Before running away from him.
***
California was like a different planet. Growing up in a small, country town, I’d never seen anything quite like it. I sat in my dorm room at USC, not in the mood to unpack any of my things yet.
After my fight with Hunter, I hadn’t seen him again.
In the days following that, I packed up as much of my things as I could for the move, and I got the hell out of Willow, Arkansas. I’d looked back as I’d driven out of town. My whole life was there.
Hunter was there.
It was then I finally let myself cry for him: for what we’d lost. A part of me almost turned the car around—the part that was madly in love with him and probably always would be. My heart was broken, and the farther I got from him, the greater the pain became.
Sitting on my bed in the dorm at USC, that pain sprang back to life.
I didn’t know anyone there. Not one person I could confide in. Not one friend. It was lonely, and I was desperate for something familiar.
I grabbed my phone and started browsing through the pictures. Some were of me and my grandpa. I smiled. He’d been excited for me, and although I knew he’d miss me, he hadn’t wanted to hold me back. I had called him when I got to campus to let him know I’d made it safely.
Then, I came to a photo of Hunter, and before I could stop myself, I was sobbing into my damn pillow. Fuck, it’d only been about a week, but I missed him so much it hurt. It was the longest we’d ever gone without talking.
I called him, needing to hear his voice.
“Hello?”
“Hunter.” His name was said with a relieved exhale. “I’m glad you answered.”
“I nearly rejected the call,” he said. “But I needed to talk to you too. It’s weird with us not talking.”
“I know.”
“Are you settled into your dorm yet?”
I lightly chuckled as I looked at all the unpacked boxes. “Not exactly.” He was quiet, and by the occasional sniffles, I knew he was crying. “Are you okay?”
The question was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to say. If he was beside me, I’d just tickle his sides or something to get him to laugh. The miles between us prevented that.
“No,” Hunter said in a shaky voice, as if he was barely holding himself together. “I hate not having you here, Cor. I’m in the same place I’ve always been, but everything feels foreign. Like a part of me is gone.”
I cleared the lump in my throat, but it did nothing to stop the tears from pooling in my eyes.
“Fuck, baby. I miss you.” My voice was gruff, and I bounced my knee. The quickening of my pulse caused me to shake a little. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. It just took me driving over a thousand miles to figure it out.”
As it all went through my head, I started panicking. The white walls of the dorm began to close in on me, and it felt like I was drowning.
“Corbin? Breathe,” Hunter said, and I tried to focus on his voice. “You didn’t make a mistake.”
“Yes I did,” I responded as I started hyperventilating. “I should’ve never left you, Hunter. Fuck, I’m such an idiot! We had plans and I fucked them all up. I’m coming home. I can’t do this.”
Everything went quiet, and all I heard was his breathing on the other end of the phone.
“Listen to me, Corbin. You made the right decision by going.” Something about his voice had changed. I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, but he didn’t sound like himself. “It would’ve never worked out with us anyway.”
My mind reeled with his words.
“What?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Hunter said with a condescending tone. “Our plan to come out and ride off into the sunset of our happily ever after was just bullshit. We wouldn’t have lasted another year.”
“Why are you saying this? This isn’t you.”
“No, it is me. It’s called tough love.” Hunter sounded off. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe that’s how he really felt. “I’m glad you left.”
A sob tore through my throat against my will. “Hunter, I—”
“I don’t think we should talk anymore,” he interjected with so much coldness in his voice that it sent chills down my spine. “We both need to focus on our own lives, and keeping one foot in the past won’t help us do that.”
I knew we had our lives to live… I just thought we’d live them together. Even when I’d left Willow, I still had a tiny speck of hope that we’d somehow find a way to make it work.
Before I could respond, he hung up.
I texted him.
Me: Hunter, what the fuck is going on? I KNOW u don’t feel that way.
Hunter: You don’t know what I feel. Honestly, the more I talked to you on the phone, the more I knew how right you were to leave. We’ve had an amazing friendship, but it’s time to go our separate ways.
It was hard to text him back with how much my hands were trembling.
Me: U don’t even want us talking anymore????? Ur my best friend.
Me: Hunt??? Don’t shut me out like this.
Me: Please.
When two hours passed and he still hadn’t replied, I sent another.
Me: I love u, Hunt. Please don’t do this.
But he didn’t respond. Not that day. Not the next one. I sent him several more texts—some lashing out at him for being so mean and others begging him to reconsider—and they all went ignored. As days turned into weeks and I still hadn’t heard back from him, I realized we were really over.
Funny enough…life went on.
***
I started hanging out with the guys on the football team, and we’d go out some nights and see the California night life. Most of them were from out of state too, so it was a new experience for all of us. We went to restaurants hardly any of us could afford and we’d even snuck into some clubs. They became my friends.
Hunter crossed my mind a lot in the beginning.
Even after months with no communication, I found myself remembering the smell of his skin when we’d been lying under the sun after swimming in the lake. I recalled the musical sound of his laugh and the way he used to fit so perfectly against my chest.
They were memories I was desperate to hold on to, but as time went on, I found it harder and harder to remember some of them.
I’d look at the pictures of Hunter on my phone when I couldn’t remember if the freckle on his neck was on the right or left side. Just those small things that I’d obsess over and make myself sick over if I forgot.
Crazy how he really did become just a picture on my phone…just like he’d said.
I kept in touch with my grandpa—calling him at least twice a week—and after a while I stopped asking about Hunter. I didn’t see the point anymore in asking him what Hunter was doing, and if Gramps had recently talked to him.
Football became my life.
I pushed myself to my limits and past them; sometimes just so I could have something else to focus on other than the pain of a broken heart. But even after my heart began to mend, I didn’t back down. I hadn’t moved so many miles from home just to slack off. I spent most of my spare time in the gym, making myself stronger. Faster.
Coaches admired my fortitude, and I worked my ass off to get where I wanted to be. I showed them how much I wanted it.
My first year of college passed in a blur between classes and football games, and when the second year came around, I was in the best shape of my life. I was the starting quarterback—not exactly a common thing for a sophomore—and everything was falling into place just like I’d always hoped it would.
I even started dating again.
It was difficult for a while. If I even thought about being with someone else, I’d feel like I was betraying Hunter. Then, I had to remind myself that he was the one who dumped me, and that he’d probably already moved on.
No sense in saving myself for someone who did
n’t even give a shit. He’d made that clear when he refused to return any of my texts.
Not ever having been with anyone other than Hunter, I was struggling a bit with my sexuality and had tried dating a few girls at first. However, it didn’t take long to figure it all out. The second girl I’d tried dating—well, fucking—had cleared it all up.
“Mmm, yeah, baby,” she had moaned as I’d been on top of her in my dorm room. I’d been in my boxers, and she was topless with just her panties on. She slid my boxers down and grabbed my dick, slowly stroking me. “You’re so thick.”
Yeah, it’d felt good, but my head wasn’t in it.
Her body was too soft; her pleasured sighs too breathy. I missed the feel of a hard body beneath mine; stronger arms to match my own and a slightly prickled chin.
Fuck it all. I missed Hunter.
“I can’t do this,” I’d said before getting off her and pulling my boxers back up. “Sorry.”
She’d been pissed, of course, and had left in a huff.
The next day, I’d found out she’d told all of her friends that ‘the star quarterback couldn’t get it up’ and it’d spread through the campus like wildfire. I knew it was my chance to publically come out, but I’d chickened out. As an athlete, it was fucking scary to come out, because of the stigma that still surrounded it.
So, I continued hiding who I was.
With all of that aside, though, life was great. I began thinking of Hunter less and less, until he was nothing more than an occasional passing thought.
However, in the moments when I was between awake and asleep, I’d sometimes recall the way he felt lying beside me at night. I’d remember the sound of his voice as he recited some Shakespeare line, and then how we’d bicker about what defined a romance.
And it was in those moments when I was the most content.
Chapter 4
Corbin
Present Day- December
I lived for this—the adrenaline of a packed stadium, the indistinct cheers from the stands, and the feel of the turf beneath my sneakers. The road getting there had been winding, painful, and often filled with self-doubt, but I’d made it all the way to pro level football.
And every damn second had been worth the journey.
Seven years since I’d left Willow, Arkansas. Three years since I’d graduated from University of Southern California with a bachelor’s degree in Business Organization—a degree I’d probably never use but it was great to have something to fall back on. I had kicked ass in college level football, and while I hadn’t started out as a first string quarterback, I’d proven myself enough by my sophomore year to do so.
None of it had been luck, either.
Every single day I worked my ass off. I trained every chance I could, working on my jumping, running, and direction-changing. I worked on strength and speed exercises. Anything to put me ahead of the others. While I’d given into the temptation of frat parties a few times, I never let that kind of lifestyle consume me or get in the way of what I wanted.
After college, I registered for the Regional Starting Combines—where I’d tried out with other college players, performing drills and other exercises that showcased our abilities. The National Combine followed that, where less than four hundred players were invited and I’d been among them.
Then there was the draft. Out of thousands of college players who had dreams of going pro, I snagged one of the highly sought after spots.
Now, I was the starting quarterback for the Kansas City Raptors and had been for the past three years. Within that time, I’d had various injuries, but I’d never let any of them keep me off the field for long. Some of the veteran players on the team had started calling me Little Engine when I first started because of how much I got hurt, but always got right back up and stayed in the game.
That December day, we were playing Denver, and in the third quarter, we were ahead seventeen to ten. The below freezing temperature made standing in place miserable, so I bounced in place as I waited to go back out on the field. If it wasn’t for my adrenaline, I might’ve felt the cold more, but I was too pumped.
I looked around the stadium, smiling at the sea of faceless people. In the mix of red jerseys and orange ones, people cheered for their team. Some were cheering for us and some against us, but the one thing they all shared was their love for football.
It’s what connected all of us, viewers and players alike.
“Raptors are ahead seventeen to ten in the third quarter, but the game isn’t over yet.”
I tuned out the commentators as my team took the field. Noise surrounded me—the muffled voices over the intercom, the screaming of the fans in the stands, and the sly insults from the opposing team as we took our spots—but I blocked them out as I ran through the play in my head.
In position, I called the play before the center snapped the ball. Bodies slammed against each other as the other team came for me, and my defense blocked them. I passed a short middle to Wilson and he made it fourteen yards before being stopped.
The game was close.
Denver scored before the end of the third quarter, evening out the scoreboard. It was the last game of the season, and I refused for us to take a loss. I hadn’t played with back and neck ailments the past month, pushed myself harder than any other season, and taken shit from the guy I was dating because I’d been too sore to fuck him recently just to lose the last game.
During the next play, I threw the ball to the wide receiver.
Fuck!
My pass had been intercepted by the other team’s safety, but before he got too far with the ball, the ref threw down a flag. We stopped the play as we waited for the ref to announce who the penalty was for. It was an illegal block above the waist against Denver, and a ten yard penalty was enforced.
But they had the ball now.
The other quarterback passed to his wide receiver and they moved twenty-two yards before being tackled. I was getting pissed now, and I bounced in place as I waited for our chance to get back in the game. At the 4th and 7, their quarterback was sacked before making any ground.
The two-minute warning was given, signaling that we needed to get our ass in gear and soon, otherwise this game would be going into overtime.
I passed to Wilson, and he ran the ball for thirteen yards.
Denver called a timeout.
Once the next play started, my pass was incomplete, but a penalty was put on one of Denver’s lineman for defensive offside. A five yard penalty was enforced. In the next few plays, we gained some yards before being stopped.
The clock was running out, and the tension on the field was so dense it could be cut with a knife.
With only a minute and a half left in the game, our side called a timeout. It was frequent for both teams to call timeouts right at the end of a game, especially when it was so close. We gathered on the sidelines and coach grilled us before we went back on the field.
There was only a minute left, but with the quick start and stop of the plays, it drew on for what seemed like forever. Anthony, our fullback, ran up the middle and gained another four yards.
With seconds left on the clock, Harrison kicked a thirty yard field goal, putting the score at twenty-seven to twenty-four and winning us the game.
Cheers erupted through the stadium, and excitement spread through our team. Backs were slapped, chests were bumped, and not even the below freezing temperatures could bring us down. After the final whistle was blown, some of the players from both teams gathered on the field—some for a postgame prayer and others were still in celebration mode.
“Corbin Taylor!” a reporter exclaimed, pulling me in for an on-field interview. She was probably a little older than me with long blond hair and bundled up in a thick black coat, earmuffs, and matching gloves. “This was the last game of the season. What do you plan on doing now? How do you plan to celebrate your team’s victory?”
As the quarterback, I gained the most attention. And I wasn’t going to lie, I
enjoyed being in the spotlight.
“I’m damn proud of my team,” I answered her, being sure to keep a charming smile on my face the entire time. A photographer was beside her, snapping pic after pic, and I wanted to play it up for the cameras. “First thing I’m gonna do is get out of this uniform.”
She laughed and flicked her hair in the way most girls did when flirting. “Well, I think many of us would love that after seeing your spread for Under Armour.”
In the past year or so, I’d done a commercial for Pepsi, been in a few magazines modeling Under Armour underwear, and I’d even been voted Sexiest Man in Football. Not that my looks had anything to do with my skills on the field, but it didn’t hurt to be admired in that way. Certainly helped me get laid more times than I could count.
I didn’t comment on her flirtatious statement and instead just smiled.
“There’s a rumor that next season might be your last one with the Raptors,” she said. “Can you comment on the validity of these rumors?”
She held the recorder out to me and waited.
Playing pro-football had been my dream ever since I was eleven. After three years of living that dream, certain things had begun taking a toll on me: injuries being one of them, but also the stress of staying in peak physical condition. With new players being drafted every year, the pressure of staying on top was intense. No matter how excellent a player was, he could be replaced in the blink of an eye.
But even with the physical aspect of it aside, it’d impacted my emotional state as well. I was mentally exhausted.
The rumors had started because my four year contract with the Raptors would end next season, and there’d been no reassurance that it’d be renewed yet. If the contract wasn’t renewed, I’d be a free agent and any other team could pick me up if they wanted. But nothing was guaranteed.
“Rumors are rumors,” I answered, not ready to publically announce anything until I was certain. “Who knows what the future holds? Now if you’ll excuse me.”
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