The Wild Heart

by Emrys Apollo

  He nonchalantly walked over to his suitcase, trying desperately not to look worried, rummaging for a pair of boxers. “Mm hmm?”

  “Maurice told me what you were talking about last night.”

  Sean felt his world spin. Surely this had to be a nightmare? He turned around to Clint, feeling suddenly naked, wishing desperately that he was dressed. It felt wrong to have this talk when he wasn’t even wearing underwear, for God’s sake.

  Well, honestly, he’d never pictured having this talk with Clint, and from yesterday’s drunken blathering to this early morning confrontation-it was all going too fast and, damn it, Maurice, why?

  He couldn’t get a single word out. He simply stared at Clint, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. His knees were shaking. His entire world had shut down just to Clint. Everything-it seemed-everything hung on this conversation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Clint asked, shading his eyes from the sunlight so Sean couldn’t quite tell if he was angry or sad or… God forbid, disgusted.

  “Clint-” But that was all he could get out. Sean felt choked. Emotions were rising so fast that he felt weak. He wondered if he’d survive this “talk”.

  Clint stood, coming over to him. For one mad second, Sean seriously thought about dashing out the door. But what was he going to do when the journalists found out he’d been running around the hotel in nothing but a towel?

  He couldn’t look at Clint. He couldn’t think or breathe. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t wanted this conversation and Maurice had done him wrong by forcing it. He had made Sean face something he’d been prepared to ignore all his life.

  And that wasn’t fair.

  Clint was standing too close. Sean wanted desperately to step back, but he was frozen.

  “Sean,” Clint said softly, his hand resting gently on Sean’s arm.

  The touch was like fire and it made Sean look Clint full in the face, and then something struck him. Clint’s expression was… odd. He didn’t look uncomfortable or shy or… turned on-he looked concerned.

  Oh God, did he pity Sean?

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sean blurted. “I don’t-I don’t expect anything. I’m happy.”

  Well, it wasn’t very articulate, but at least he hadn’t begged or cried. He mentally awarded himself a point.

  “But why, Sean? You could get anyone you wanted.”

  Sean felt his heart squeeze. So it was a no, then. Did Clint think it was that easy? He felt so numb he wanted to sink down to the floor. Why had Maurice done this? Sean had always known that Clint didn’t think that way-but it was easier to have imagined the no without actually getting it.

  “I don’t know. I’ve tried moving on.” His voice was dull. He couldn’t meet Clint’s eyes again, humiliation, shame and heartbreak overcoming him.

  “Have you tried telling him how you feel?”

  Wait.

  What?

  Sean’s head snapped up. He stared at Clint, who was looking very earnest. “What?” he said stupidly.

  “How do you know if you don’t try?”

  Clint wouldn’t be this cheesy about himself, would he? He wouldn’t talk about himself in the third person. He felt his mind reel.

  He stared at Clint dumbly, afraid to say anything. He didn’t know what was going on, but a very sane part of his mind was shouting at him to be quiet.

  Clint punched him gently in the arm. “You could get anyone you want. You’re Sean Richardson!”

  Sean cleared his throat. Enough was enough. “Um, what did Maurice tell you, exactly?”

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me who, just that-well, you know. But why didn’t you tell me?”

  Relief hit him so hard, he felt his knees buckle. It warred with fury over Maurice opening his big fat mouth in the first place-what had he been thinking? A little heads-up would have been nice. A little text perhaps.

  Hey, Sean, sort of told Clint you were in love with someone. See you tomorrow!

  Something like that. That was the right thing to do. Anything was better than this.

  He was so overwhelmed with relief that he flashed a brilliant smile. Clint looked a little confused at that so he tried to tamp it down somewhat.

  “I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I just- To be honest, Clint, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Clint looked hurt. Sean immediately reached for him, regretting his words. “No!” He was touching Clint’s bare skin now and it wasn’t the first time, but a small part of his brain was getting distracted-he’d never get used to this, never. “No, it isn’t that I don’t want to tell you. I do. I just need some time.”

  Time for what? his mind screamed. He winced inwardly. Why had he said that? He never wanted to tell Clint, not now, not ever. Why did he get himself in these situations? Clint would have gotten over it if Sean had just shut up; instead he’d now painted himself into another corner. What was he going to do the next time Clint brought it up?

  But Clint wrapped his arms around Sean’s neck, burying his nose in his shoulder. Sean instinctively hugged him back, wincing at his burgeoning erection. He hoped to God Clint wasn’t feeling that.

  Who cared if he’d gotten himself into another bad situation?

  If it meant a shirtless Clint pressed against his naked skin, he was very okay with that.

  ***

  Sean concentrated hard on getting Maurice alone during training. He noticed that Maurice was cleverly avoiding eye contact and casually putting distance between them every time Sean tried to approach him. In fact, Maurice was shadowing Clint so well that Sean couldn’t talk to him without Clint overhearing.

  Gritting his teeth, he waited for an opportunity. When Maurice’s shoelaces came loose and he stopped to tie them, leaving him alone, Sean pounced.

  “You are dead,” he growled.

  Maurice held up both hands and Sean was pleased to see that there was a slight note of fear in his eyes. He was sure Maurice could beat him up with both hands tied behind his back but still. It was nice to be awarded that tiny bit of fear.

  “I didn’t tell him about you, man!”

  “I know that, but why’d you have to say anything in the first place?” Sean hissed, noticing that Paxton and Roger were looking over at them.

  Maurice looked guilty. “I just… lost my temper.”

  “What?”

  “He was saying something about you having some alone time to think about your ladies. I just… got mad.” Maurice was mumbling now. “I just felt it was unfair. I’m sorry.”

  Sean felt a wave of affection mixed with irritation. Trust Maurice to get angry about the very same thing he’d done to Sean last night. Impulsively, he kissed Maurice’s forehead, slinging a hand around his neck. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  When they went back to training, Roger was making smooching sounds at Paxton, while Paxton pretended to swoon. So Maurice had to sit on them both.

  ***

  Sean lingered on the field even after training was over. He told the rest of his teammates he’d join them later and continued practicing free kicks and dribbles. Sometimes he felt like he existed only when the ball was at his feet. It made him free in a way he couldn’t feel anywhere else-well, except with Clint.

  But that was an agony too. This was pure joy. Pure confidence, adrenaline and elation. So Sean stayed playing on for another hour, long after all the assistants had left, waving to Sean one by one.

  When his leg muscles started to scream, Sean stopped, breathless, pouring sweat and feeling like he’d just won a marathon. He trooped back to the locker rooms, tired and happy, a ball under his arm, and was astonished to see Clint waiting.

  He had changed and showered and was sitting on the long bench looking through his phone. “Hey,” he said, smiling.

  “Fuck off,” Sean said. They had played on opposing teams during training and Clint had scored six goals. Six, and done a magnificent dribble that had left Maurice on his ass and Owen sprawled, both looking awed.

  Al
though Maurice deserved every bit of it.

  Clint grinned. “You scored 3. That isn’t bad.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” He peeked at Clint to see if this offended him, but Clint was all dimples.

  “We’ll play some Mario Kart later. Give you a chance to redeem yourself.” The cheekiness of it made Sean smile. He loved seeing Clint like this.

  “Nah, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. I’ve gotten really good.” He stripped his jersey off, trying to ignore the blush that always came when he changed around Clint.

  It always felt sexual, somehow.

  Clint snorted. He was back on his phone now, looking at pictures of Andrew.

  “Show me.”

  Clint smiled. He loved talking about Andrew, and Sean loved hearing him talk about Andrew. His eyes always becomes soft and excited, he spoke eagerly and quickly-it was clear that Andrew was his everything.

  “Take a shower first. You stink.”

  “Want to join me? You can see how good I really look. I’m fitter everywhere.”

  He ducked the shoe Clint tossed at his head and went into the showers, laughing.

  ***

  That night, the team sat down to dinner together. It was a tradition they had started during the last summer at the Championship. It seemed to work. Not only did it make them feel less lonely and isolated from their families, but somehow their friendship off the pitch bound them all so much closer on it, improving their play and knitting their passes even more fluidly.

  Sean couldn’t get a seat near Clint, but he managed to sit diagonally opposite. Clint was flanked by both Paxton and Avery. Sean wondered irritably if they even knew who Clint’s best friend was.

  Well, to be fair, Avery was a nice guy. He had a wife and a little girl. He was a good guy. It was Paxton he didn’t trust.

  What on earth did he have to keep whispering about to Clint anyway? Why was everything an inside joke? And why did Clint laugh so much?

  Sean stabbed viciously at his piece of lettuce, glaring at it. Stupid diet. He wished he had some steak. There was no fun in stabbing wilted lettuce.

  He sighed. He was sitting in between Liam and Cleo and they were both talking to each other as if he wasn’t even there.

  He looked over at Maurice. He was surprisingly tipsy, having drunk glass after glass of red wine. Sean grinned. He loved a drunk Maurice. Especially when he so rarely drank.

  Leaning across the table, he shouted, “Maurice!”

  “Hey!” Maurice yelled back, pumping his fists.

  Sean pumped his fists back. “What’s going on?”

  Maurice jabbed his finger at Sean very hard. “You. You tell me.”

  “I’m just sitting here, talking to you, Maurice. Life’s good.”

  “Life is good, Sean! You remember that!”

  Sean grinned. “I will, Maurice. How’re you doing?”

  Maurice nodded, waggling his finger for emphasis as he chewed on a piece of chicken. “I’ve learned a lot in my life, Sean. I could teach you a lot.”

  Sean forced himself not to laugh. “Give me a lesson now. I’m ready.”

  “You must learn to be happy!” Maurice roared, fist coming down hard on the table.

  Sean looked uneasily around, maintaining his smile. Luckily Paxton had started wrestling with Hector, who was sitting on his other side, so everyone at the table were busily occupied, cheering on the fight, wild bouts of laughter and bangs on the table ringing out throughout the restaurant.

  Sean turned back to Maurice. “Yes.”

  Maurice looked suddenly sober. “I’m proud of you, Sean!” He leaned across the table. “You’re fine?”

  Sean nodded. “I’m great!”

  “Listen, don’t worry about-” Maurice mouthed Clint, and then jerked his head towards him.

  Panicked, Sean looked around the table and was relieved to see no one was watching. They were all still busy with the play wrestling. Food was being tossed all over the table now and the waiters were looking agitated.

  Sean smiled until he looked directly opposite at Clint, and that’s when his heart stopped.

  Clint was looking right at Maurice.

  And then, very slowly, Clint turned his head and looked at Sean.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sean didn’t remember much of the rest of the dinner. He smiled, laughed, joked, swore, and shouted with the rest of them, looking everywhere except at the person sitting in front of him-who seemed equally determined not to meet his eyes. But there was a frantic quality about his antics that lent an almost pathetic air to it.

  Nobody else noticed, of course.

  Nobody, of course, except, perhaps, Clinton Blacker. But Clint knew. This time, there was a certainty about it-Sean simply knew that Maurice had given it away-all while trying to cheer Sean up. Wasn’t that a joke?

  He wanted to run away from the table, away from the hotel, fly home immediately. But that wasn’t an option and he held his chin up high, determined to see this through.

  It was, surprisingly, Clint who excused himself first. He smiled at everyone, ruffled Hector’s hair and laughed at a few jokes. But he never looked at Sean.

  Sean busied himself with his phone. Nobody else seemed to notice the two ignoring each other pointedly and he thanked God for small favors.

  He sat at the table long after his meal was over, more subdued now that Clint had left. He still managed to grin and add a few witty comments to the general conversation, but his mind was racing. What would happen when he went back to his hotel room?

  Would Clint confront him? Would he ignore it?

  Sean didn’t know which was worse.

  Maurice had excused himself to bed a long time ago, but Sean didn’t feel any anger towards him. Maurice had only been trying to help-and he wasn’t foolish enough to blame him. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened and he had to face it.

  Sean lingered at the dinner table as much as he could, coaxing Paxton and Hector to stay long after they both wanted to leave. He put on his most entertaining face, hoping that it’d convince them. It worked for a while, but after 2 a.m., Hector firmly said no, standing and leaving. Paxton jumped at the opportunity and retired too, leaving Sean no option but to go back to his room.

  They were both staying one floor below Sean so once they left the elevator, he felt his heart pounding so hard that he worried he’d faint. His palms were sweating and his stomach was roiling so bad, he wondered if he’d throw up.

  Standing outside their room, Sean leaned his head against the door. Please, God, he prayed. He didn’t know what he was actually praying for. A reprieve? Mercy? Amnesia?

  Taking a deep shuddering breath, he stuck his room card through the electronic slot and the door clicked open. Knees shaking and heart thumping, he entered the tiny hallway, lights automatically coming on at the opening of the door. He could see that the room ahead was in darkness.

  He closed the door quietly behind him and turned the light off. For a second he stood in the darkness, listening.

  He couldn’t see anything now and he fumbled slowly to his bed. The curtains were heavy and they blocked any bit of light. The darkness felt oppressive; he was aware of a sense of suffocation.

  He sat down quietly, keenly aware that Clint was lying down in the next bed. For a moment, he stayed absolutely still, listening to Clint’s breathing.

  It was regular, deep, rhythmic.

  Relief swamped Sean. He carefully shed his shoes, placing them as quietly as he could on the floor. He crawled slowly under the sheets, hoping that the rustling wouldn’t wake Clint. His movements were noisy enough that he couldn’t hear Clint’s breathing anymore and he settled in the bed, hoping Clint was still asleep.

  And that was when he realized that the rhythm had changed.

  The breaths were shallow now and quicker, irregular.

  He’d woken Clint up!

  His heart began to pound again, so loud that he wondered insensibly if Clint could hear it. His eyes were
wide in the dark. He could see the general shape of things now, but he dared not turn his head to look at Clint-because what if Clint was facing him?

  Sean waited with bated breath for so long that he began to see spots in his vision. He hauled in a breath as noiselessly as he could, but it still sounded harsh and loud in the silence. He wondered if he should say something, but fear kept him frozen.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Clint’s breaths deepened again.

  Sean stayed awake for a long time, eyes wide open, a hand on his heart.

  ***

  The next day, Sean woke to see Clint’s bed empty. He sat up instantly and craned his head to look at the door where Clint kept his training shoes. They weren’t there.

  Clint had left without him?

  It had never ever happened before. Even when they’d had bitter, vicious arguments, they’d still waited for each other. They’d trooped to the training ground together in angry silence. Clint had never ever let him go to training alone.

  It was a small matter, but it felt like the worst thing he’d ever gone through. Hysteria bubbled up in his chest. Had he lost Clint? Had he frightened him away? The dread was so strong, he rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved over the toilet.

  He sat on the floor for a long minute, head leaning on his knees.

  He made up his mind then and there that he’d speak to Clint. He’d talk to him. He’d tell him it didn’t matter, that he didn’t want anything.

  He just needed Clint in his life. That was all.

  ***

  He made his way down to the training ground in record time. Clint was already out there, practicing headers. He avoided eye contact, but Sean was having none of that and he marched over.

  “Clint-”

  “No.”

  Sean stopped short. They stared at each other. He opened his mouth again, but Clint cut him off.

  “Come, practice with me.” His eyes were a warning.

  Sean swallowed. “Please, Clint, just listen-”

  “I’m sorry,” Clint said quietly, interrupting. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you today. I was nervous about the match.”