Title: JFH: Justin F**king Halstead
Author: GiGi DeGraham
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 07/16/2024
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 80200
Genre: Contemporary Sports, contemporary, new adult, gay, friends to lovers, geeks, sports, athletes, university students, professional football, celebrities, sexual assault, disabilities, closeted, family dynamics, hurt/comfort
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Description
Ethan Andrews never saw Justin Halstead coming. A broody jock with a propensity for studying. A hot-mess conundrum who, for some reason, continues to show up at Ethan’s dorm room door.
Something is happening between them, but one particular sport stands in the way. Ethan never imagined falling for an overbearing, overprotective athlete with a Hall of Fame future and a secret heart of gold.
Taking the giant leap out of the closet nearly killed Ethan, and no one seems to understand his desire to close that door and stay inside his safe place. Strangely, Ethan finds he’s not alone, and it’s with the last person he ever expected to be his biggest supporter…
Future NFL Quarterback—Justin F**king Halstead.
(A trope-bending love story)
JFH: Justin F**king Halstead
GiGi DeGraham © 2024
All Rights Reserved
A spark of hope ignited, and it was a devastating thing.
Devastating because while Ethan wasn’t clueless, he was an overthinker. He’d seen something in the hard look Justin had given him. He thought about the assignment from their shared class last spring and possibly having a genuine friend who didn’t come across as obsessed with another’s trauma. One who wouldn’t bring it up every five minutes or smile at him while their eyes spoke the truths of their pity. People meant well; they just didn’t always realize how much they kept the trauma alive with those good intentions.
Then, there was the other issue. Ethan wondered what Justin’s intentions truly were. He was straight, no doubt about it. Ethan had seen Justin Halstead with the same girl several times during the previous fall semester. He reached for his phone but didn’t swipe the screen. Too many conflicting thoughts filtered through his mind. It wasn’t that a straight guy couldn’t be friends with him, but it wasn’t really the norm. Girls, sure, they were like a flock.
Sighing, then rubbing at his eyes with the headache he was giving himself, Ethan swiped the screen.
Justin: I saw you there. What did you think?
Ethan bit his lip trying not to grin as he read the message a second time and then typed back.
Ethan: Just so you know, my dad is a high school football coach. He was pretty pumped and encouraged me to go. I think you have a new fan in him since that was the first football game of my life. It was good, congratulations, but how bad are you hurt?
Justin: Wait, holy shit, is your dad Coach John Andrews? That’s your dad?
Ethan: That’s him.
Justin: Damn, dude, he’s a great HS coach. And you never played?
“‘Dude,’” Ethan said and rolled his eyes.
He guessed he was going there, into the land of despised dude-bro slang and diving headfirst into the pit of very bad, bad ideas. While Ethan knew he should end this conversation, probably stop this…whatever it was, he couldn’t push the button and lay his phone down. His thumbs went to work, and he sat up a bit straighter in the bed.
Ethan: “Dude,” have you seen me? I played hockey when I was a kid, but no football. Track and cross country, like my mom. I take after her. Let’s just say she’s the bean pole, and he’s “the mountain.”
Justin: The mountain is your dad. I can’t believe it. He’s a legend.
Ethan was about to respond and continue the conversation about his father and football history and why it had made him hate football as a child. Tell Justin all about his dad’s constant traveling and, unfortunately, missing out on many milestones in Ethan’s life. His dad loved him fiercely, and Ethan equally loved his father. He’d just grown up directing his anger at the sport that consumed the time he wanted with his hero. Before he could type in all of that, another message popped up.
Justin: What are you doing?
Ethan: Lying in bed and watching TV.
Ethan reached for his remote, flipped it on, and thumbed through the channels until he stopped on an old movie.
Justin: What are you watching?
Ethan: Half-ass watching Twister for the millionth time.
Justin: Dude, that’s on repeat, or it’s Shawshank.
Ethan: Right.
Justin: Do you game?
Ethan: Not really. Why?
Justin: I was going to see if you played online.
Ethan: I have the gear. I just never set it all up. You know why.
Ethan had to be sure to test the waters with that last comment, and he waited to see what Justin would say, to see if their convo took a turn in the typical direction.
Justin: No shit. What games do you have?
And Ethan sighed, sat all the way up, got up, and turned on his light. He opened the cabinet door beneath his television and pulled out the box of stuff his parents had bought him. His phone roared like the stadium, and he answered instantly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m dragging it all out to look and see. My parents got me all of this, and I’ve never opened any of it.”
“Want some help setting it up? Then we can play.”
“Sure, you aren’t at a party?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t party, but I do game,” Justin said, and the phone clicked silent.
Ethan looked at his screen and saw Justin had, in fact, abruptly ended the call. Shit, he hadn’t meant right now.
*****
Ethan abandoned the game box and, in instant panic, ran to his dresser and pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt, followed by a minor run-around freak-out session, a toothbrush in his mouth with one hand and cramming his dirty clothes into the hamper with the other. At the same time, he kicked at his shoes, hurling them haphazardly into the closet. Ethan heard a quiet knock.
What the fuck, did he run here?
Ethan visualized Justin as the athlete he was and hastily spit into the sink and rinsed. Unlocking his door and opening it, the coolness of the hallway hit the sheen of sweat he’d worked up in his holy shit, holy shit haste.
“I didn’t think you meant right this minute,” Ethan panted, glaring at Justin.
“You said game. Magic words, man, magic words.” Justin grinned wide and slapped Ethan on the shoulder hard as he barreled into his suite.
Ethan umphed and closed the door. Jesus. He rubbed at his shoulder, still feeling the friendly and unfamiliar stinging greeting.
“Um…” Ethan held out his hands, indicating his living space. “This is it.”
But Justin was already at the television, pointing down to a gift-wrapped box halfway dragged out of the cabinet and resting angled on the floor.
Ethan sat on the couch and stared at the box. He knew what was inside. The console, the games, and all the equipment, still wrapped in cheerful holiday paper. None of it had been taken out of the original boxes or packaging. It hadn’t been a good Christmas, and his parents had bought gifts, all the things Ethan had asked for, before everything had happened.
Before.
Ethan swallowed hard and shook his head. Nope, not going there. He looked at the wall where his breathing exercise instructions were taped and followed them, trying desperately to bring himself down from the beginnings of a flashback.
“Hey,” Justin whispered.
Ethan could see Justin turn to where Ethan’s attention was deadlocked. His eyes ping-ponged back and forth between Ethan’s counted exhales and the poster-sized instructions on the wall. Ethan couldn’t speak as he worked through it. Such shit timing, but he never could plan for these things. He couldn’t prepare for something as insignificant as Christmas wrapping paper and what it could do to him. These attacks just happened when they wanted to, almost always with the worst possible timing.
Justin frowned at the poster momentarily and then turned with almost a glare to Ethan. His eyes seemed to assess, and then he put his hand in front of Ethan’s face and snapped his fingers harshly.
Ethan jerked, sucked in a breath that wasn’t to a count, and widened his eyes.
“Nope, snap out of that shit,” Justin said, and then he turned and ripped the Christmas paper off the box, brutally crushing it before hurling it away and out of Ethan’s sight.
Ethan’s eyes burned, but he could breathe in gasps, and he blinked at Justin, wanting to know what the hell he’d just done to make that happen.
“Come on; this is a two-man job,” Justin said with authority, leaning over and dragging the box in front of the couch. “The faster we get this set up, the quicker I’m ending you. Unless we play two-player as a team. Then I won’t kill you.”
And Ethan calmed down as he watched Justin slice across the unbroken tape with a key from his keyring and flip open the flaps. Next, Ethan was clutching a factory-packaged bundle of chords and a controller that had been shoved into his hands. He sat dumbstruck, until Justin snapped those fingers again, jerking Ethan into action, yanking him away from Christmas paper images and back to the task at hand.
“And, yes, I am definitely studying here. Holy shit, this is the fucking Zen dorm,” Justin announced as he continued to empty the big box. It was all spread out on the coffee table and between them on the couch. Justin leaned back for a moment as he seemed to assess it all, as if in all its glory, and then looked at Ethan and grinned.
“Dude.”
“Dude,” Ethan lamely repeated and mustered a little laugh. What the fuck was happening?
“We can play online with this one, those too,” Justin said, assessing the games. “But I don’t have that one. And you still need a few others. But this one—” He tapped the case. “This is where we’ll start.”
Justin took over once more, giving directions to Ethan that Ethan followed, strangely going along for this unexpected ride. Together, they set up everything and waited for a system update to finish loading. Justin flopped down on the couch next to him again and indicated the controller in Ethan’s hands and the matching headset he now wore, as well as Justin.
“You’ll need a player name, and then we’ll create your character profile,” Justin said.
“Ethan.”
“No, you don’t use your real name. You have to have a screen name. We’re killing a few twelve-year-olds along the way. You don’t want those little bastards to know your real name. They are vicious,” Justin said seriously, then laughed. “We’ll also play other teams, older players, players our age. But those kids…” Justin shook his head with a grim expression. “You’ll see. They are the worst shit-talkers.”
“What’s yours?”
“Turfrunner14,” Justin said and then grinned.
“Crosscountry309,” Ethan said. The update had been completed, and he watched as Justin typed it in and set up Ethan’s profile.
“Now, pick your character.” Justin motioned to his controller.
“You go ahead since you know what you’re doing. Do you want some water? Snacks?” Ethan asked as he got up.
“Yeah, but you’ll regret this.” Justin went to work, creating a ridiculous character for Ethan.
Ethan watched Justin and the screen as he gathered supplies, setting everything down on his coffee table. Justin took a water and glanced at him—for real this time—not with the frenzy of his entrance or the insanity they weren’t acknowledging throughout the setup. Justin scanned Ethan’s arms. Ethan wondered what Justin would think of the worst of the scars hidden beneath his shirt.
“Permanent?” Justin asked.
Ethan nodded. “But they’re getting better; they’re fading. I have these scar patches the doctor prescribes. They’ve helped.”
“All right,” Justin said, his attention back on the screen. “We’ll start from the beginning so you can learn and catch up to where I am. Then, we can switch to online.”
“And kill the evil gamer children?”
“Every last one.”
And that was how he and Justin spent the next four hours, with Justin teaching him the game and Ethan dying so many times with Justin explaining where he went wrong. It was all so normal. Ethan’s eyes stung, but he nodded as his fingers got accustomed to the fast buttons and what function each one did.
“So, these are pretty sweet,” Justin said, tapping the side of the gaming headset.
“Yeah, you have those, too?”
“Different, but just as good. We should be able to play, no problem.” Justin stood, stretched, and groaned.
“How are you even walking?”
“It only hurts when I move,” Justin admitted.
“Want to stay over and keep playing?” Ethan motioned to the other bed in his large suite. “I have a spare. They did this room right before they put me in here. My parents have stayed here with me on their visits.”
“Hell, yeah.” Justin kicked off his shoes and sat back down, grimacing. “But now I’m fixing to kick your ass in this game. You have any Aleve?”
“No doubt. I’ve got Tylenol.”
“That’ll work.”
It was all so strange, as he and Justin played and ate candy and shit they shouldn’t. The snack basket his mom replenished each visit was now completely empty, his trashcan full. He yawned, and Justin contagious-yawned after him.
“All right,” Justin agreed without it being said, saving their progress and shutting down the game. “Toothbrush?”
“Yeah, top drawer, but you won’t like the color,” Ethan said, testing.
“I don’t care, as long as it gets the Sour Patch Kids taste out of my mouth.” Justin headed into Ethan’s bathroom.
Ethan flipped off the lights, turned on the lamp by the spare bed, and then the light by his. He went into the bathroom as Justin came out. The sparkly purple toothbrush now joined his in the cup, just thrown in there with Ethan’s like it was nothing. No big deal.
He finished up and shut off the light. Justin was already in the other bed, his clothes folded on the desk chair and lamp light out. Ethan crawled into his own and turned off the light, smiling in the dark. It was strange to have a friend, someone to hang out with and who could crash over.
Ethan found himself wanting to thank Justin, but he rolled over, deciding to be cool and not make a big deal out of it, take a page out of Justin’s book, it seemed. And with Justin breathing evenly, Ethan closed his eyes.
*****
“Wake up, Ethan, wake up,” Justin said next to him. His hands were up like he was under arrest.
“What?” Ethan asked, confused.
“You were having a bad dream,” Justin said, hands still up and unmoving.
“Why are you holding your hands up like that?” Ethan rubbed his eyes in the light.
“No threat. I am not a threat,” Justin said, a little panicky. “I just thought…” He lowered his hands. “It was a bad dream, man.”
Ethan nodded. “I’m good. Sorry I woke you up.”
Justin shook his head. “No, it’s fine; go back to sleep.” He clicked off the light for a second time that night and headed back across the room.
“Sorry,” Ethan said and pulled up the blankets he’d clearly kicked off as he fought his demons in the night. He could only imagine what Justin had heard.
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GiGi DeGraham lives, plays, and learns in New Orleans. She is a proud southerner and enjoys fixing up old houses and writing. Most of her story and character ideas develop while sanding and painting. She loves to roller skate and has a favorite author-named cat called Irving, after Washington Irving. You’ll always find her with an audiobook in her ear and listening to everything narrated by Kirt Graves.
GiGi prefers the outdoors when the weather permits, going on rock and fossil hunts or visiting local rock shops. Otherwise, she’s clacking away at her keyboard until the wee hours. GiGi firmly believes downtime should be spent on a porch swing. GiGi is a life-long supporter of the LGBTQ+ community.
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