Crossing the Touchline

by Jay Hogan

  I blushed to my roots, and the room erupted in laughter. I was gonna kill him… or not… because, All Black captain.

  Andrew smirked and continued. “Rob was asking how it felt to be subbed on in your first game, with an eighteen all score and fifteen minutes to play. No pressure, right?”

  More laughter.

  Okay, batter up. I took a deep breath and threw Andrew my best shit-eating grin. “Surprised you remember, Dino,” I teased, the nickname short for Houdini, from the number ten’s freaky ability to escape the majority of opposition tackles. “If I recall, you were still undergoing concussion testing from that little tap you received in centre field. Messed with that fancy hairdo of yours.”

  Everyone including Andrew laughed, well aware that the little tap I’d referred to had in fact been an illegal head-high tackle aimed at the AB captain by a Wallabies player, who’d earned himself ten minutes in the sin bin for his effort. It had gone down just before I was called on, and although he’d passed the test, Andrew hadn’t returned to the field before the full-time whistle.

  Judging by the coaches’ smiles, I’d hit the right tone, and finally, finally I relaxed. I could do this. I straightened my back and faced the room, ready to take more questions.

  WITH THE official dinner done and having endured a fair bit of friendly ribbing and a couple of light initiation rituals that quite frankly surprised me in their restraint, I found myself tucked up in bed across from Johan, the ABs’ long-standing prop. He weighed close to 120 kilos and snored like a proverbial trooper on steroids. Sharing with Johan, a man who gave new meaning to the term roommate from hell, was yet another initiation—the worst of the lot, in my opinion. At 3:00 a.m. I gave up on getting any sleep and pulled out my phone, staring at the text I’d received from Cam only minutes after the final whistle.

  Awesome game. You looked amazing out there. Best play of the day. So proud.

  It sat alongside forty or fifty others I’d received from friends and teammates, only a few of which I’d replied to, and some I’d yet to even read. I couldn’t stop staring at it, looking for… what?

  There was so much I wanted to answer. Tell him I wished he’d been here to share it with me. That I’d have given up all the other attention today just to have him there to hug me when the full-time whistle blew. That his text meant everything. That I couldn’t stop reading the words, wondering what he might have said differently if only we’d been together. How we might have celebrated tonight….

  But what did I expect? That I’d score an All Black try and the guy would be so starry-eyed, he’d set aside all his principles and throw himself into my bed, happy to be shoved into the closet for the next ten years? Like fuck he would. I was the one being an arsehole.

  Cam deserved to live his life with pride, and I had to stop mooning and just get on with my own. I’d worked ten years for this, and now it was mine—mine and Cory’s. I might have just been a run-on today, but I’d done well, and that starter position could have my name on it in the future. I just had to keep working. “Eyes on the prize, Reuben, eyes on the prize.” My damn father’s words still echoed in my head. Sometimes the fucker was actually right, although I’d begun to openly question what the real prize actually was, and whether I’d survive losing it.

  I glanced at my father’s text, just below Cam’s.

  Good work.

  Wow, Dad, don’t strain yourself. Even my brother managed to sound more enthusiastic, though I suspected that was alcohol fuelled. I briefly wondered where Cory had been at the time, then set the thought aside. Nothing I could do from here.

  My gaze flicked back to Cam’s text, my heart stuttering all over again. Fuck. I typed out a quick thank-you and left it at that, wanting to fill a book with how I felt instead.

  THE NEXT Bledisloe Cup match was four weeks away in Auckland, and man, it felt great to be home. A good night’s sleep in my own bed had worked wonders on my exhaustion. Although nothing had been confirmed, the AB coaches had been quietly encouraging about my selection for the Auckland match and I was thrilled. Wiremu Ngata was still out, possibly for the season now, and I’d done a good enough job on my first run to be in their sights again. If I kept it up, I could be up for the following test series against the South African Springboks, and even the end-of-season UK tour.

  The benefits of selection had already begun. I was rolling in all the free kit we got just for being newbie members of the AB squad—shoes, phones, sunglasses, watches, but playing as a regular AB would come with a shitload of other stuff, including sponsorship deals—the holy grail for Cory and me. But anything could happen between now and then, including getting injured myself.

  Georgie had a home-cooked dinner waiting for me last night, along with a ton of questions. We laughed and caught up, and it was a good reminder I had other friends. I wasn’t alone even though it felt like it….

  My Blues teammates rolled out the red carpet as well with plenty of texts and phone calls late into the night. Reflected glory, and another AB in the team, was great for everyone’s morale. Even Mathew was gracious in his congratulations, though I could tell he was a little envious. I didn’t blame him. I would be too if circumstances were reversed. He interrogated me mercilessly until my head spun, and I had to shut him down before my brain exploded. It was all I could do not to ask about Cam, but the guy had no idea his brother and I had been more than friends, and it needed to stay that way.

  Still drifting on an adrenaline high, I was slammed back to earth by a familiar knock at the door. Craig. Damn. I really wasn’t in the mood for any of his shit.

  He slunk in, offering his congratulations and enveloping me in a bear hug, which was… surprising and… kind of nice, if a little awkward, all things considered. Shit between us remained strained after Cam’s rescue babysitting fiasco, not to mention the hundred damn questions he’d peppered me with the morning after, none of which I answered to his satisfaction knowing he was looking for ammunition to get a little payback after being called out on his drunken behaviour. He wasn’t getting it. I redirected things back to his drinking and Cory, neither of which he wanted to discuss—go figure. I also said if he appeared at my door drunk like that again, either with Cory or to collect Cory, he’d meet with the same response from me. He hadn’t liked that one bit, warning me to be careful, that two could play at that game, a not so veiled threat at my future with the All Blacks. But at least he hadn’t mentioned anything to Dad, that I knew of.

  “So,” Craig began, grabbing a seat on the couch. “An All Black, huh? How’s it feel to finally get there?”

  I shrugged. “Hasn’t sunk in yet. And there’s no guarantee I’ll get another run.”

  “Bullshit. You’re in now. Scored a try even. Big star, right? The cash will start rolling in soon I bet.”

  Disappointment sat like a rock in my gut. Of course that would be his focus. I could see where this was heading. “I’m a newbie. A bit of free shit but nothing more as yet, not really. Want a coffee?”

  “Nah. But I’ll have a beer.”

  Of course he would. “Sorry, right out. Been away and I don’t drink while I’m training, you know that. Where’s Cory?”

  His gaze slid away. “With Dad.”

  Shit. “You should’ve brought him with you. And since when does Dad have him without needing his arm twisted?”

  Craig’s shoulders stiffened. “He’s not that bad. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, really? None of my business? Remind me of that next time you want to leave him with me.”

  “Well, since we’re getting up in each other’s business, how’s your boyfriend?” Craig spat back.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Cam and I are just friends.”

  Craig snorted. “Yeah, right. Like that’ll fly with Dad, who I haven’t said anything to… yet.”

  The threat was explicit.

  Craig continued, “You had the guy here after Dad warned you about him. You think he’ll believe you were just pl
aying Monopoly?” Craig sighed. “Look, I don’t give a rat’s arse if the two of you screw each other’s brains out like the sick fucks you are, just stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

  It was a shitty thing to say and my blood boiled. “As soon as you involve Cory, it’s no longer just your business, though, is it? And you couldn’t survive without me to dump Cory on every time you want to get loaded, so that makes it my business too.”

  Craig shot off the couch and I stood to meet him.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he shouted. “You love him so much? Try living with him twenty-four seven. We can’t all be mister fucking perfect, I… ugh, goddammit.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment, looking almost… fragile. Then he sat back down again and I followed suit.

  After a minute he continued. “Look, it’s just… too much sometimes, you know? I get crazy… I just need to… forget for a bit,” he said.

  The emotion in his voice shocked me, and for the first time, I thought I heard genuine shame and regret. Immediately the anger in my chest tempered, and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I joined him on the couch and pulled him into a hug. He stayed rigid for a moment, then relaxed and let himself be held.

  “I’m such a fuck-up, Reuben.” He breathed unevenly against my chest. “Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe it Cory should get to know his other family.”

  I pushed him off and looked him square in the eye. “No, he’s not right. Don’t listen to Dad. He’s an arsehole, and that whole family is a waste of space. You know that, Craig. Cory would be lost there.”

  He frowned. “Maybe they’re not as bad as we think?”

  I eyeballed him. “Seriously?”

  He sighed and dropped his head. “Yeah, I know. But… shit, Reuben. I don’t know if I can do it anymore. You’re gonna be gone a lot more with the All Blacks now, and Dad doesn’t give a shit about Cory, you’re right about that.” He eyed me warily.

  But he was hiding something and my heart plummeted. “What have you done, Craig?”

  His gaze focused somewhere over my left shoulder and he sighed. “I’m gonna meet Cory’s grandfather this weekend. The guy really wants to get to know him. He promised the family’s got their act together now and… well it might just be easier for a while… for everyone. I’d still see him, and have him stay, any time I wanted.”

  Fuck. Anger drove up my spine, and it was all I could do not to shake the living daylights out of my idiot brother. What the hell was he thinking? Count to ten. I got to five.

  “Easier for Dad, is what Dad means,” I spat. “And you too, arsehole. Well, fuck that. It’s not happening.” It wasn’t a question. There was no way in hell that meeting was going to take place, if I had to have my brother arrested to make sure of it. He stared at me, the apathy in his eyes making me want to slap him silly. “I don’t care what Dad said to convince you.”

  “He didn’t say anything. This is all me.”

  “Like I believe that,” I snapped, and then hesitated as something in Craig’s expression spoke to the truth of what he’d said.

  He pushed me away with a glare. “I’m not a fucking child, Reuben. I can think for myself, and for Cory.”

  I bit my tongue and counted to ten. “I didn’t mean that.” Like hell I didn’t. “It’s just… I’m nearly there, Craig. And as soon as I am, those endorsements are gonna start rolling in just like you said, and I’ll be able to help more. So, yes, I’ll be away more, but I’ll also be earning more, and that means I can pay for a caregiver to help you out—give you a break, some time away from Cory. So please, please, don’t do this.”

  Staring at me, his expression wavered and I caught a flash of hope. “You promise? About the help?”

  I nodded. “I promise. But you have to help yourself as well. Go to the support group—it’s really good. And ease up on the booze. You know it doesn’t help, not really. And don’t listen to Dad. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”

  “But he owns the garage, Reuben. He says he’ll sell it if I can’t make it pay.”

  God, I want to shake him by the boots. “Then make it pay, dammit. Prove Dad wrong. You’re a great bike mechanic. You just need to learn how to manage the business. Go to night school. I’ll help with Cory, or get someone who can, and maybe you could buy Dad out eventually. Or leave and work somewhere else. Anything.”

  A long moment of silence passed before he finally answered. “Maybe. But what do I tell Dad about this weekend?”

  I thought a minute. “Tell him you need to think things through. That you want to make sure you’re doing the right thing. Ask him to give you the winter. That’ll give me time to see if things are gonna pan out in the All Blacks long-term.”

  He threw me a sideways glance. “I wish you’d take him for a bit.”

  Me too. “I know, but I can’t, Craig, not yet. I’m away too much already, and he needs more stability than that. But I can help out more. Besides, Dad….”

  Craig sighed. “Wouldn’t let it happen. Yeah, I know. Jesus, why does he hate you so much?”

  I barked out a laugh. “Besides the fact that I’m a sick fuck, as you just called me?”

  He had the grace to at least blush. “Sorry about that. But just thinking of you and some guy….”

  “Then don’t. I don’t think about your taste between the sheets, and that’s pretty dodgy to say the least.”

  His mouth quirked up. “You got me there. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  I nodded. “Damn right. So apart from Dad hating the gay, he hates even more that I’m his best hope for glory. He wants the kudos of a son who’s an All Black, but not the horror of him being a fag. But you’re right, I don’t help myself. If I wasn’t such a coward, I might risk it anyway, call his bluff. But I don’t want to be a trailblazer, Craig. It’s hard enough as it is.”

  “You’re not a coward, Reuben.”

  I thought of Cam. “I can be.”

  My brother drew in a shaky breath. “I’ll talk to Dad, and I’ll… um… I’ll try with the drinking… and stuff.”

  I squeezed his shoulder. “All I can ask.”

  TWO WEEKS after the first Bledisloe game and it was time for the annual Auckland Blues’ family picnic, a pot-luck barbecue held on the coach’s farm. The weather had turned a bit nippier, but the huge outdoor area was covered, and sported a half-dozen gas heaters plus a heated pool for the kids.

  Team management coughed up for the meat and alcohol, and everyone brought along a salad or dessert to add to the table. I wasn’t keen, not after spending years sitting back watching my teammates pair off and do the whole loved-up couple/family routine, but it wouldn’t have been a good look for me to bow out. So I sucked it up, threw a huge Mediterranean-style couscous salad in a bowl, and hoped for an excuse to leave early.

  Explicit on the invitation was the word “family,” meaning we were expected to bring some—real or substitute—plus girlfriends. Boyfriends never even got a mention. I briefly wondered at the stir I might have caused if I’d turned up with Cam on my arm, as Dad called it. The fuck-you to him alone would have been worth it.

  And the honest truth? I would’ve been proud as shit to show Cam off as my boyfriend, fuck anyone who thought otherwise. So why aren’t I? that nagging voice in my head challenged. Was this really the only option? Throwing away a chance at something special with a guy who just did it for me on every level? Hurting him and me, screwing us both up? I ran it round and round in my head to the point of exhaustion, where I couldn’t see the forest for the damn trees. There had to be a better answer, I just couldn’t fucking see it.

  Without any solution regarding Cam, I still had to decide what to do about the picnic. I’d avoided asking my father until Artie, the scrum coach, suggested that turning up alone wasn’t a good look if I wanted to keep the mental skills coach happy. Right. So I’d asked Dad, plus Craig, mostly so he’d keep my father occupied. Then I bribed Georgie with a couple of tickets to Cirque du Soleil to
babysit Cory. She didn’t often take him on her own, but she hadn’t seemed fazed. My friend for over ten years, she thought Craig was a waste of space, and he thought she was a mouthy bitch, but they tolerated each other and mostly kept their opinions to themselves. The fact that Georgie would take Cory if Craig was desperate for a sitter kept him in line. Did I mention my brother was an arsehole?

  She’d arranged to go to Craig’s place to sit, so he was making his own way to the BBQ, and that meant I’d pulled father-taxi duty. Fuck. At least I didn’t have to listen to the two of them bickering all the way there and back. But I hadn’t counted on the willowy, full-breasted young woman standing next to my father when I arrived to pick him up. What the hell?

  In her midtwenties, the woman wore a pair of painted-on, dark-wash jeans tucked into black leather ankle boots, with a crisp white cotton shirt hanging loose overtop, and a blue sweater wrapped around her shoulders. Her long blonde hair was swooshed into some kind of casual updo, all free-floating and sexy, if you were into that kind of thing. With cheekbones to die for, mischievous eyes, and full lips currently focussed on me in a wide smile, she was a stunner—even I could appreciate that.

  If I’d been straight, I’d probably have fallen to the ground and worshipped at my dad’s feet, ’cause I had no doubt whatsoever that she was meant for me. Brian Taylor was making sure no one would doubt his son was anything less than the full heterosexual package. His shit-eating grin said it all. Yep, total bastard.

  With an apologetic smile at the young woman, I pulled my father aside. “What the fuck, Dad?”

  He twisted out of my grip. “Reuben, meet Sonja.”

  The woman stretched out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Reuben.”

  I stared at her hand for a moment before gripping it lightly. It wasn’t her fault my father was a dipshit, after all. “Same.”