All Chapters of The Quarterback's Roommate : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Chapter 52 – Seeing Red (Dante POV) The film session ran long two hours of relentless breakdowns, endless adjustments, Coach barking orders at the backups while the offensive line kept glancing at me every time a play called for a deep drop, like I was still the one who could make it work. I kept my mouth shut. Took notes one-handed in the dim light of the projector. Nodded when asked for input. But inside, the silence from my phone felt louder than any whistle. No text from Eli. No “come home soon” or stupid heart emoji or even a meme about how quiet the dorm was without me stomping around. Nothing. By the time I limped back across campus—snow heavier now, sticking to my sling in wet clumps, shoulder throbbing from sitting tense for too long—the empty feeling in my chest had turned sharp, almost painful. The cold bit through my hoodie, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was the dark window of our room and the fact that Eli hadn’t said a word all day. I pushed the dor

Chapter 54 – Raw Honesty (Dante POV) The dorm was still dark when I woke up, fairy lights dimmed to their lowest setting, casting a faint golden haze across the walls and the rumpled sheets. Snow glowed faintly outside the window, soft and steady, muffling the world beyond the glass. Eli was asleep against my chest, one arm slung carefully over my good side, fingers loose but still curled into the fabric of my hoodie like he was afraid to let go even in sleep. His breathing was slow and even now, but his face told the story of last night: blotchy from crying, lashes clumped together, faint purple shadows under his eyes, a small bruise blooming where he’d rubbed too hard at the tears. I didn’t move. Just watched him. Watched the gentle rise and fall of his ribs pressing against mine. The way his fingers twitched once small, involuntary like he was still reaching for me even in dreams. The slight part of his lips, the faint flush still lingering on his cheeks from the crying that ha

Chapter 56 – Coming Out to Team (Dante POV)The film room felt smaller than it ever had.Same flickering projector, same rows of folding chairs, same faint smell of old popcorn and sweat-soaked gear. But today every seat was filled. No one was scrolling phones. No one was whispering side bets. Eyes were forward—some curious, some guarded, a few already knowing.Coach stood at the front, arms crossed, waiting for the last stragglers to sit.I sat in the second row—sling on, Eli beside me. Our knees touched under the table. His hand rested on my good thigh—steady, hidden from view but there. Solid.Coach cleared his throat.“Listen up,” he said. Voice carrying without effort. “This isn’t a film session. This is a conversation. And it’s happening because Dante asked for it. So you’re gonna give him the floor. No interruptions. No bullshit. When he’s done, if you’ve got something to say—say it. Respectfully. Or keep your mouth shut.”He looked at me.Nodded once.I stood.The sling mad

Chapter 58 – Family Fallout (Dante POV)The drive to my parents’ house was three hours of mostly silence.Eli sat shotgun—knee bouncing, fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie, staring out the window at the flat winter fields sliding past. I kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh—grounding both of us.We hadn’t told them we were coming.I’d thought about calling. Texting. Warning them.But every time I picked up the phone, the words died in my throat.So we just drove.Eli had asked once—quietly, halfway through the second hour—“You sure about this?”I’d squeezed his leg. “Yeah. I’m sure.”He hadn’t asked again.We pulled into the driveway just before dusk. Same single-story ranch house. Same faded basketball hoop over the garage. Same porch light flickering like it always had. Mom’s old SUV was parked crooked. Dad’s truck was gone—probably still at the plant.I killed the engine.The quiet was deafening.Eli reached over—laced his fingers through mine.“You don’

Chapter 60 – Shared Dreams (Dante POV)The guest room was quiet except for the faint tick of the wall clock and the occasional creak of the house settling.Eli was asleep—curled against my good side, head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. His breathing was slow, even, the kind of deep sleep that only comes after crying and relief.I couldn’t sleep.Shoulder ached. Mind raced.I stared at the ceiling—same water stain in the corner I’d noticed when I was sixteen—and let my good hand trace slow lines up and down Eli’s spine under the T-shirt he’d stolen from my drawer.He shifted once—murmured something incoherent—then settled again.I pressed my lips to his hair.Quietly—so quietly I barely heard myself—I started talking.Not loud enough to wake him. Just enough to get the words out.“I used to dream about the NFL,” I whispered. “Since I was eight. Dad would record games on VHS because we couldn’t afford cable. I’d watch the quarterb