His Football Star: Gay Second Chance Romance

By Van Cole

At high school, Dane Walters had a secret, but these days it's not a secret anymore.  
It's just a painful history, and a wound that never cauterized or healed – so when Dane finally gets the chance to make his way back to that door he'd always believed got slammed in his face, it's inevitable that he has to try.

Only one question remains.  

When he arrives at that door, will he open or close it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Van Cole
• Release date: Dec 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215356371

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© Copyright 2017 by Van Cole - All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

His Football Star

Gay Second Chance Romance

By: Van Cole

Table of Contents

His Football Star Part 1 Description

CHAPTER ONE – HIGH SCHOOL

CHAPTER TWO – HIGH SCHOOL

CHAPTER THREE – HIGH SCHOOL

CHAPTER FOUR – HIGH SCHOOL

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Part 2 Description

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Come Stalk Me!

His Football Star Part 1 Description

At high school, Dane Walters had a secret, but these days it's not a secret anymore.  It's just a painful history, and a wound that never cauterized or healed – so when Dane finally gets the chance to make his way back to that door he'd always believed got slammed in his face, it's inevitable that he has to try.

Only one question remains.  When he arrives at that door, will he open or close it?

His Football Star

CHAPTER ONE – HIGH SCHOOL

They say time heals all wounds, but I’m not sure that’s true. When the cut of love unrequited or love lost hits you, there is nothing that can heal that pain. Life continues, yes, and time moves on. But, the stinging hurt of love that has failed or, in my case, love that never had the chance to blossom fully is unlike any other hurt. It is a longing in the soul that cannot be soothed, even by the most generous of hearts and the kindest of men.

High school for me was a blur. It was a time of confusion and excitement. It was a time of hurt and exhilaration. It was a time that was an emotional roller coaster that I could not contain. I had known I was gay my whole life, secretly and in the recesses of my mind. I had never looked at women the same way my male friends did. I did not feel the tinge of excitement when looking at ample breasts like they did. I did not sneak Playboys or search for my dad’s stash of nude magazines. No, women did not turn me off, but they didn’t exactly turn me on either, at least, that was the case when I was honest with myself.

It was not until high school that I even admitted to myself that I was gay, let alone anyone else. It was my dirty little secret. I knew I had felt a stirring in my stomach when I looked at the other boys changing in the locker room before practice. I knew that I could not turn away right away when my muscular fellow classmates walked by in the hall, their jeans clinging to their growing manhood like paint on the wall. I remember taking that extra step to make sure that I looked and smelled my best prior to taking my dates to homecoming, but I was never dressing for her. On the contrary, I was dressing for them—the beautiful boys becoming men right in front of eyes.

No matter how hard I denied it, no matter how hard I tried to pretend it wasn’t true, my homosexuality stared me in the face every time I looked in the mirror.  It felt as though it was written across my forehead: DANE WALTERS IS A HOMOSEXUAL.  For a time, I was terrified that somebody would look at me and just know, but of course, it's not that obvious.  In that respect, I had nothing to fear.

For the longest time, though, that fear meant that I was never given the opportunity to act on it. All I had were the aching teenage fantasies that wrote themselves in my head. Admittedly, I was lonely enough that my thoughts led my eyes across a number of different boys – but the one figure that stood out most prominently in these daydreams of mine was my teammate, Sam Kentucky.

He was my ideal type in the physical form. The son of a powerful politician who exuded nothing but sophistication and power, and the star running back of the football team, this amazing young man had a prowess and a stature that was both emotionally and physically outstanding. He had a glistening body that was almost always drenched in sweat following games. He hit the field hard at practice, and even harder at the games, he took so seriously. Adding to his stellar charm was inherent virility but hidden softness. Sam was everything I had ever wanted in a man, even before I knew I wanted it. He was sweet, he was caring, he was masculine – and he was straight.

Not to be outdone, Sam’s mother, too, had her own Stepford-wife like aura about her. I guess that's to be expected of a politician's wife in a town like ours. She was always dressed to the nines, with perfectly dyed hair, the perfect nails, and a killer body that made all of the fathers at the PTA meeting stare when she walked in. Sam was the perfect mixture of both of his parents, the American Dream on feet. Maybe it's no wonder I wanted him.

The first time I began to realize he was more than just a crush was something of a shock to me.  As much as I loved the football team I played with, and I consider myself a loyal person, I had always considered many of my teammates to be fairly typical jocks – and I included Sam in that category.  He was something special to look at, no doubt, but there was really nothing about him to suggest that we were meant to be anything more to one another than friends.

At least, that's what I thought.

Our coach had always been big on charity events and fundraisers, and there was no exception in my senior year.  This particular event was not long before homecoming – and with it falling so close to that all-important game, some of my teammates were pretty pissed that they were expected to give their focus to something else.  Some of these guys were heading to college on sponsorships that might waiver based on their performances here; for some of these guys, football was just the primary reason for their existence.

I was never that guy.  It was a hobby for me, but never a passion – so when a good number of them decided to skip out on Coach, claiming they had the stuff to do for school, it was hard for me to get behind it.  This fundraiser was a carnival, supposed to make money for kids who attended a special learners' school a few towns over.  These were young kids, some of them with pretty serious disabilities and afflictions, and we all knew that Coach's daughter was one of them.  I knew that this guy had done a lot for me.  It just wasn't in my spirit or my nature to refuse him this favor now.

I expected to be the only one there, but when I arrived, there he was already setting up our stand.

Dane, he said – and even today, I can still remember the brightness in his eyes and the surprise in his voice as he saw me approach.  I think, like me, he had been expecting that he'd be the only guy to turn up.  Well… both of us were nearly right.  You came.

Sure, I said.  Sounded like fun.

With only the two of us, we were pretty far behind in setting up when Coach arrived, and he wasn't particularly amused.  Hey, he said.  Wasn't this supposed to be up by a quarter of?  Where have they all goofed off to?

I glanced at Sam.  He was the quarterback, and high school hierarchy is notoriously strict; if anybody ought to answer Coach and tell him the bullshit the other guys had pulled, then it was him.

It's just us, Coach, he said, after a beat.  I remember watching him very carefully – the way the wind suddenly breezed on through and lifted his blond hair out of his eyes like it had done it on purpose.  I'm sorry.  Everybody else had stuff to do for class.

Coach fell quiet for a while after that.  You could see that he had been mad, but it faded off pretty fast.  At least, he wasn't mad at us anymore.  He was probably still pretty disappointed with everybody else.  He wasn't a stupid guy.  I'm sure he knew that the other guys didn't really have work to do for class and that they just thought it was dumb.  There were too many gone for it to be true.  Even so, he knew we couldn't tell him that if he asked.  Teammates didn't work like that.  Probably for that reason, he didn't ask.  Instead, he nodded slowly and patted the counter with his palm.

Well, he said.  Thank you, boys, for turning up.  I appreciate it.  Daisy appreciates it.  He glanced off towards the face painting tent, where a couple of the school kids were spending a little supervised time.  That probably included his daughter.  You just keep trying with that.  I'll be by in fifteen minutes to help you if it's still not ready.  Alright?

Sure, Coach, said Sam.  Thanks.

It was difficult to ignore the feeling of guilt that settled in me on behalf of my teammates, and I imagine Sam felt the same way.  We looked at each other, pulling faces, but