by Jay Hogan
I swanned around the ER acting like I didn’t give a fuck for the next hour, painfully unconcerned as I signed off on a screed of stuff I couldn’t even remember later. Internally, I was tearing my hair out, and even briefly considered calling Reuben from the public pay phone located in reception. Only my determination to maintain at least a semblance of dignity stopped me.
When the hour was up, I summoned every jot of cool I possessed, strolled into the nurses’ station to collect my phone from my less-than-convinced nurses, and locked myself in the staff toilet. It was the final night of the camp, and I finally, finally got through, or he picked up… whatever…. The relief I felt was both ridiculous… and telling.
I tried to keep it light and not give away just how panicked and pissed off I actually was. I got both my guys with one call, Reuben and Mathew. The camp had gone better than either expected, and they were floating so high I figured with a stiff wind they’d land sometime after Christmas somewhere east of Argentina.
But there were no guarantees of an AB jersey for either of them. It would need an injury or a run of poor form on the part of the incumbents to see either get the call-up. Still, that wasn’t out of the question in a game as physically hard on the body as rugby. Eighty minutes, with little time off the clock, no padding, no helmets, fast and full body contact with restricted substitutions—it was one of the most physically demanding sports in the world.
It was also clear that the two of them were floating on a not insignificant tide of alcohol. Mathew kept snagging Reuben’s phone, repeatedly asking why I’d called his teammate before him. I easily dodged the question since Mathew was barely able to string a few words together let alone follow a line of thought.
Their excitement was contagious, however, and quickly put paid to any residual anxiety I was carrying. Their fanboy exhilaration as they described training with their heroes and getting positive feedback from the coaching team was too adorable for words, and I wished like hell I were there to celebrate with them—well, with Reuben. It wasn’t much of a leap to imagine what sharing a bed with the hyped-up fullback might be like that night. Just under a hundred kilos of happy, excitable boy muscle writhing under me. Hell yeah. The thought alone had me adjusting the seam of my scrubs.
REUBEN WAS back in Auckland the next day so we met up for a beer—well, a beer for me a soda for him—and I wondered what I’d been so worried about. I chuckled away, listening as he raved about the coaches and how welcoming the team was. A half-dozen other Super Rugby hopefuls had joined them, even one eighteen-year-old standout halfback, still finishing high school.
Reuben thought he’d trained well but maybe hadn’t been at his best. Too much fanboying and not enough focus. The coaches seemed to expect that for the first-timers, however, and indulgently cut them some slack.
“Best news of all—” He grinned, flicking his dirty-blond locks from those stormy grey eyes I’d missed so much. “—we get to do it all again next Wednesday, here in Auckland. Not a full camp, more a selectors’ second look. Mostly North Island hopefuls, plus a few local ABs to make up a decent number.” He bit his bottom lip, waiting for my response.
My eyes followed the movement and my dick did a little happy dance before his words finally sank in and I hauled my attention back to… holy shit. “You’re kidding me. They asked you back? Reuben, that’s brilliant. That has to mean they like you, right?”
His cheeks pinked. “I guess.”
Then it clicked. “Mathew never said anything.”
Reuben winced. “He didn’t get the second invite.”
Oh. “Oh.”
Reuben shrugged. “It sucks, but he was really great about congratulating me. He’s an amazing flanker—it’s just that the ABs have three possibles for that position already.”
I felt bad for my brother but Reuben was right. Mathew knew the score, they both did. I polished my smile. “I’m really proud of you, you know?”
He tucked his chin shyly, but I caught the smile. “Thanks. And yeah, pretty damn great, right?”
I rested my eyes on him for a minute, saying nothing. I’d missed him more than I was comfortable admitting. Seeing him so relaxed—so happy and excited after the odd exchanges we’d had before he left for Christchurch—warmed and inexplicably reassured me.
Big breath. “Before you left you seemed kind of… off,” I tested the waters.
He said nothing for a minute, his face hard to read. Then he sighed. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had a run-in with my father. Craig had been blabbing… about us.”
Shit. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugged. “I needed to get my head around it. He was all up in my face, but he’s got nothing. We just need to keep things… clear between us.” He eyed me warily.
I nodded. “But we are, right? There’s nothing for him to find.”
“Right. I just had to work my way around to realising that again. Sorry.”
It was an unwelcome reminder—both of the fine line I walked even as Reuben’s friend, and of why we needed to keep things that way. Too much room for everyone to get hurt.
He held my gaze, and we just sat there staring at each other. Yeah. Not involved at all. A lock of sun-bleached hair caught at the corner of his mouth, and I wanted to brush it aside. So, so not involved. As if he could read my mind, those silver eyes danced down to fix on my mouth, and the heat of his gaze ratcheted up. I licked my lips and his breath caught. Yeah, that may have been deliberate. So much for reminders.
“Stop it,” he scolded with a wicked grin. “No flirting. Rules, remember?”
I dipped my head and studied him through violet lashes, a new colour I pretended I hadn’t bought just for him as he may or may not have mentioned liking it in a magazine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His boot caught my shin.
I jumped. “Ow. What was that for?”
“You know what,” he grumbled. “Now cut it out. I need to get laid bad enough as it is. I don’t need you adding to the frustration.”
What? Every warm feeling I had vanished in a pool of discontent, and something nasty took root in my chest. Apart from that one time, I’d never really considered Reuben with another guy. The fact that he was so closeted had me assuming, for some ridiculous reason, that he didn’t risk hookups. But what if he did?
He’d mentioned overseas holidays with some gay sports friend, so maybe they had a benefits thing going as well. He was a grown-arse man with the same needs as anyone else, after all. I just hadn’t wanted to know about it. So here I was, knowing about it. Fuck.
I scooted my glass around the table and avoided his eyes. “Is that something you do?” I asked, risking a glance.
“What?” He grinned. “Get laid?”
I shrugged. “Okay, then… yeah.” I tried to gauge an answer from his expression. No luck. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It just… well, it seems pretty risky. You being so careful and all.”
He looked bemused. “I’m not a monk, Cam,” he answered. “I may not be as experienced as you, but yeah, I get stuff done. And yes, it’s a risk, but sometimes….”
I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I guess I just thought….”
“You thought that I’d be too worried about being outed in NZ, so I’d just keep it in my pants?” The look he gave was hard to read but there was caution there and maybe a bit of defiance as well.
“Yeah, I suppose I did,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat… again.
A sigh escaped his lips and landed awkwardly between us. “Mostly, that’s true,” he said. “But not only because of being outed. I’m not really a hookup kind of guy—not on a regular basis anyway. But I do know a couple of guys I can call when I’m sick of my own hand.” The corner of his mouth quirked up shyly. “It’s not a regular thing, but I know I can trust them. They’re in similar positions, in their own way.”
“Is one of them that guy you holiday with?” Fuck. S
top now, you idiot.
His gaze remained steady but he said nothing.
Shit. “Sorry. Not my business.”
What else could I say? I didn’t want Reuben myself, but I hated the very thought of him with someone else. Like “wanna-punch-the-wall-and-kill-the-fucking-guy” kind of hated it. Which wasn’t even remotely sane since I’d barely kissed Reuben more than a couple of times. I really had no claim on him whatsoever. But you want one. Yes, dammit, I wanted one.
I stared down at the table, shuffling my coaster in ever decreasing circles around the basket of fries we were sharing, a dark curl of jealousy rising in my throat. The conversation needed to move on and fast.
“You gonna be calling one of them?” Yep, that would move it on, right? Ugh. I cringed as my gaze flicked up to meet his.
He held it for a few seconds too long, a deep crease forming between his brows. Then he shrugged. “Not my first choice, you know that.”
Fuck. My. Life. The lump in my throat nearly choked me. “Yeah,” I managed. “But you deserve some fun, right?”
Whereas I deserved a fucking medal for keeping my expression neutral as I conjured images of him in someone else’s arms, in their bed, in their arse or, fuck it, them in his. And holy shit, that did it. My hand clenched so tight around my glass I was surprised it didn’t shatter on the spot. When the hell had I started to think of his arse as mine? When haven’t I?
A flash of what looked like disappointment crossed his face. “Do I? It all feels kind of… complicated now after… us.”
Dammit. I knew he wanted me to tell him not to call any of his “friends,” to show some kind of possessive interest, but I just couldn’t. That would be unfair to us both. Maybe this coffee friendship thing wasn’t gonna work after all. But the thought of not seeing him again? Jesus. I just couldn’t go there. And then there was Cory. The guy had Georgie to help out, but I kind of liked the kid as well. So basically, I needed to man up and deal with it. Take the friendship and just quit already with the lusting.
THE BLUES played the Hurricanes in Wellington that weekend and Reuben’s team flew down on the Friday, so we didn’t get to catch up again until Monday afternoon when my shift finished. He’d had another awesome game, earning MVP for the day. We’d kept in touch via lyric quizzing and two-minute calls. When they won I sent him enough celebration emoji to embarrass the fuck out of him, and while he was killing time at Wellington airport the next day, we carried on a long text conversation about nothing in particular while I was sprawled on the couch alongside Jake watching Die Hard 2 again.
My cousin raised his brows more than once at my preoccupation with my phone, going so far as to grab it from my hands to check the ID, and luckily, I’d stashed Reuben under a false name. Throwing it back, he told me to grow the fuck up and stop acting like a dork. I grinned, flipped him off, and kept on texting.
My cousin and I had reached a comfortable, neutral detente regarding Jake’s bi-ness, including the enigmatic, red-briefed Trent, who continued to randomly pop in and out of our apartment. In reality, this meant I agreed to not push Jake on any discussion for now, and he agreed not to empty all my makeup into the bin along with my favourite silky whatnots. Like that was a hard decision. That shit cost me a fortune.
When I finally did catch up with Reuben on the Monday, he had Cory, so we met over burgers at the park and the conversation was G-rated. Reuben had attended his first caregiver support meeting and left armed with screeds of information and a gazillion names to call, and Cory had been to his first speech therapist session, which had gone well enough.
More important was that Cory allowed me to push him on a swing. Reuben got him going first, but then Cory let me take over, and I felt like I’d won the fucking lottery. Just the memory alone released a small bubble of warmth in my chest.
TWO DAYS later and I was well and truly over the week already. Three days of torrential rain, pissy medical staff, and even pissier patients, who seemed to think their tax contribution to the health system entitled them to order my nurses around and generally fuck with my well-oiled ER machine. Wednesdays were my least favourite days at the best of times.
I’d donned my don’t-mess-with-me, thick black guyliner in my lunch hour, much to the consternation of my supervisor watching, though the angel didn’t say a word as I relegated my pretty, emerald green, preshift choice to a makeup wipe and the bin. One look at me after that had the medical staff whispering nervously in corners and my nurses running to busy themselves anywhere but in my line of sight. Patients shut up midrant and relatives developed nervous tics. The only ones immune to my glare were children, who generally took one look and immediately disarmed me with a grin or burst of giggles.
One particular kid even managed to get an ice cream out of me when he said my makeup made me look like a movie star. It played havoc with the whole kick-arse persona I had going but melted my gay-boy fabulous heart. His mother simply eyed me with a look that said it wasn’t the kid’s first charm offensive, and that I’d got off lightly not funding a trip to Disneyland. That kid was going places.
Done with the day, I managed a slick exit at four, and by five I was collapsed on my couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other, but without the strength to lift the former or push buttons on the latter. I was still contemplating my options five minutes later when Jake arrived and rescued me by removing the remote, thereby allowing me two hands to lift the bottle. I owed him my life and told him as much.
He stood back, taking a minute to adjust his eyes. “Jesus Christ, cuz, you look like shit.” He leaned closer, eyes widening. “Holy hell, your makeup’s all… scuzzy.” He ran a fingertip along my cheekbone, then shoved the blackened digit in front of my eyes to make his point.
I squinted. Yep. Pretty much. I couldn’t even muster any outrage at the mind-boggling implications of that. I needn’t have worried as Jake got there first.
“And just how long were you wandering the ER looking like a gay clown, you dipstick?”
A little harsh, I thought, and listened internally. Nope, not a single fuck to be heard. I threw him the stink eye. “Leave me alone. It’s been a hard day.”
He snorted and threw his briefcase on the chair, shucking off his impossibly hip Huffer jacket in the process. Jake worked as a graphic artist at a fancy downtown advertising company called Magellan. He had mad design skills, and a great eye for clothes. That should’ve been my first clue, I suppose. The guy had always been way too well dressed to be entirely straight, although his total disdain for my underwear fetish would forever leave a question mark in my mind.
“Cameron Wano. For you, a beer, the remote, and a grunt for conversation equals ‘I’ve had a hard day.’ Smudged guyliner and absent snark, however, is the Cameron equivalent of a postapocalyptic, kill-me-now Armageddon. Either that or you’ve heard they canned Doctor Who and Matt Bomer has turned straight.”
My eyes sprang open. “Don’t joke about things like that. My heart can’t take it.”
He threw his tie at me. “Guess I’m on dinner, then. Macaroni cheese?”
I might have whimpered. “I’ll love you forever.” I meant it.
“Pfff. You already do.”
He was right.
“You take the dishwasher instead.”
“Ugh. Slave driver.” I dragged my sorry arse and aching feet off the couch and into the kitchen with minimal protest. That’s a lie. I bitched all the way and hadn’t finished when my phone started ringing.
The call got sent to answerphone, but when it started up a few seconds later, I was right there, and more than a little surprised to see pseudo-Reuben’s ID flash up. The second AB selector training was tonight, a four-hour night session under lights at Eden Park, six thirty till ten thirty. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was quarter to six. He should’ve already been there. What the hell?
I barely got hello out before he jumped in. “Thank Christ you answered.”
I could hear him… just. If the damn signal
stopped fading in and out. “Reuben?”
He hesitated. “Cam, is that you? You’ll have to speak up.”
“Reuben? Yes, it’s me.”
Jake appeared from the kitchen. “Reuben?”
I ignored him and disappeared into my bedroom as Reuben continued.
“I might need you … didn’t show … crap. Cam?”
Dammit. “Reuben, slow down. I can’t hear you. Who didn’t show?”
He paused, and I heard him take a deep breath. “Craig.”
“Craig?” Shit. “Again?” Reuben had been watching Cory today while Craig finished a big refit and delivery on a bike. “Where’s Cory?”
“With me, at Eden Park. I … no choice but to bring him. I can’t … him in, though, and Georgie’s not answering. I feel like shit for asking—”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, but it’s gonna take at least thirty minutes.”
“Thank you … lifesaver. I’ll change … car and wait here …. One of the guys is gonna let them know. Jesus, Cam, why would … do this… me?”
I had a few ideas about that, but nothing that was gonna help right now. “See you soon.”
When I reentered the lounge Jake was waiting for me. Of course he was.
“Now I know that wouldn’t be Reuben Taylor, right? Fullback, straight, Reuben Taylor?”
“Why the fuck would you think it’s him?”
“Not a common name. And your brother just happens to have one in his team, one he mentioned you have coffee with on occasion. Something he wasn’t entirely comfortable about, by the way.”
“You’ve been talking about me?”