AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Honking my horn, I end Colt and Jasper’s yapping. It’s an “on” night with Blair, and we need to get home. I’m sporting live ammunition in my boxers.
“Whatdaya think?” Colt tugs my truck door closed. “You think they bought it?”
“Yeah, just keep being a lying asshole.” I joke. “You know, like normal, and they’ll never suspect.”
But Colt doesn’t laugh. He mutters, “Fuck you. I ain’t a liar.”
Ouch. Someone’s hangry.
We sit in silence while my truck crawls down the interstate. Thankfully, home is only a few miles away. Still, Colt takes over the tunes, filling the awkward air with his playlist, a mash-up of rap and country.
Something’s been bothering him lately.
Yeah, we’ve had a stellar couple of weeks. We play ball all day, chill together all night, and we’re happy when we go to bed.
But I know him.
He’s usually a ray of fucking sunshine, in a sexy pain-in-the-ass way, when I’m usually the serious one.
Maybe we’ve switched roles. Maybe I’m so damn happy now, so he’s serious. Still, you don’t love someone this long and not ask.
“Hey,” I take the next exit ramp, “what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
I turn left and let it brew before asking, “Is it about Blair? Or us?” I pause. “Or your mom?”
Last week was a year. It was a year since she died, and I held Colt at her grave. The entire organization was at her funeral. The team office canceled camp for the day so we could support him.
I remembered, so Blair and I bought flowers. Yellow roses were Celeste’s favorite. We drove with Colt two hours to Alabama to visit her grave this past Sunday. We refreshed the vase at her headstone and said some prayers, and that night, Colt held Blair while I held him. He’d never been so quiet before.
Yes, time heals, but it doesn’t happen overnight or in a year.
“Whatever it is,” I tell him, “I got you, man. There’s nothing we can’t talk about.”
“Thanks,” he mutters, staring out of the passenger window.
I can’t tell if he’s crying, but he should. He should get it out. So I reach across the wide console, trying to find his hand.
“Dude,” he huffs, “two hands on the wheel.”
“We’re fine.”
“We’ve got a winning season before us.” He sounds okay. “So don’t wreck it. Hands on the wheel and eyes on the road. Atlanta traffic is where the dumbasses come out to play.”
He’s right, so I retreat.
“But thanks,” he says. “We can always talk, no matter what happens. Right? You won’t give up on me?”
I try teasing, cheering him up. “My ass is always here for ya, man.”
Holding the wheel, I steal a glance, and he looks at me.
In that way.
