Crossing the Touchline

by Jay Hogan

  Thursday training had gone well, and we were just heading for the showers when the coach shoulder-tapped Mathew and myself to take a sidebar with him off-field. We side-eyed each other, wondering what the fuck we’d done wrong. We were both still in great form—nothing to warrant a call-out leastways, and even when the coach handed me his phone, I still didn’t click, not until I recognised the guy at the other end… and, holy shit. It was one of the All Black selectors inviting me to the pre-Bledisloe training camp in Christchurch the next week. The Bledisloe fucking Cup. A three-test series against Australia, it was a legendary grudge match, and the first game was just over a month away. I mumbled something underwhelmingly ridiculous like “thank you very much” and handed the phone to Mathew, who also got an invite while my brain quietly exploded.

  I was so fucking stoked. Mathew and I high-fived each other, catching the eyes of our teammates, who were quick to get the details and join in on the congratulations. Having a potential AB in the team was good for everyone, but potential was the word. A training camp call-up was just that, a look-see. It wasn’t a guarantee of jack shit, but it was a step closer to my childhood dream and some security for Cory’s future.

  The big money, sponsorship, and glory only came with that coveted black jersey. Still, it was a good start, and I was about bursting out of my skin with excitement. I hauled my phone out before I even reached the locker room, and one glance at Mathew saw him busy on his as well. I smiled and couldn’t help but wonder if we were texting the same guy. He knew Cam and I had shared a coffee or two together as friends but no more.

  I went with a lyric. “Two cents for a dream, a lifetime for the promise, make it happen, yeah”

  Not long ago it would’ve been Georgie I’d texted, and I couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt. I’d been neglecting our friendship, and I needed to remedy that quick-fast. We hadn’t connected in weeks, and I didn’t want to be that friend. The one who only called when I needed her.

  I fired off a text telling her the news and asked her to dinner and a movie on the weekend. The Blues weren’t playing, and it would be a good time to catch up. She called back, screaming hysterically down the phone, and had me in tears of laughter instantly. I’d missed her, and it was my fault. Her initial concerns about Cam had pissed me off but that shit needed to stop, and I vowed to give her the Cliff’s Notes version when I saw her. In the end she’d have my back either way, I trusted that.

  Waiting for Cam to text back stretched my patience, but I knew he didn’t always have his phone on him at work. To be honest I didn’t know if he’d make the lyric connection, especially since he’d have to factor in the band name to really understand it. I shoved my phone in my gym bag and headed for the showers, where Mathew and I had to run the gauntlet of a double row of snapping wet towels in the hands of our teammates. We were striped in red whip marks for the next hour, and I loved every arse-stinging minute of it.

  I checked my phone before dressing and saw four missed calls from my father. Fuck him, he could wait. But one message drew my immediate attention.

  Black It, “Two Cents” and WTF!!!!!! :)))) Just heard from Mathew. Hell yeah. Sooo fucking proud of you. When?

  My heart picked up. Next Tuesday. Christchurch.

  You’ll kill it!

  Maybe. Another text, this from my father telling me he’d see me at my place. Fuck. I didn’t answer. Instead I texted Cam again.

  Thanks. Fingers crossed.

  He replied a minute later. Wanna celebrate? I’m heading to Mathew’s. Most of the team will be there. You?

  Didn’t I wish? Nah. Dad’s at mine with Craig :(

  That sucks.

  Big time.

  CRAIG AND Cory were there with our father when I got back to my apartment, and there was pizza and beer on the table. Not that they’d waited for me, of course, but at least there were a couple of beers and a few slices left, which was good news since I had a fair idea it was my credit card that had purchased it. I had a low-limit one I let Craig use when he needed stuff for Cory, and on the whole, he didn’t abuse it, but my father had no such compunctions. The thought of dipping into his own pocket to congratulate me wouldn’t have even occurred to him.

  Dad appeared to be in a good mood, although my brother wasn’t. Already well under the weather with a slew of empty beer bottles stacked in front of him on the table, Craig was slurring his words and ignoring his son, who was on the floor behind the couch, head down and pushing his truck around in circles. It was something Cory did when he was anxious, like when his dad was pissed as a newt.

  I took a seat at the table and glared at my father. “I hope he didn’t drive here in that state.”

  Craig slammed his beer on the table, shooting its contents all over my arm and onto the floor. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. “You think your shit don’t stink anymore, just cos you got the call? You ain’t an All Black yet, you know.”

  My father joined in. “Lighten up. Craig’s a grown man. He can do what he wants.”

  “Not with Cory in the car. Jesus, Dad. Couldn’t you have picked them up?”

  He flipped me off. “I did, moron. But I’m not dropping them back. It’s too far out of my way. They can crash here tonight. You can drop them back in the a.m.”

  I bit back the vitriol teetering on the tip of my tongue. “I have gym training first thing. I don’t need his hungover arse holding me up. And who’s got Cory tomorrow?”

  My father smirked. “How should I know?”

  It was all I could do not to slug my father there and then. “Can’t you take them home?”

  He shrugged. “No. I’m gonna call in at Phil’s on the way and I’m not wasting time getting rid of those two first. If you haven’t got time, put them in an Uber. In fact you could do that tonight.”

  Ugh. “I can’t. You know how Cory gets when he’s woken up like that at night. Jesus, Dad, it’s not like you’re working.” Fuck. Too far.

  He turned a cold stare on me. “Shut your mouth. You’re not too old for me to lay you out, you know?”

  I caught the upswing of Cory’s head at his grandfather’s raised voice. Goddammit. He didn’t need to hear this. I sent my father a pissed-off glare and settled Cory in front of the television with his headphones on.

  Then I sat and returned an equally cold gaze his way. “The days of you taking a swing at me are done, old man. Just so we’re clear.” There was menace to my tone.

  He held my eyes, but I glimpsed a waver of indecision there. I didn’t usually challenge him—it wasn’t worth the grief—but I’d had it with his bullshit.

  His eyes slid away, and he cracked another beer. “Whatever. I’m still not taking your brother home,” he spat.

  I said nothing. That he’d backed off was a victory in itself; it didn’t pay to be greedy.

  But my father wasn’t done. “You need to watch your mouth if you want to keep living here rent-free.”

  “I pay rent,” I argued.

  “Not enough,” he countered.

  “I look after Cory as well, and help Craig out when he needs it, and I get labouring work in the off season.”

  My father snorted. “Hardly counts as a proper job. Craig has to run a business.”

  I glanced at Craig, slouched in his chair, eyes half closed, a trail of drool running from the corner of his mouth. And this was a fucking role model? “What the fuck? I have a proper job, Dad, with the Blues, Super Rugby, remember? Something you pushed the hell out of me to do. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve just been asked to train with the fucking All Blacks. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right? You should be fucking over the moon.”

  His gaze shifted uneasily before locking nastily onto mine. “It ain’t happened yet, so don’t get ahead of yourself. And if it hadn’t been for me pushing you and keeping your nose clean all those years, they wouldn’t have been interested. No one wants a fucking faggot in the All Blacks.”

  The air rushed from my lungs and my mouth dropped ope
n. My father had never raised the subject openly, settling for filthy comments and innuendo. Craig jolted upright, and I sensed his gaze land on me at the same time as his knee knocked hard against mine under the table. I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose, in warning, sympathy, or disgust, and I wasn’t prepared to break with my father’s gaze to confirm which.

  A sneer crossed Dad’s face and his lip curled. “You’re lucky I slapped any idea of that shit out of you when you were younger. I won’t be embarrassed in front of my friends. I don’t care how good you are, you’re dead to this family the minute you do anything different. All of this family. Don’t think I don’t know how much you care about that kid.”

  “Dad….” Craig’s voice carried a note of pleading that set my alarm bells ringing.

  My father spared him less than an irritated glance. “Shut it.”

  Craig slumped in his chair.

  Something was off. My gut clenched but I said nothing. When Dad raised the subject of Cory, it was never a good thing.

  And sure enough, his lips pressed into a thin, mean line, and his eyes flattened. “Craig says you’ve been seeing a fair bit of this Wano fag.”

  Fuck. I threw an accusing look Craig’s way, but my brother’s gaze remained intent on his shoes, drawing further in on himself.

  My father arched an eyebrow in mocking amusement. “Thought I wouldn’t find out, did you?”

  I snorted, doing my best to appear unconcerned. “Nothing to find out, old man. Cam’s a friend, is all. Why are you so interested?”

  The corners of his mouth curved up in a thin, oily smile. “He’s a fucking faggot, that’s why,” he spat back. “Got your dick all wet, has he? Well, you best think carefully on your priorities, son. That one’s as queer as they come, and you might just get away with being a faggot All Black, political correctness being what it is, but no one’s gonna want to see that makeup-wearing queer on your arm. And I won’t have my grandson around that.”

  I hated my father in that moment. Barely contained fury sang through my veins, and it was all I could do not to deck him there and then for his filthy, homophobic, disgusting mouth. But as much as I wanted to follow through, it would only make things worse. There was too much at risk. Not just Cory, but Cam as well. I wouldn’t put it past my father to do something that would jeopardise Cam’s job or his brother Mathew’s reputation, and so I bit my tongue and fumed silently, all the while knowing I’d yet again let someone disrespect Cam without comeback.

  I met my father’s self-satisfied smirk, and glared. “Blackmail, Dad? Really? That’s low, even for you. And in case you’ve forgotten, Craig fucking needs me. He wouldn’t last a week without my help.”

  My father’s eyes flattened. “He can get a sitter, pay for it out of that rent we’ll be getting once you’re not freeloading in that apartment. But there are other solutions.”

  Fear stabbed at my chest and a glance Craig’s direction caught guilt washing over him. “What’s he talking about?” I demanded. “What have you done?”

  My father leaned back in his chair, and I wanted to slap the smile clean off his face. He shrugged. “We’ve done nothin’,” he said. “But best you remember that kid has more than one family. I’m thinking it’s time we spread the load.”

  I gaped. “What the fuck? Cory needs special attention, things I can make happen for him. Most of his mother’s family are a cheap ticket away from prison, you moron.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  And a creeping suspicion grew like ice in my belly. Turning to my brother, I found him staring into the distance. “Craig? What the hell’s going on?” But he wouldn’t even look at me.

  My father grunted in amusement, and I wanted to fucking punch him in the face.

  “Craig!” I demanded.

  With his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip, my brother finally shifted his gaze to mine. “Lisa’s dad called. Said he wanted Cory to live with them for a bit so he can get to know his other family. Dad spoke to him. Said we’d think about it. That we could maybe help with the setting-up expenses, like for a bed and shit.”

  Son of a bitch. “He said what?” I sputtered, glaring at my father. “Help him out? You mean pay him, right? How long was he talking about?”

  Craig looked away. “Six months, maybe more.”

  Jesus Christ. I turned on my father. “You’re gonna pay some douchebag family to take your grandson off your fucking hands? You sure you didn’t ring him, Dad?”

  Even for my father this was gobsmackingly unbelievable, and the level of my disgust must have shown because he actually pushed his chair well back before eyeballing me.

  “I’m not paying him,” he answered. “I’d just be helping with expenses so he could get a room set up. Besides, the man’s okay. It’s his grandson after all—he’s Cory’s family.” He spread his hands. “I don’t know why you’re so strung out about it. Cory’s not your kid. And besides, whether it happens or not isn’t really up to you, is it?”

  It sounded so reasonable, but one look told me he knew exactly what this would do to me—had, in fact, counted on it. For that reason alone, he needed to shut his mouth or I was going to fucking kill him, slowly and painfully. I took a deep breath and tried to wrest back some self-control.

  “He is a stranger, you bastard,” I fumed. “A stranger who didn’t give two shits about Cory for the first two years of his life. A guy who didn’t even go to his daughter’s funeral. for Christ sake. And his useless sons rule that damn house. You really think any of that cash will go on your grandson?”

  My father drilled me with a look. “I’m telling you, the guy’s okay.”

  “But his dipshit, drug-dealing sons still live with him. How is that safe for Cory?”

  “You don’t know they deal drugs.”

  “They’ve been arrested, twice.”

  “For a bit of P possession. That’s nothing—half of Auckland’s done that shit.”

  Was he kidding me? “No, Dad. Half of Auckland has not done methamphetamine.” My gaze shifted and drilled back into Craig. “And you’re letting him do this? To your own fucking son? That makes you as much of a monster as he is—you understand that, right? It probably makes you more of one, because you’re supposed to be Cory’s damn father. You’re supposed to protect him.”

  I saw my words sink home and hit pay dirt as my brother’s eyes widened. Too fucking bad. Every word was true. We both knew what an arsehole our father was, but we handled it in different ways. I tried to ignore the bastard as best I could while Craig tended to give in and get drunk. It had never really mattered to me either way, but this time Craig had gone too far.

  “There’s no need for this,” my father said, too calmly for my liking. “Just focus on what you need to and keep your nose clean. Get yourself in the All Blacks and then you can pay for all that fancy stuff you want Cory to have, not to mention pay me back for all the rent arrears and support I’ve given you over the years. Keep your dick in your pants and that faggot off your arm, and there’s no reason Cory has to go anywhere.”

  With that he grabbed his car keys and left me sitting there, dumbstruck. I mean, what the fuck do you say to that level of moronic crap? I felt Craig’s hand on my arm and jerked away. “Don’t,” I warned.

  He flushed. “I’m sorry, Reuben,” he slurred. “He just… I can’t… shit. I’m sorry. I’ll get Cory ready for bed and sleep on the couch.”

  “No,” I growled. “I’ll sort Cory out. Just go to sleep and shut the fuck up before I have to hit you.”

  He sighed and headed for the couch, pulling the rug over him.

  Then I realised. “You knew… that I’m gay?”

  He sighed. “Of course I fucking knew. Jesus, Reuben, you don’t make shit easy on yourself, do you?”

  Yeah, that I knew. “At least I wouldn’t sell my kid down the fucking river,” I answered without a shadow of regret.

  He just shook his head. “Don’t hate me, Reuben. We’re not all like you.”

&
nbsp; Too late, I thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cam

  “…THERE WAS an edge of excitement in the AB training camp with five new contenders for the black jersey. The position of fullback hasn’t been so spoilt for choice in over two decades, with two in-form incumbents, and one especially promising pretender to the role, Blues player Reuben Taylor. Though the young gun might not see much game time this season, it’s rewarding to see the depth of talent available for succession planning. All Black coach Gary Knowles summed it up nicely as the camp ended. “Reuben has a mass of talent to offer in the future. He’s keen, fits in well, and handled the pressure of All Black training with a calm head and positive attitude. We’ll be keeping a close eye on his development during the season.”

  Lee Thomas, New Zealand News

  I HADN’T seen Reuben in over a week and it was becoming increasingly obvious I was doing a shit job of keeping him firmly in the friend basket. He’d been somewhat subdued and distant since hearing about the AB training camp and had ditched my suggestion of a coffee before he left for Christchurch, claiming he was too busy. It was something he’d never done before, and I can’t say I wasn’t just a tiny bit put out. Then he’d texted from the airport to tell me he might not have much free time during camp either and, yeah…. Shit. When did I get so bloody needy?

  The first day of the camp, I’d barely been able to keep from checking my damn phone every five minutes but still nothing. It was so unlike him, I was getting both overly concerned and… fucking pissed off. Had I done something? Had he met someone else? Fuck. The very possibility screwed with my head for the next several hours as something too damned close to jealousy lit a hell fire in my chest. I know, ridiculous, right? The guy was in the closet.

  I slapped myself and buried the thought, but the increasing fixation with my phone became embarrassing, to the point that two of my senior staff nurses staged an intervention in my office, removing it from my clawed grasp and locking it in the drug safe for an hour. I was then instructed to calm the fuck down and do some of what I was being paid to do. When I objected, Dallas threatened to swap it for my makeup bag instead, and that shut me up.