by Laney Cairo
The suburb wasn't silent, there was a distant hum of traffic, and the trees in Dale's yard rattled and creaked and sighed in the breeze, and the half-drawn curtains billowed and blew into the room.
When they kissed, so gentle it gave Dale pangs of melancholia, it was Shane whose lips moved first, flickering against Dale's in the dark.
Through the pain and struggle it was the hope for this that had kept Dale going, the hope that somehow, in the midst of the disaster, Shane would reach out for him.
Their tongues touched, and it might have been three in the morning and uncomfortably cold outside of the blankets, but it was warm enough where Shane's body pressed against his.
Perry grunted as Shane clambered across the bed to lie across Dale, presumably she'd been thwacked by a foot, and Shane said, “Sorry,” to her with his lips pressed against Dale's again.
Shane was smiling, Dale could tell by the shape of his mouth in the dark, and it made Dale almost laugh out loud with happiness. The friction of skin against skin was doing good things to him, too, and God, if Dale couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy, what had he been doing wrong with his life?
The wind picked up outside, lifting the drapes high, the rain in the air smelled sharp and sour, and while it was nothing like their first night had been, it was still perfect.
A thud and the mattress dipped, and Perry stuck her nose into Dale's left armpit, where his arm was lifted above his head. It made Dale squawk just a little.
"Get out of it,” Dale growled. Perry slunk back across the bed, and Shane rested his head down beside Dale's on the pillow and laughed.
It was funny, of course, if Dale was willing to go with a definition of funny that involved his armpit hair and dog saliva, and he couldn't help laughing too.
He hugged Shane, safely removing his armpit from doggy temptation, and Shane said, “Hey."
"Hey what?” Dale asked, nuzzling Shane's hair and sliding one hand down his back to squeeze a buttock.
"Wanna run away somewhere? Start again?"
Dale could hear the rain now, pattering against the open windows. His belly was filled with warmth, and he lifted his head a little to kiss Shane's forehead. “Can't think of anything I'd rather do,” he said, his voice was thick with happiness.
* * * *
The morning sun woke Dale, and he thought bitter thoughts for a moment about the absence of material to block the sun, but Shane was curled up beside him, buried under the bedding still. Happiness bubbled up inside Dale, and he decided he'd be willing to face the sunrise every morning if he had to.
Shane muttered and squished his eyes tighter shut, so Dale settled for kissing his cheek and sliding out of the bed with minimal disruption to the bedding.
Perry trotted into the kitchen behind Dale, pausing for a doggy stretch, and Dale took the sack of dog food out of the pantry and went and opened the door onto the deck to let Perry out.
He'd have to take the mutt for a run that day, she'd been caged inside for too long, and he wasn't sure how many more boots he was willing to sacrifice.
At ten to seven, Dale took a mug of tea and a warm, damp washcloth into the bedroom, and Shane emerged slowly from under the mountain of blankets. The bruising on his face was fading, but his eyes were still all puffy and stuck together. Dale put the mug down and crawled across the bed to wipe Shane's face carefully, cloth gentle across his eyelids, and his eyes came open.
"Morning, sleepy,” Dale said, and Perry nosed her way between them, snuffling at the wash cloth.
Shane hugged Perry, making her wag her tail, and then took the mug that Dale handed him.
"Wasn't asleep,” he said. “Woke up before you did.” He sipped the tea appreciatively. “Didn't hurt as much this time, or maybe it did but I wasn't as afraid of it."
* * * *
Perry was worn out. Dale had walked her down to the beach and let her throw herself into the foam on the shore, chasing waves in a way that made him suspect she'd never been to the beach before.
Leaving Shane alone in the house had worried Dale, but Lindon had appeared as Dale was leaving, and Dale had been able to stop agonising over whether to leave the bottle of painkillers where they were or take them with him. His sense of honour would have won, he knew that, and it was high time he stopped having these debates with himself.
Cars cluttered his driveway when he walked up, more than just his Ford and Lindon's orange thing. He recognized Lukowski's Porsche, but the black Beemer was new to him. He sincerely hoped that no one he knew drove a tank like the monstrosity blocking the drive.
Dale opened the front door and turned the dog loose. She bolted down the hallway, trailing sand behind her. Shane's luggage was still in the hall, he'd have to get around to unpacking that for Shane soon. It was that or wash some clothes.
People sat around his dining table, and someone had cleared the surface off. Lawyer-types from the day before were arguing with Lukowski and Shane. Dale nodded at the others and leaned over to kiss Shane's cheek. “I better take the hound outside,” he said, and scooped Perry up from where she was trying to hump one of the lawyer's legs and hauled her out onto the deck.
Dale slid the glass door shut and nodded to Lindon, who was washing the dishes with a resigned look on his face. Looked like PAs did do housework after all.
Shane looked up at Dale at that moment, some kind of entreaty on his face, so Dale dragged a chair across from the living room and sat down beside Shane, nudging one of the lawyers over.
"...a reasonable compromise,” Lawyer One said. “Pecuniary settlement advantages, and no harmful publicity."
"How much money?” Shane asked, and he rested his hand on Dale's knee.
"Madison's lawyer has indicated that she'll give up any claim to the Scarborough residence, which at current property values would be in the order of a million dollars,” Lawyer Two said.
Dale carefully spread his hand over the top of Shane's, trying not to press any weight on Shane's swollen knuckles.
"In exchange, you'll agree not to pursue criminal charges against Madison over the assault,” Lawyer Two said. “She's buying you off, but it is a lucrative offer."
"However,” Lawyer One said, “it's possible that her claim to that property would be considered invalid when the property settlement is thrashed out. So you might be saving nothing."
"How long do I have to decide?” Shane asked, and when Dale glanced at Shane's face, the fading bruises made the whole issue seem irrelevant, but no one was asking his opinion.
"Forty-eight hours,” Lawyer One said, gathering up the papers that were spread across the table. “Let us know what you decide."
Lukowski undid the folder of paperwork in front of him. “My turn,” he said. “I contacted Gordon personally about you being ill. I'm afraid you're going to have to agree to an examination by one of the Hammers’ medical examiners."
"No,” Shane said firmly. “I'm not seeing any team doctors ever again. I was sick, and they did nothing about it except give me addictive painkillers which I now have to be weaned off."
"They can insist,” Lukowski said, pushing papers across the table toward Shane. “It's in the terms of your contract. Right, Simon?"
Lawyer One nodded. “Absolutely."
"So break the contract,” Shane said, and he pulled his hand out from under Dale's and splayed both hands over the paperwork on the table. “Look!” he said. “Just look. I've got knees like melons, I can barely walk, and I'm going through fucking withdrawal. Do whatever you need to, but I'm not letting one of their doctors touch me."
Silence surrounded the table, except for Perry scratching at the glass door and Lindon clattering dishes in the kitchen. Dale just wanted to hug Shane, and it was hard not to grin at the varying degrees of horror on people's faces.
Lukowski said, “This is the Hammers, Shane. You can't just ignore them."
"I can if I'm never going play for them again,” Shane pointed out, and Dale couldn't help it, he had to s
troke a hand down Shane's back. Personally, he could go beyond ignoring the Hammers, all the way up to denouncing them, but he was bad-tempered and belligerent on the subject.
Lawyer One said, “You're contracted until the end of next year."
"I don't see how they can force me,” Shane said. “Players quit all the time. I can just leave the team."
Lawyer One, who had passed beyond dismay and was now expressing frantic disbelief, said, “No. No. No."
Lukowski leaned across the table and patted Shane's hand. “Of course you don't have to finish the season if you're ill."
There was a spluttering noise from the more distressed lawyer.
Lukowski shook his head. “I'll set up a meeting with Gordon, just the three of us, and see what we can do to get you released from your contract."
The lawyers left, taking all their papers with them, though Dale could see through the front windows that they were in a tight huddle in the driveway.
Shane leaned forward so his forehead rested on his hands and said, “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” Dale leaned his own head down on the recently scrubbed table and smiled at Shane when he made eye contact.
"That wasn't hard, was it?” Dale said. “It's really easy to piss people off if you try."
Lindon put a teapot that Dale didn't recognise down on the table and stacked mugs next to it.
"A celebratory drink?” Lindon asked, and Dale helped Shane sit back up again. “And if you're not using your career, Shane, may I please have it?"
"Fuck, yeah,” Shane said.
"Hey,” Lukowski said. “This isn't irretrievable. Madison's management has made a statement saying she's been admitted to a clinic for an eating disorder. I'd like you to respond to that somehow, let people know you're ill. If the Hammers let you go, then I think someone like the Goannas will snatch you up, even ill."
"Forget it,” Shane said. “I don't want to talk to anyone about this."
"It's important,” Lukowski said. “There'll be rumours. We need to pre-empt them, before the media has you addicted to ice. A simple, brief appearance would be good."
Dale stood up and walked across to the sliding door and let the dog in. If he had to listen to Lukowski for a second longer, he'd remember that he used to hate the man. Lukowski would start talking about positioning any moment, then Dale would have to lock himself in the study.
Shane looked across at Dale, then at Lukowski. “I'm going to come out,” he said.
"Jeeeesus,” Lukowski said.
Shane smiled at Dale, who sat back down.
"If you feel ready, I can't think of a better way to reclaim your life,” Dale said.
"I'm tired of lying,” Shane said. “No amount of sponsorship money or league games can make up for how miserable I've been."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirteen
Sometimes it helps to let someone else deal with the driving. Sometimes you have to do it yourself.
Shane was weak, ravaged by the anti-inflammatories, and he didn't open his eyes when Dale squatted beside the bed and wiped his face with a warm flannel.
"Sorry,” Shane whispered, and Dale wrung the cloth out in the bucket of warm water.
"Shh,” Dale said. “I'll clean up here, then you can float in the bath while I change the bed."
Shane heard him turn the taps on in the bath, then he came back to the bedroom and half-lifted Shane off the bed and guided him to the bathroom.
The water wasn't too warm when Dale helped Shane in, and Shane laid back in the bath, feet on the taps, head on the tiles, eyes closed.
"Will you be okay for a few minutes?” Dale asked worriedly.
"Toothbrush?” Shane asked, opening his eyes.
"Of course."
Shane was sitting up in the bath, brushing his teeth, when Dale knelt down beside him and stroked his back. “Ready to go back to bed?” Dale asked, and Shane spat into the bathwater and nodded.
"Fuck, I feel crook,” he croaked as Dale wrapped a towel around his shoulders.
"Too sick to go with Lukowski to see Gordon later?” Dale asked.
Shane shook his head. “I've got to do this."
"You don't have to do it alone,” Dale said. “I'm a corporate sponsor; I can prove to Gordon that not all the club's financial supporters are homophobic pigs. Let me come with you."
"And what? Tell him you're my lover?” Shane said. “Is there any way that taking you with me wouldn't be provocative?"
Dale shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “You know the situation better than anyone. Just try and throw up on Gordon."
* * * *
In his car, Lukowski put the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the engine.
"Is there any way I can talk you out of coming out?” Lukowski said. “It's going to cost you all of your endorsement deals, for a start. No other national league club of importance is going to select you from the draft, because there won't be any sponsorship money in it for them. It will be the end of league footy for you."
Shane nodded. He'd spent enough time doing the extraneous work that went with playing with the Hammers to appreciate what Lukowski was saying.
"Is there ever going to be a better time to come out?” Shane asked. “Assuming I'm about to be put onto the permanent injury list with the Hammers anyway."
Lukowski studied Shane's face, and Shane could almost hear cogs whirring.
"Pity you're not going to win the Brownlow Medal this year,” Lukowski said. “Because that would really be the best time."
"I don't think you can convince me to stay closeted indefinitely, just in case I one day get better, play amazingly, and win the Brownlow and the wholehearted support of my peers."
Lukowski shrugged. “It's my job to get you as far as I can in your footy career, and make you rich through sponsorship and contract deals, with a percentage going into my bank account. It's my job to tell you not to sabotage your career."
"If you want to drop me as a client, I'll tear up that contract too,” Shane said.
Lukowski started the car. “Don't be ridiculous. You're young enough that you'll be back playing at state level in a year or two, and I'll do my best to get you there. No state team will give a damn about your sexual preferences, as long as you're still tall and can ruck."
"I'm not planning on getting shorter,” Shane said, and Lukowski grinned at him.
"I've always hated Gordon,” Lukowski said. “Let's go ruin his week."
Shane closed his eyes, to ease the stinging rawness, and the car rumbled down Dale's driveway.
How did he feel about no longer playing league footy? Would he be content with the slower pace of footy at a state level?
It didn't matter, as long as he could be himself and still have a chance to play again.
Lindon met Shane and Lukowski at the reception desk at the club headquarters, damp towel and water bottle in his hands, so he'd obviously seen Shane throw up in the car park.
"Thanks, mate,” Shane said, grateful for the chance to wipe his face and rinse his mouth.
"I've not said anything,” Lindon said, as he led Shane and Lukowski to Gordon's office.
"I appreciate that,” Shane said.
"Don't thank me,” Lindon said. “I just wanted to make sure I didn't get blamed for any of this."
Lindon knocked on Gordon's office door, and Gordon's voice called out, “What?"
Lindon cracked the door and peered around it. “Shane Davis and Lukowski are here, boss."
"Come in,” Gordon said. “You too, Lindon."
"Bugger,” Lindon said under his breath.
"You look like shit, Shane,” Gordon said, as soon as Shane had lowered himself carefully onto a plastic chair. “Good to see you again, Lucky."
"You too,” Lukowski said neutrally.
Gordon waved a piece of paper at Shane. “Got your medical certificate. Doc Teal says you'll be out for a couple of months at least. I'm happy to move you to the long term injury list, until you recover
. Doc Teal suggested you get your cruciate ligaments done now, too, ready for coming back to play in the finals."
Lukowski went to speak, but Shane jumped in first. “I'll do this,” he said to Lukowski, then he turned to Gordon. “I'm coming out,” he told Gordon. “Agreeing to staying closeted was a stupid thing to do, and it's almost killed me."
Beside Shane, Lindon flinched, but Shane didn't shift his gaze from Gordon's face.
Gordon's cheeks blotched red, and the medical certificate crumpled in his hand. “Your contract contains clauses about your public persona, which we negotiated at the beginning,” Gordon said, his voice hard. “Have you forgotten? The deal was that we'd sign a gay player, as long as no one knew. You have contractual obligations to the team sponsors, which this will breach. No cornflake or beer merchandiser is going to be happy if the pretty boy on the carton is arrested for buggering some poor bastard in a public toilet. You will be held to the terms of your contract."
Shane stood up on unsteady knees. “I've never been arrested, unlike most of the squad. I've never given the Hammers any hassles, unlike most of the squad. Fuck you, and your contract. I quit."
"You can't quit, because I've just fired you,” Gordon said, standing and glowering at Shane across his desk. “Clear your locker and get the hell off my team. Our lawyers will contact your lawyers."
Lukowski stood up, too, and the three large men filled the office.
"You're making a mistake,” Lukowski said. “One that will cost you the premiership, since you don't have a replacement ruck."
"I'd rather lose the premiership than all the team sponsorship,” Gordon said.
In the corridor outside Gordon's office, after Gordon had slammed his door and started shouting into his telephone, Lindon said, “The squad are in the gym. Do you want to tell them you're leaving?"
Lukowski slapped Shane on the back. “Go on,” he said. “They will probably feel that you owe them the truth."
Shane nodded. “Alright,” he said, and he had to take a deep breath to steady his nerves. If he could come out to thirty footy players, some of whom were supposed to be his friends, he could come out to the whole fucking world.