by Sean Kennedy
“What, he didn’t give you the automatic footballer pass of privilege?” Micah asked, throwing his bag in the back.
“He must be an Eagles supporter.”
Micah looked at the inspector as he opened the passenger door; the guy nodded, unimpressed. Micah grinned, and was barely in his seat before Sam floored the accelerator and they were headed towards the freeway.
“So, how was the fam?”
“Their usual selves.”
“Fantastic. Were they happy to see you?”
“They were ecstatic. Beyond words, even.”
“Were you?”
He knew Sam was needling him because he wasn’t engaging in the conversation. “I was happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
Sam gave him a long enough look that made him nervous in regards to him keeping his eyes on the road and their lives out of potential danger.
“Traffic!” Micah reminded him.
“You don’t seem your normal chirpy self,” Sam remarked, becoming a cautious driver once more.
Micah gave him the hairy eyeball. “Are you being sarcastic now?”
“A little,” Sam teased.
“It’s just you’re so chipper that even when you’re being sarcastic you seem really genuine.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I volunteered to take you on. Yin and yang, and all that.”
“I think they already have a patron saint for lost causes.”
“Talking to you is like talking to Dane sometimes,” Sam sighed.
Micah didn’t like the comparison. “How is Dane? Looking forward to my return?”
“Speaking of lost causes….”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
Obviously uncomfortable, Sam quickly changed the subject. “You must really miss them.”
“My family? Affirmative.”
“I mean, I was lucky,” Sam said. “I got drafted by the team I wanted. You know better than anybody else that doesn’t happen to everyone.”
“Are you trying to make me more depressed?”
Sam’s eyes flitted with concern. “You’re depressed?”
“No, Dr. Mitchell! I’m just making conversation.”
“So am I.”
“I met up with my ex.” It was out of Micah’s mouth before he really even finished thinking about it. Why was his mouth always getting him into trouble? Emma would say it was his subconscious wanting to spill everything despite thinking he didn’t want to, and she was probably right. She always was. She would have told him not to meet Kyle as well. Maybe that was why he had never told her beforehand.
If he was expecting Sam to become uncomfortable with the subject at hand, he was disappointed.
“I take it the meeting didn’t go too well, then, huh?”
“Understatement of the year. He has a new boyfriend.”
“Ouch,” Sam said, in a genuinely sympathetic tone. “That sucks.”
“It’s not like I was expecting him to become a monk.”
“Yeah, but it probably seems really quick. We’ve all been there.”
“Yeah? You have?” Micah tried not to sound too disbelieving.
Sam laughed. “Of course! But it sucks even more when you broke up even though you didn’t really want to. I mean, circumstances really worked against you guys.”
“I know we weren’t going to be together forever, I mean, we’re only eighteen—”
“Plenty of people get together at eighteen and stay together.”
“Depressed enough, remember?” Micah reminded him.
“Sorry.” Sam had the tact to look properly admonished.
“But still,” Micah continued, staring out the window as the freeway slowly became highway and the suburbs that hugged the beaches came into view. “I just hoped we would have had longer together than we had.”
“So, were you expecting him to have another reason for wanting to see you?”
Micah refused to stop staring into the distance, looking for the first glimpse of ocean. It was the best thing about his new home. He could grow to love it here, if it wasn’t for everything else. “Yep. The stupidest of all reasons.”
“You thought he wanted to get back together.”
“Like I said, the stupidest.”
The ocean appeared as they crested a hill, and Micah actually lost his breath at the sight of it. It was a calm day, and there was barely a ripple the further out you looked. He almost believed they could walk across it and arrive on the shores of Rottnest Island.
“No.” Sam shook his head emphatically. “Not stupid at all.”
Micah didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like Sam could say anything to convince him otherwise.
“You’re lonely.”
“Maybe.”
“Then we’re going to have to fix it.”
Micah didn’t like the sound of that.
Chapter 8
FOR THE next couple of weeks, the coaches ran them hard, trying to get them to sustain their crop of wins, so Sam was distracted from his task of trying to get Micah a boyfriend. Micah thought it amusing that Sam didn’t use the more blokey “laid,” as het males seemed to do with one another—but maybe that was because Sam was properly shacked up with Maia, and he knew Micah wanted more than just a one-night stand.
Which was ironic, as he didn’t know that Micah was having no trouble getting laid. Micah made use of the tools at his disposal and never lacked for “company” when he desired it. He covered his tracks well, though, fitting in quickies just after training and before he arrived back home at Sam’s in North Beach—usually encumbered with some shopping to excuse his tardiness.
He’d even done what had been unthinkable before—and after one encounter with a cute guy only a couple of years older than himself, he hadn’t blocked him. He’d thought he had been leaving the door open for something more to develop, but he never heard from him again. Had Micah been blocked? If so, was it karma firmly kicking him in the arse for having done it to so many other guys? It was his turn.
Still, it did play with his head a little. What was so bad about him that he had been blocked? Had he not been… good… enough?
Or maybe the other guy was in the same headspace as he had been, and was blocking before anything else could happen.
He was starting to wish his mother’s idea of the “gay book club” was an actual thing—it seemed a whole lot less grubby for a start. Not that he wanted to denigrate anybody’s use of apps to find people, but he was feeling that maybe his use of them was coming to an end.
Until he found himself using it again four nights later.
Arriving back home, he showered and had barely thrown himself onto his bed when there was a knock on his door.
“Enter!” he yelled.
Sam did so, and flopped next to him.
“Darling, not when Maia’s home!” Micah protested.
“Funny. Where did you disappear off to after training?”
Thinking quickly on his feet, Micah once again spun out a smooth lie. “Stopped off in Mount Hawthorn at that book store I like. It’s getting close to Alex’s birthday.”
“Did you get him anything?”
“No. Got some ideas, though.” Such a lie. There were a million things one could buy for Alex there. It was a nerd’s paradise.
“You should have stuck around after training. Had a talk with the guys.”
Micah rolled over onto his side, feeling a little unnervingly close to Sam. He was lying on his back, hands clasped upon his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “Am I being fired?”
“We wish, but, no. We’ve decided to have a little team bonding.”
“No thanks. I’ve heard about hazing. I don’t want to end up on the news with everyone knowing I’ve had an oil enema.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“Oh, is that not what you guys do now?”
“We’re not the military, man!”
He sounded like an old hippie, coming out with sentences like that. “
Okay, spill. What’s the plan, man?”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Never!” Micah lied.
“Well, if you stayed after training every now and again maybe we wouldn’t need extra bonding sessions.”
There was a dig there, and Micah knew it was deserved. It only served to make him more conflicted on his after-hours activities. Was it really worth all the subterfuge—couldn’t he just become more inventive at wanking? It wasn’t like he didn’t do it anyway, even with his “app” sessions.
“I will make more of an effort,” he said guiltily.
“Just riding you,” Sam said. “The guys are up for any socialising, really. So that’s why we’re going to take a walk on the Micah side.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re taking you to Perth’s premier gay nightclub.”
“Don’t you mean its only gay nightclub?”
“Well, The Court has dance nights, but it’s mainly a pub, so, okay, technically, yes. Connections is our only gay nightclub.”
Micah couldn’t help it; he felt nervous. “Are you sure they’re okay about this?”
“They wouldn’t be coming if they weren’t,” Sam told him. “And, okay, not everybody’s coming, but it’s not because of the gay thing. We don’t have a hundred percent attendance at every event we have. Besides, I don’t think Northbridge would survive the whole team out on the piss at once.”
“Northbridge? How about the clientele at Connections? They’ll probably spontaneously combust with excitement.”
“What, at the state’s very own gay AFL hero rocking the joint with them?”
Micah rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re going to find the love of your life there.”
“Oh, yeah? Did you meet Maia at a club?”
“Actually, I did.”
“Really?” Micah couldn’t keep the scepticism out of his tone.
“Yeah, really.” There was a brief pause, as Sam self-consciously scratched his chest. “But she was a friend of a friend, and we were kinda set up.”
“You haven’t planted someone there for me, have you?” Micah asked.
“No! But… we also think it’s maybe a good thing to do to show the public we support you, what with the slur at the Collingwood game and everything.”
“It seems everybody is making more fuss about that than the actual gay guy.”
“And I know why that is. You don’t want to look like a troublemaker.”
Micah laughed softly. “Oh, believe me, I never have a problem looking like a troublemaker.”
“You know what I mean. If the team shows they don’t care, hopefully it will rub off on the supporters.”
“There are a lot more supportive people than there are guys like that dickhead.”
“Maybe. But we want to stamp on it.”
“Like the AFL cured racism?” Micah couldn’t resist the dig.
Sam frowned. He couldn’t argue with that. “Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“And look what happened there,” Micah said.
“They invented pizza.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder and rolled off the bed. “They did okay.”
KNOWING THAT his team was prepared to go to such efforts to make him feel welcome lightened Micah’s heart considerably. At training the next day Craig told him he actually felt sorry that Micah had to go to a gay bar with them.
“Why’s that?” Micah asked.
“Because it’s bloody obvious we’re going to pick up far more than you will.”
You never had to worry about low self-esteem amongst your teammates.
“As long as you let me have your cast-offs,” Micah said.
“I guess we can do that.”
But not everything was so chill. A couple of days after that, Micah was coming up the stairs to head into his bedroom when he heard Sam and Dane arguing in the lounge room. He hesitated, not wanting to listen but not wanting to awkwardly interrupt them either. He stood there, still trying to weigh up his options when it became apparent that he was the subject of contention.
“I think it would be a good way for you to finally bond with Micah,” Sam was saying.
“Are you kidding me?” Dane asked.
“Like it or not, he’s with us for the next year or two, so if you want to keep being a sulky little kid you’re going to find it increasingly difficult. Even Mum and Dad are getting sick of it.”
“Everybody loves Micah! Can’t wait for the sitcom.”
“Everybody likes Micah because he’s not acting like a child. All I’m asking you to do is to come for a night out.”
“And what the fuck makes you think I want to go to a gay bar?” Dane asked.
“Maybe for the same reason we are? To show support for our friend?”
“He’s your friend, not mine.”
“Dane, talk to me. You’re my brother. What’s going on?”
There was a pause, as if Dane was seriously considering spilling his guts about something. Instead he went on the attack again. “Yeah, you’re my brother. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“You must be loving it—you didn’t like the brother you had so you went out and adopted a new one.”
“Do you hear yourself? That’s fucking crazy.”
Sam must have been upset if the word “fucking” had escaped him.
“Is it?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Dane, you’re the one who locks himself up in his room and refuses to do anything with anybody. If you feel like you’re being ignored, it’s because you’re not giving anyone the opportunity.”
“Yep, everything’s my fucking fault. Not like your new best buddy. You don’t even know what he’s up to, but I do. You have no idea.”
On the stairs, Micah slumped. What the hell did Dane mean? Did he know… no, how could he?
“Oh, really?” Sam asked. “What is he up to?”
Micah felt his blood turn cold. He wanted to interrupt them, make his presence known, anything to stop what Dane was about to say—but his feet wouldn’t move. He was stuck there.
“Think about it,” Dane said.
“No, I’m not listening to your bullshit. If Micah has secrets, he’s not the only one.”
There was a long pause, and Micah wished he could see what was going on between them in that moment. What did Sam mean? Did he just mean it generically, that everybody had secrets, or was he actually calling out his brother?
After Dane refused to speak, Sam did so. “Now, are you going to come out with us or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine.”
Realising that he was about to be discovered, and that for the moment he was safe from Dane’s revelation, Micah regained the use of his feet and ran up the few remaining steps, thankful for the thick carpeting. He got a quick glimpse of the two brothers from the doorway as he passed it, but thankfully they were looking away from the hall. Safe in his room, he closed the door as quietly as he could and sank onto his bed with relief. Seconds later there was a knock.
“Yep?” he yelled, quickly sticking his headphones half on his ears, to give a plausible cover for being blissfully unaware of the argument in the other room.
Sam cracked the door open. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“So you’re knocking on my door because?”
“What are you listening to?” Sam ignored his question and supplied his own.
“Beethoven’s Greatest Hits,” Micah lied, on the spot.
Sam stared at him quizzically. “Really?”
“Yep. I’m cultured, me.”
Sam remained loitering in the doorway.
“Did you, uh, want to come in?”
Sam nodded, closed the door behind him, and sat on the end of Micah’s bed. “I should let you know. I invited Dane to come out with us on the weekend.”
<
br /> “Let me guess, he was chuffed by the invite?”
Sam let out a deep breath. “No. He was not.”
Micah shrugged. “I didn’t think he would be.”
Sam didn’t say anything.
Although he really didn’t want to get caught up in their drama, Micah couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible. “Why don’t you arrange to do something one day, just the two of you?”
“You heard?” Sam’s tone was one of weary resignation.
Micah didn’t want to admit he had basically been spying on them. “You were pretty loud. Even over Beethoven’s Sixth.” Did Beethoven even have a sixth symphony? He knew the Bittersweet Symphony was by The Verve, but that was pretty much the limit of his symphonic trivia.
Luckily Sam didn’t appear to have much knowledge of Beethoven’s back catalogue either. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. But maybe you two need some alone time. You and I, we’re practically in each other’s pockets because of training and games and travel. And although that’s part of our job….”
“Dane probably doesn’t see it that way,” Sam said.
“Nope. He just sees us spending a lot of time together.” Although they were roughly the same age, Micah felt years older than Dane. Maybe it was because he was expected to be—a professional team player, with the pay cheque to prove it—and for a moment he wondered what it might have been like to be a normal teenager. Going to uni, staying at home with his parents, shirking having to mature or take on any real adult responsibilities for a while. Arrested development. That was a luxury denied him.
But it didn’t make him resentful of Dane. It just made him think he was acting like a child. Sam was a pretty cool mate, and by what Micah had personally witnessed, seemed to be a pretty cool brother too. And Dane was risking alienating himself from all of that, just because of a grudge against his brother’s “work colleague.”
“I guess I should do something he likes to do.” Sam was practically scratching his chin, in deep thought.
“Probably.”
“So, I could hang out in his room and listen to crap music with him?”
Micah grinned. “I would think of something else.”
Sam nodded. “Thanks, Micah.” Getting to his feet, he slapped him on the shoulder. “You know, you’re pretty cluey when you want to be.”