-aged man rebuilding his relationship with his formerly estranged son could be. He didn’t have newspapers and columnists following him, dissecting his grades and the beers he drank and the words he said, trying to pick out his personality through bits and pieces of his life.
What was a simple, lighthearted, and friendly joke to Nick could be gasoline on the flames that consumed Colton’s reputation. Weeks of online fury. Eyebrows raised on ESPN. Maybe NFL teams looking past him in the draft. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back. He shook his head, smiling an apology. “I was playing around, and I didn’t think that through. Maybe I’ve had one too many beers.”
Colton downed the rest of his beer, holding Nick’s gaze. He dropped the bottle on the table, cleared his throat, and held out his hand. “Let’s do it,” he said. “Fuck ’em.”
“Colton, I don’t want—”
Colton waggled his hand in front of Nick. “Fuck the haters. It’s just for fun. And I’ve got my fifth-grade reputation to uphold.”
Nick laughed again and took Colton’s hand, letting the younger man lead him to the dance floor. If it had been any other event, maybe people would have turned and stared, watching Colton walk hand in hand with another man. But they were among hundreds of same-sex couples, and no one batted an eye. Later, surely, the ripples would hit the internet.
“Let’s go show Wes and Justin what real dancing is,” Colton said.
They made their way over to Justin and Wes. Justin’s head whipped from left to right as he tried to keep his gaze on them while Wes spun him in a tight circle. He tap-tap-tapped Wes’s chest, jerking his chin at Nick and Colton as Colton held out his arms, assuming the lead dancer position.
“I might step on your feet,” Nick said. “I’ve never danced the lady’s part before.”
“Well, you know what they say.” Colton set his hand at the small of Nick’s back and pulled him close. They were almost eye to eye, but not quite. Colton was slightly taller and a lot broader than Nick. His tuxedo fit him like a second skin, flowing over the taut, thick lines of his muscled shoulders and arms. His narrow hips slotted against Nick’s, their thighs brushing as Colton took the first step. His body gently guided Nick, leading him to step back with his left foot as Colton moved forward with his right. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” Colton winked and they spun around Wes and Justin, mimicking their twirls and dips and flares, laughing so hard they sometimes missed a step.
“Switch!” Colton called out to Wes, and he and Wes spun Nick and Justin outward, then let go, letting each man spin into the other partner’s arms. Nick ended up in Wes’s hold, one hand on Wes’s hip and the other in Wes’s hand. Wes kept his body a respectable distance from Nick’s.
“Having fun?” Nick asked, breathless.
Wes’s beaming smile said it all. His gaze drifted over Nick’s shoulder to where Colton was twirling Justin around and around and around, and Justin was laughing so hard he was almost hiccuping. “It feels like a dream,” Wes said.
“Good answer. Loving my son should be a dream come true.”
Wes barked out a laugh so loud it broke over the ballroom like a thunderclap. Justin pulled out of his endless twirls in Colton’s arms and called out to switch again. Wes spun Nick outward, and he passed Justin in a blur of smiles, ending up back in Colton’s embrace. Colton pulled him close as the trumpets blared, and then Colton dipped Nick on the final beat of the song.
From his upside-down position, he saw Justin and Wes kissing, Justin’s arms winding around Wes’s neck, hands threading through Wes’s sweat-tinged hair. He felt Colton’s deep breaths, Colton’s chest moving against his own. Felt Colton’s thigh bracing his as the moment, the world, seemed to still.
Then everything was a rush, and he was back upright. Colton and everyone else were clapping for the band. The lights were twinkling, and the world was a roar in Nick’s ears, a head rush from the dance and the heat of so many bodies making his heart race and his skin flush. Colton was on his left, Justin and Wes were on his right, all of them smiling, the air humming with their joy, so powerful he could feel it all over him, could breathe it in and hold it inside himself.
This is all I want for Justin. All I ever wanted for my son. Pure, perfect happiness.
His own nights of happiness were in the past, but as long as Justin was smiling like that, as long as Wes was there to keep loving him, Nick’s life would be set. If his son was as happy as this for the rest of his days, that was all that mattered.
Hours later, the four walked shoulder to shoulder as they headed for Nick’s condo. Wes and Justin had their arms around each other, and Nick and Wes had pulled their bow ties loose, letting the ends dangle. Colton’s was askew, while Justin somehow still looked as manicured and put together as he had at the start of the evening. Easy conversation carried them through the lobby and into the elevator. Wes wrapped his arms around Justin from behind as Colton slouched against the back wall, his hands in his pockets.
They went straight to Nick’s balcony, the wide stretch of concrete and glass that overlooked downtown and the college campus. Two of the three bedrooms and his living room opened to the balcony, which ran the width of the whole unit. He’d set up a grill at one end and a patio couch and wicker chairs around a low table at the other. Wes and Justin took up half the couch, even though they were practically sitting in each other’s laps, and Colton took the other half, throwing himself down in an ungainly sprawl that made the furniture creak and groan.
While the boys shed their jackets and pulled off the remnants of their ties and cummerbunds, Nick plucked a bottle of champagne from the fridge and snagged four flutes from the bar. Laughter floated back to him through the open sliding glass door. Wes’s quiet chuckle, deep and soft at the same time. Justin’s higher, sharper, musical laugh. Colton’s boisterous, almost boyish giggles.
“Lemme help,” Colton said, bolting to his feet and reaching for the glasses when Nick came back out. His hands were huge, calloused and weathered from years of playing football, tanned and scarred from hundreds of scrapes over hundreds of games. The four glasses disappeared in his grip, and he passed two to Wes like he was handing him pens or pencils. Nick popped the champagne and poured for each of them.
He wasn’t much for toasts, but champagne and tuxedos and one a.m. on a starlit balcony begged for some kind of recognition, so he held up his glass and looked at his son and Wes. “To you guys.” He nodded to Colton, too. “To your guys’ future.”
They all drank, and Justin and Wes shared a brief kiss. Justin seemed to burrow deeper into Wes’s arms, as if he could somehow be closer to him than he already was. Nick chuckled under his breath as he took another sip of champagne and turned his gaze out over the city.
“Speaking of the future…” Wes started.
Nick whipped his head around. Was this it? Was this the moment? He held his breath—
“What have you decided?” Wes finished. He was looking at Colton, not Justin, as he spoke, his head tilted, his huge fingers pinching the rim of his flute. “You staying or going?”
Colton heaved a sigh. He set his glass down and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Man… I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” Wes said softly.
Colton shot Wes a glare from behind his spread fingers. His palms were still over his mouth, and his hands tugged on his skin, giving him a horror-movie expression as he exhaled.
“This about the draft?” Nick asked.
Justin and Wes both nodded as Colton groaned.
Most of the starting line was eligible for the NFL draft that spring, and the deadline for declaring whether they were in or out was fast approaching. Wes had been talked about as a prospective draftee all school year, but now that they’d won the national championship, his eligible teammates were being courted, too. Agents called every hour of the day, showed up at the house they shared, tried to bend the NCAA rules to woo the players into representation and declaration.
Wes had said, immediately after the championship game, that he was sticking it out at school until he graduated. He’d play another year at Texas and then consider the NFL. But it wasn’t a guarantee, he’d said, that he was going to join the league at all.
Most of the team followed in his footsteps, saying they were sticking around to finish their degrees, too. They didn’t want to break up, not when they were as cohesive and united as they’d become. If everyone stayed for another season, they could potentially go all the way and have a perfect record. Win the national championship—again.
Only Colton hadn’t declared yet.
“If I stay, that’s another year to develop my skills. Another year to improve.” Colton sent Wes a wavering smile. “Another year with you. But it’s another year of risk, too. If I’m injured, maybe no one wants me next year in the NFL. I’m a first-round potential right now. What if, next year, I’m nothing?”
“What if you’re first round, first pick next year because you’re the best quarterback two years in a row?” Wes countered. “What if next year is even better?”
Colton flopped backward, his hands sliding through his dark hair as he squeezed his skull. “But, like, do I even want to be a first-round QB pick? I mean… you’ve seen what happens to the guys who go first round to loser teams. Some of those teams are so desperate that they want a first-round draft pick to play like a five-year pro. But if the coaching staff isn’t there and the systems aren’t in place, the team collapses. Guys our age being told to carry an entire NFL team and bring them from Loserville to the Super Bowl?” Colton shook his head.
“You’re not like that. You know more than the spread offense or the run and shoot, which is all most college guys know these days. Most of those quarterbacks can’t hack it because the transition to the NFL is too steep. But it won’t be for you.”
“So maybe if I join the draft this year, I’ll be picked to be someone’s understudy. I wouldn’t mind learning for five years under one of the greats.” Colton picked at the fabric stretched over his thigh.
“What about your degree?” Nick asked. “What about graduating?”
Silence. Colton shrugged. “I didn’t really think much about graduating when I first got here. Ergonomics is easier than general studies, you know? But what do I do with an ergonomics degree?”
“It’s less about what you majored in than showing that you made a commitment and followed through with it,” Nick said. “That you had the discipline to complete your education. I hire people all the time with degrees that have nothing to do with my industry.”
“If I stay, I’d need to graduate at the end of next year,” Colton said carefully. “Which means I need to find an internship. Part of my program is supposed to be a practical business internship. Maybe because real-world experience is the only way to make that degree worth anything.” He tried to laugh. “But I don’t know where to even begin with that. How would I work an internship around my athletics schedule?”
“Find an internship that’s understanding,” Nick said.
Colton snorted. “The line at the student center for internship applications is, like, seven miles deep. I looked last week. There’s a waiting list. If I sign up and something comes up, I can’t afford to be picky about it. But I also can’t sacrifice my football schedule.”
“Can you bring your own internship to the school? What if you worked something out directly with a company?”
“Yeah, you can. I don’t know anyone who could do that, though. And I’m not allowed to ask Coach or the athletic department to hook me up, or to intern with them. I already tried that.”
“You know me. My company always has interns over the summer. I can easily set you up as my intern in the Austin office. I can show you what sales is like.”
Colton’s eyes bulged. “Seriously?”
“Why not? You’d be great at sales. All sales is is personality.”
“And you have no shortage of that.” Justin smirked.
Colton was quiet. He chewed on his lower lip, staring at his hands. “But what if it’s now or never?”
Wes set down his champagne flute and looked Colton in the eyes. “It’s not. It’s never now or never. Things always change.”
“Yeah, I could be worse off looking at the draft next year.” Colton blew out a huge sigh.
“Or a bunch of things could happen,” Wes said. “Things you can’t even imagine right now. Hell, you could be outed by a national news network on the morning of the biggest game of the year.” Wes didn’t blink. He wasn’t talking about Colton anymore. Colton wasn’t gay. “I thought I lost everything that day.”
Colton’s jaw clenched. Justin’s fingers laced through Wes’s. Nick saw a look pass between them, something with weight. He’d spent all that day frantically trying to reach Justin after seeing his son’s picture on the internet, arm in arm with Wes Van de Hoek. He’d heard what Justin and Wes had gone through, and he’d watched the game and Texas’s collapse on live TV. He’d screamed down to Austin in his Porsche when Justin had called him sobbing, saying Wes was beaten and bloody and barely breathing. But he hadn’t lived those horrible twelve hours himself.
Colton stared out over the city, his gaze lost in the tangled warren of campus as distant car horns honked and the hum of the highway rose up to meet them. Nick watched his shoulders shake ever so slightly. It wasn’t a simple decision. This could be a defining choice for Colton’s entire football career. Go to the NFL early and take the chance on being drafted to a rebuilding team. If that went badly, he could buckle and break and be out of the league before he truly had a chance to become the quarterback he could be.
Or play another year in college, graduate, and then draft with the rest of his class. Maybe he’d still be drafted to a rebuilding team, where an entire franchise would lean on him. But he’d be another year wiser, another year older, another year more experienced.
Sometimes a year changed a man in ways that couldn’t be measured in hours and days and weeks. Sometimes a year became the cornerstone of a life.
Risk, reward. Stay, go. Things known now versus the uncertain future. There was his degree, too, and graduation—but Nick didn’t think Colton had placed that much stock in a college degree. Unlike Wes, football was his life. Nick knew that, even before he’d met Colton. He’d known, watching Colton mature into the Texas quarterback role through the seasons, and that knowledge had been front and center in his mind when he threw Colton against the wall in the jock house. It was there again, for a whole different reason, when he watched Colton come apart in Wes’s hospital room and then watched him devote himself to taking care of his friend.
“I don’t want to leave yet,” Colton breathed. His head tilted, and he squinted at Nick. “You can really hook me up with an internship?”
“Absolutely. Say the word, and I’ll have my assistant start setting it up tomorrow.”
Colton smiled. He closed his eyes. Breathed deep. “Okay. Let’s do it. I want another year.” He reached for Wes, taking his hand in a warrior’s grip. Wes beamed, and Colton did, too. “One more national championship?”
“Absolutely.” Wes smiled.
“Thanks, Dad,” Justin said, gratitude pouring from him.
“Of course. I’ll help you guys in any way I can, always.” He raised his champagne flute again. “To one more year.”
Tal Bauer is an author of gay romantic suspense/thriller novels.
The world needs more gay heroes, gay love stories, and powerful women kicking ass. I try to write those stories. With a background ranging from law enforcement to humanitarian aid, my stories are global in scope and with diverse characters in all roles. My goal is to help normalize gay characters as action heroes and to bring to life strong, dynamic, holistic women in all of my novels.
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EMAIL: tal@talbauerwrites.com
The Quarterback #2
Series
