by Laney Cairo
When he'd fallen limply back on the bed, hands slipping out of Shane's hair, Shane clambered up the bed and flopped down beside him.
"Oh, fuck,” Dale managed to whimper.
Shane's arm was heavy across Dale's chest, a comforting weight, and he pressed his mouth to Dale's shoulder. “That was amazing,” he said, his voice muffled as his lips moved across Dale's skin.
Dale managed to move enough to kiss the top of Shane's head. “Yeah,” Dale whispered. “Welcome home."
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Chapter Seventeen
Some journeys don't end; they last for all your life.
First match of a new season and Shane was unreasonably nervous, considering he was a battle-hardened veteran of the national league.
Lindon, wearing the purple and black of the Koalas, the state footy team based in Gwerup, looked around the tiny, crowded clubroom. The squad weren't as rough as Evan's C grade team had been, but they were uniformly young. Shane suspected he was the oldest player there; the rest of the team were talented kids who had missed the national draft and wanted a chance to play senior level footy anyway, in the hope they'd eventually be recruited directly into the national league.
"I'm not going to shout at you,” Lindon said. “You're a new squad, with something to prove, and that's enough motivation for anyone. So go out there and play the best footy you can, all of you. If you're floundering, look to your captain for guidance. That's what Shane's job is."
New coach, new captain, new year.
Shane had been happily playing C grade football, slowly getting back his strength, when Lindon had been head-hunted from his assistant coach position at the Hammers to take over the ailing Koalas as head coach. Did Shane want to go back to playing senior footy for a state team, with Lindon as his coach? Was Shane interested in playing pharmaceutical-free footy? Was he prepared to take a chance on a young team who were just starting out?
There was nothing Shane would rather do, and no one he would rather trust with his return to form than Lindon.
Shane slapped the back of his vice captain, an eighteen year old kid from Kindinup who was even taller than Shane. “Come on, Mikey,” Shane said. “You get to lead us out onto the paddock."
The squad, in brand new purple-and-black guernseys, scooped up water bottles, and the siren on the oval sounded.
Lindon caught Shane's eye and nodded slightly, and Shane grinned back at him. It wasn't just the first match for a new team; it was the first time an openly gay man had played at senior level, and whatever happened in the match, that was a huge victory.
The banner waiting for the team to run through wasn't as grand as some that Shane had seen before, but he was still grinning as he followed Mikey through the tatters of tissue paper, out onto the paddock.
Shane had played state footy before, as an eighteen year old kid from the country, so he knew that the grandstand would be almost empty, with a smattering of knitting grannies on the benches, and that the rest of the spectators would be spread out around the grassed banks, picnicking, playing with their kids and enjoying the autumn sunshine.
What the knitting grannies made of the Lost Sunday crowd, with their pink flags and banners, Shane wasn't sure, but he hoped none of the old dears fainted.
Lindon tossed some practice balls amongst the team, and Shane grabbed one and handballed it to one of the new kids, then gestured for the kid to run with him, passing the ball between them.
Frank and Dale's corporate advertising was plastered around the paddock fence. The letter Frank had sent the Hammers, withdrawing corporate sponsorship, had made Shane wince, but Frank and Dale seemed pleased with it. Money talked, at least on that occasion.
No corporate box now, not with them sponsoring the Koalas.
Shane ducked and turned, testing the strength of his knees under rotation, making sure the layers of strapping were holding, and gestured for the kid he was handballing with to head up the other side of the paddock.
Someone whistled, loud and piercing, then shouted, “Shane!” and when Shane looked over his shoulder at the grassed bank to locate the shout, the ball whistled past him.
"Sorry, Shane,” the kid said, dashing past Shane to retrieve the ball, but Shane didn't reply.
He was staring at the unlikely looking group clustered against the fence. Deano, Digger, Baz, Ant, and Budgie, with matching wives. No Toddo, since he'd transferred to a Melbourne-based team, following Madison across the country so she could take up a recurring role in a soapie. Most of the time, Shane felt sorry for the pair of them, at least until he was confronted with yet another fucking magazine spread about Madison.
"We weren't going to miss this!” Budgie shouted, while Digger waved a massive arm in greeting.
"Gotta support you and Lindon!” Deano called. “Go and win the game, you wanker! We'll catch you in the bar after."
The siren sounded again and it was time for Shane and the other team's captain to call the toss and choose ends. Somewhere in the grandstand would be Dale, wearing the purple and black scarf Shane's mum had knitted him, with Shane's chain and ring around his neck for safe-keeping. Shane and a very shaggy Perry would watch Dale play for the Forrest C grade team the following day, and after Dale's disastrous black eye at training that week, Shane couldn't wait.
Shane waved at the grandstand as he ran back to the centre, the rest of his team scattering around the paddock to their positions.
"Heads,” the captain for the visiting team called, as the umpire tossed the coin in the air.
"And it's tails,” the umpire said, retrieving the coin from the grass.
The sea breeze was in and wouldn't fade before the match was done, so Shane pointed into the breeze and said, “That end."
He was playing centre half forward, the traditional captain's position, so he loped up the paddock, ready to play.
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