Chapter 6
The Hagley house looks significantly less magical in the morning. At night it’s loud music, flashing lights, and people doing questionable things with glow sticks.
In the morning, it’s just slightly sticky-looking. There’s a guy asleep on the lawn while holding half a slice of pizza like it’s the last thing keeping him in this world.
I step over him carefully. “Stay strong, man,” I tell him.
He snores in reply and clutches the pizza closer to himself.
Inside, the house smells like spilled beer and regret.
The bag I’m carrying smells significantly better than the house does. But how could it not, being filled with greasy breakfast sandwiches and hash browns? The bag also contains a very large sports drink with two bottles of pills, because I am a very good friend.
I head upstairs and knock on the door of Julian’s room.
No answer. I knock again.
Still nothing, so I open the door.
Colten is exactly where I left him—curled on his side, hair everywhere, and clutching the pillow.
“Rise and shine!” I say brightly.
He groans. “Go away and die somewhere quietly.”
“Nope,” I cheerfully reply as I make my way past Julian’s stacks of books.
One eye cracks open. “Patrick?”
“Good morning, you look like crap,” I say with a smile.
He squints at me like he’s trying to determine if I’m a hallucination. “Why are you trying to get me to murder you?”
“Are you sure you want to murder me?” I ask, holding up the plastic bag with the food and drinks in it. “You got drunk on an empty stomach like a rookie, and I brought the ultimate hangover cure.”
I then pull out the paper bag holding the food, opening it to let the smell of greasy, hot food fill the room.
Colten holds a hand over his mouth before the sudden movement makes him groan in pain.
Well, not the reaction I was going for, but also not surprising. There were a lot of questionable things in that punch.
Putting the bag of food down on the nightstand, I grab the pill bottles and shake two from each bottle into my hand. The cup I left out last night is empty, so at least he drank some water last night.
“I also brought you the two hottest chicks—well, I guess dudes for you—anti-nausea and pain killers.” I set the Greatorade next to him and hold out the pills for him.
He stares at them, then at me, eyes narrowed. “Aren’t those from my room?”
“Which means they’re the ones you prefer,” I tell him, my grin growing. He’s the one who taught me how to pick locks. He should be thanking me since I’m using it for good.
Colten sighs before taking the pills, swallowing them with the sports drink, his face all grim determination.
Then he reaches for the greasy paper bag and stares inside. “Breakfast sandwiches?”
“I got your favorite from Mama T’s, extra bacon,” I tell him.
“You’re bribing me,” he accuses, even as he grabs one and unwraps it.
“Depends. Is it working?” I ask.
He takes a bite and closes his eyes. For a second, he looks like he’s experiencing spiritual enlightenment.
“No,” he mumbles before taking another large bite.
“I am sorry about missing our PT session yesterday,” I say, looking over all of Julian’s weird scribbles on the wall. Looks like he had fun, good for him. “I didn’t mean to blow you off for the party, it was a mistake.”
Colten grunts in acknowledgement, which I take as ‘apology accepted.’
I grin, taking a seat on the bed as I say, “Also, I figured out what causes the glow.”
Colten chokes, coughing and sputtering hard enough that I hit his back.
After draining the Greatorade, he looks at me, wheezing, and asks, “What do you mean?”
“Come on, don’t act like that,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him as I hand him the other drink. He takes it without looking, his gaze locked on me. “I know it’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”
He goes pale, which seems overly dramatic. Must be a bad hangover. “I—what?”
“Yeah,” I say, smug. “You might have figured it out first, but guess what? I had the whole apartment to myself last night and did my own little detective work.”
He stares at me like he’s watching a train approach at high speed.
“...And?” he prompts, stiff and still pale.
“And now you’re not the only one who knows how the magic works.” I lightly punch his shoulder. “Next time maybe don’t keep secrets, dude.”
He blinks, looking from his half-eaten breakfast sandwich to me. “Patrick—”
“So what if it’s a bit awkward?” I tell him, wanting to make sure he knows how stupid this whole last week has been now that I know why he’s been AWOL. “Don’t avoid me for a week over something that dumb. We’re in this together, glowing horniness magic and all.”
Colten’s mouth opens, then closes, before he exhales in a long, slow breath.
The tension drains out of him like someone pulled a plug.
“…Oh,” he says quietly. Then he laughs. It’s small but genuine.
“No more secrets, right?” I ask, watching him to make sure he understands just how serious I am.
“You’re right,” he says, nodding. His voice shakes a little, likely from the hangover. “No more secrets.”
“Good,” I say, before adding with a stern look, “And no more avoiding me.”
“I can do that,” he replies before sighing. “I wanted to get rid of it before you figured it out.” He looks away. “I was just… embarrassed.”
I snort. “Embarrassed? There’s nothing embarrassing about magic.”
“Nothing?” He looks back at me and raises an eyebrow.
I snort before admitting, “Okay, yeah, figuring out how to control it might be a little awkward.”
“A little?” His lips twitch up, nearly smiling.
“And sure, apparently only the two of us can see it, so it’s not exactly useful for, like, helping literally anyone else besides each other.”
He nods solemnly. “An important drawback.”
“But still!” I say, spreading my arms dramatically. “We have magic, which is objectively very cool.”
Colten watches me, finally smiling with a soft look in his eyes. “…Yeah, I suppose it is objectively very cool.”
I grin.
He takes another bite of his sandwich, still smiling.
My stomach clenches oddly. Strange. Maybe I’m hungry?
***
After the hangover breakfast truce, things go back to normal.
Or at least Patrick-and-Colten normal, which mostly means a lot of practice, a lot of arguing about stretching techniques, and Colten occasionally smacking the back of my head when I do something he calls “reckless for your long-term joint health.”
He’s still a little weird. Not avoiding me weird, just…careful.
Like he keeps accidentally stepping too close to some sort of invisible line and then quickly pivots, pulling himself back. While he’s touching me during our PT sessions again, it’s very perfunctory, clinical.
Even Dr. Carlson wasn’t so…impersonal.
But he laughs, he shoves me during drills, and he rolls his eyes when I make stupid jokes. It’s enough to make the knot in my chest loosen.
We practice harder than we ever have before, working side by side, no longer distracted by some silly horny glowing magic.
I’m not even sure why Colten was trying to get rid of it—guys get turned on all the time, who cares?
Then the day of the evaluation happens, and it goes well.
Actually, it goes really well. I haven’t felt this good on the field in ages. It makes me all the more glad that Colten and I made up, since I wouldn’t be this good without him.
After evaluations finish, Coach pulls me aside while the rest of the guys are grabbing water.
“You’ve been putting in the work, Jackson,” he says while giving me a solid nod of approval, which honestly gives me a high I’m going to be chasing for weeks.
Then, he hands over an envelope. My stomach flips as I take it. It’s made with thick paper, the fancy kind that costs money.
“Regional combine invite, late June,” he tells me, gruff and to the point, before adding, “Don’t let last year hold you back.”
For a second, I just stare at it.
It’s everything I’ve been working for. I already have my position locked in as a defensive midfielder, and now a combine invite with the Seattle Founders’ club. As long as I keep this up, I could get a scout’s attention in no time.
For some reason, I’m not as excited as I thought I would be.
I wait for it to hit, to feel the rush, the buzz of a well-won victory, but it doesn't come. While Coach’s approval was amazing, this feels…different. Heavier. It makes my chest feel tight, even though it’s exactly what Colten and I were working towards.
Weird. Heartburn, maybe?
In any case, I push the strange feeling aside because I did well! Coach praised me! I’m going to the combine! This is great!
“Thanks, Coach,” I tell him, smiling because this is what I want, this is what I’ve been working for ever since I was eight and my first Coach told me I had what it takes. “I’ll make you proud.”
He slaps my back, nodding, before heading off to do whatever coaches do.
Colten runs up to me, still wearing his own practice outfit. He also did well during the evaluations, earning a spot as an outside back.
“Is that—?” he asks, eyes wide as he looks at the envelope in my hands.
“Tickets to the ball,” I say, holding it up with a grin. “Want to be my date?”
Colten punches my arm, but his grin hasn’t dimmed a bit. He looks like someone just told him he personally won the lottery. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile so big.
“You could get scouted! This is huge, Farmboy,” Colten says, snatching the envelope from my hands and opening it. I let him, trusting him more than myself to handle it. “It even comes with a hotel room paid for.”
“Oh sweet, road trip?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.
“Sure,” he replies, though he’s clearly distracted, still reading through the invite. It’s a general invitation, likely given to Coach to hand out to promising players, but it’s still exciting.
I’m already picturing the drive, thinking of what playlist Colten and I would both enjoy and which snacks to bring.
The hotel room is only for one bed, but Colten and I have shared plenty of hotel rooms and beds during away games since freshman year, so it’s fine.
With Colten coming with me, it’ll be fun. I’m not sure if that’s allowed, but I can’t imagine not going with him.