Crossing the Touchline

by Jay Hogan

  TWENTY MINUTES later and Cory was sleeping, albeit fitfully, in my bed. I drew my bedroom door to a hushed close, mirrored that with the lounge one, then turned my attention to my brother.

  “Hey, arsehole.” I booted his calf none too gently. “Wake up.”

  “Fuck off.” Craig rolled to his side and promptly tumbled to the floor. “Ow, shit. What the hell?”

  “Exactly. Now get up,” I fumed, barely holding back from fisting him by the shirt and hauling him to his miserable feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Why is Cory so upset, and why the fuck are you drunk off your face? I don’t need this crap, Craig. I have a game this weekend—a fucking All Blacks game, you dipshit. Now wake the fuck up and answer me.”

  He struggled to his knees, crawling his way back onto the couch. “Back off,” he barked, blinking furiously to get his bearings.

  “Keep your voice down, arsehole.” I shoved him back into the cushions, holding him there. “It’s taken me nearly two hours to get your son calm enough to settle in my bed. Don’t you dare fucking wake him, you hear?”

  Craig held his hands up. “Okay, okay. Just… lemme go. I’ll keep it down.”

  “Damn right,” I snapped and stepped back, watching him fumble his legs in an attempt to sit properly. “Now what the hell happened?”

  He snorted. “As if you give a fuck.”

  I bit my tongue and tried counting in my head, made it to five, grabbed his jaw, and forced him to look at me. “I give a fuck because I came home to find you drunk in my house, on my rum, with your four-year-old kid freaked-out by the front door. He may as well have been alone, you fucking arsehole. I should report you, you know that? In fact I might do just that.”

  He jerked free of my hand. “Like hell. You’re a fucking nana… arsehole. The kid’s fine… needs to learn to play on his own, like normal kids… was just a few minutes.”

  I knew even Craig couldn’t believe that lie. My head dropped to my chest for a second. God help me. “He was not fine,” I bit back. “And it was way more than a few minutes. Hell, you were out for a good hour after I arrived. When did you get here?”

  He shook his head. “How the fuck should I know? After dinner, sometime. I don’t have to answer to you.”

  “You do when you’re in my house, drunk off your tree. I thought all this shit had stopped. What happened?”

  He sat there, a war of emotions passing through his eyes—anger, frustration, guilt, even regret… maybe. But he said nothing.

  I leaned in and eyeballed him. “I won’t ask again.”

  His gaze narrowed with spite. “Or what, brother?” he spat in my face. “What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

  Good question. This was getting nowhere. I sighed, stepped back, and took a seat at the far end of the couch, seeking some calm. I lowered my tone and tried to summon some reason. “Did you even take Cory to playgroup?”

  His gaze slid away.

  Shit. I collapsed onto the cushions. “Jesus, Craig. What the hell? He’s been so much better since going to those sessions. And it’s helping you too. You even fucking said that he’s way easier to manage. So what happened? Just tell me. Please.”

  His glare continued for a moment, then dissolved in a rush as his head fell back and his whole body seemed to cave in on itself, a shudder running its length. “Fuck.” His voice broke into a sob. “I’m sorry, okay?” He ran his hand through his greasy hair and over his face. “It was a shitty thing to do. But I forgot you had late training, and when you weren’t here, I just… I dunno. I lost it, I guess. I only meant to have a couple of shots but….”

  I sighed wearily. “You had more… surprise, surprise.”

  His face went a sickly shade of ashen green, and I almost felt sorry for him… almost. I asked, “So why were you here? And why didn’t Cory get to his group? I’m guessing our beloved father might have something to do with that.”

  He snorted and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Jesus, my head is swimming.”

  “Don’t expect any sympathy from me, mate. Anyway, you were about to tell me what our sperm donor did to get you like this.”

  He blew out a sigh. “Nothing. He’s just all up in my face about the garage and shit.”

  “And there it is.” I shook my head.

  He shoved my shoulder. “Shut up. You want an answer or not?”

  I sighed. “Go on.”

  “He’s got some hard-on about me getting more work in… making more money. He’s been leaving my name with bike shops and clubs… taking bookings without fucking checking with me. I’m snowed under, Reuben. I’ve got four bikes sitting down there… and no way I’ll get to more than two of them… not in the time he’s told the owners. He has no idea how long a custom bike takes… I’m pulling my fucking hair out.”

  I merely raised my brows.

  He sighed. “Look, I know I can be a bit slack… but he’s fucking crazy if he thinks I can work like this—at least not with him.”

  Fury stole up my throat. “By him I take it you mean Cory, your son?” It was all I could do not to whack him up the side of his head. It was a close call.

  He had the grace to at least look sheepish. “Yeah.”

  Ugh. “Go on.”

  “So, I get here today and find he’s booked me solid with pissy engine fixes of all things. As if I didn’t have enough to do. And then you were at training, and I had no one for the… for Cory, so I told him he’d have to watch the kid for me.”

  My eyes rolled to the back of my head all on their own. “Son of a bitch, Craig. Really? Thought we agreed not to leave him with Dad?” My father hadn’t the slightest idea about Cory and no intention of changing that.

  “Fuck off. I was drowning, man. I’m on my own in that place, and Dad… he just doesn’t give a shit. Keeps telling me to man up, that I’ve had everything given to me. And I can’t do it anymore, you know? And then Cory… shit. You have no idea what it’s like to be a parent to a kid like that, twenty-four seven.”

  Neither do you, idiot. I barely restrained myself from saying the words out loud. “So, let me guess, he did a less-than-stellar job looking after him, as usual?”

  Craig deflated before my eyes, and I kicked myself. In some ways he did care, in his own way. He just didn’t have a clue how to translate that into being an actual grown-up parent. And for all that he was a crappy dad, he did try not to leave Cory with our father if he could avoid it. But since his list of friends who were competent and willing to watch Cory was negligible, it happened more often than anyone liked, especially me.

  “I went to pick him up at five, and Dad was sitting in his chair with a beer in his hand, half-asleep.”

  “Nothing new there.”

  He ignored me. “Yeah, but I couldn’t see the k… Cory, anywhere. He wasn’t in the house, and when I woke Dad up, he had no idea. Said he left Cory to eat his snack and watch television.”

  “Fuck. So, where was he?”

  “Two doors down in a neighbour’s garden at the side of their house. He’d picked all the flowers off some bush. The owners weren’t happy.”

  “Fuck ’em.”

  “That’s what I said. But it’s the second time I’ve found him there.”

  Shit. This was news to me.

  “They said they’ll call the police next time.”

  “Jesus, Craig. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me the first time it happened?”

  His head whipped up, eyes blazing. “Because I knew you’d get like this. And what the hell were you gonna do about it? You’d only tell me not to leave him there, but it’s not like you can look after him every time. I don’t have a choice, man.”

  I gripped his shoulder. “You’re right. I can’t always be there, I get that. And you’ve got a kid who needs more than the average parenting, but it’ll get easier once he’s in school in six months. Then you can use those school hours for solid work. Plus I’ve said I’ll help pay for some aftercare. But you’ve gotta start
thinking about Cory, man. He’s your son, not some damn puppy. He needs you, and you can’t trust Dad—you know that.”

  He jerked out of my grip. “Doesn’t matter now, anyway. Dad won’t have him anymore after today. He said I have to find a sitter or give the kid to his other family, and he won’t let me drop my hours at the garage. Says it has to start paying its way.”

  Bastard. “Jesus Christ, it’s only six months till Cory’s at school. Can’t he wait that long?”

  Craig grimaced. “You know him.”

  My teeth grated in fury. Goddamn that pigheaded arsehole. “He just wants Cory gone—you realise that, right? He doesn’t like Cory, doesn’t understand him. All he wants is you, working the garage, under his thumb, bringing in money for him. And Cory doesn’t fit in that picture. And if you let Cory go now, you’ll likely never get him back.”

  Craig slowly nodded. “You think I don’t know that? But I… it’s too much for me, you know?”

  I rubbed both hands down my face. “Look, I’ll talk to the coaches, see if they’ll give me some flexibility in my training hours. Maybe I can swap gym times to evenings so I can take Cory more during the day. It’ll only be temporary, just while we figure things out.”

  Craig shook his head. “He said I’m not to do that—that it will risk your spot. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly flavour of the month with him at the moment. Plus he’s kicked you out. How would I even get him to you if you move away? He said if I can’t manage shit on my own like a grown-up then I’ll have to choose, the garage or the ki… or Cory. He needs someone reliable in there who can do the work.”

  The look in his eyes hit me like a sucker punch, and I knew there’d be no choice. The garage would win. If Craig chose Cory and Dad sold the garage or got someone else in to run it, Cory was gone anyway. Craig would implode. The garage was the only positive thing holding my brother’s life together. I’d wanted to think Cory was too, but unfortunately, I knew better.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” His gaze flattened accusingly. “But I’m not an arsehole. I may not want all the shit that comes with the kid, but he is my son. So I am gonna try to make it work.”

  Really? Good intentions meant nothing, and I was done being worried about his feelings. “Enlighten me as to just how you aim to do that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “That chick I was seeing….”

  “The one with the rack?”

  He gave a half grin. “Yeah, Brenda. We’re done.”

  Like that’s a surprise. “You broke up?”

  “Yeah. But it’s all good. We’re better as friends. But she was real good with Cory.”

  I rolled my eyes, sensing what was coming.

  He scowled. “Don’t do that. You don’t even know her.”

  I sighed. “Alright. Go on.”

  “Brenda’s got five younger brothers and sisters. She needs a job, and a chance to get out of her parents’ place. She’s said she’ll look after Cory in the mornings for me instead of rent if she can have the second bedroom. I can move Cory in with me.”

  Christ almighty. “But you won’t be sleeping together?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not.” The whole thing was so ludicrous, I couldn’t even get my head around it. “How do you know you can rely on her? What about when Cory gets really difficult?”

  “She’s reliable, okay? And yeah, she’s seen Cory throw a fit. She’s not as good as you with him, but I showed her stuff I learned from those groups and she does okay. She won’t leave him alone like Dad, at least. And she won’t hit him or anything.”

  “Oh well, that’s just peachy, then, isn’t it?” I failed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “You got a better idea?”

  And there’s the rub. I didn’t. Not unless Craig grew a backbone or I gave up rugby altogether. Ugh. I thought of Cam and wondered what he’d say. God, I couldn’t wait to talk to him.

  But there was one other option I figured was worth a shot.

  “What about calling his bluff and giving up the garage?” I asked him. “Tell Dad to go to hell, and we can get a place together with Cory.” And maybe Cam but it wasn’t like I was gonna mention that to Craig. “It’ll be tight, but I can support both of you for maybe six months till Cory is at school, and then you can get a job working for someone else.

  “You’re a great bike mechanic, Craig, you just suck at the business stuff. You’d have to give up the booze and get your shit together, though. I can’t be dealing with all that and playing rugby at the same time. So, no drugs in the house or dodgy visitors and shit—got it?”

  He fell silent, and I knew I had my answer.

  “I can’t.”

  My face must have said it all.

  He sneered. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not you. I suck at everything except bikes. I need this garage. And it’s mine right now, for nothing. I just have to keep Dad happy.”

  “It’s hardly for nothing, Craig. Look at you—you’re a fucking mess. This garage is costing you big time.”

  He shrugged dismissively. “Whatever. But I’m not asking permission here. I’m a fucking grown-up. I’m just letting you know what’s gonna happen.”

  “Does that include getting shit-faced in my apartment, on my booze, while your freaked-out son sits crying in the hall? Because that was real grown-up of you, moron.” Damn. I closed my eyes and took a breath, then opened them again. Maybe not so grown-up myself, eh? “Sorry. That was… well, it was.”

  He stared at me with a dull bleakness I didn’t think I’d seen in him before, and in that moment, he looked nothing like my brother. He looked more like cornered prey—exhausted, the fight bled out of him, just waiting for the final axe to fall. Shit. He had Dad on his case, me on his case, had broken up with his girlfriend, was overwhelmed by the garage, and then there was Cory.

  Carrot not stick, you idiot. I swallowed my anger. “Does Dad know?”

  “About Brenda? Yeah.”

  My brows peaked. “I imagine he took that well.”

  Craig shrugged. “Actually, he didn’t say much. Just that he’d give it a month at most.”

  For once my father and I agreed on something. Whatever. I was so done with this day.

  I stood. “Get yourself some pillows and crash here. You’re still drunk as shit, and Cory’s going nowhere with you in that state. I’m off to bed.”

  On my way there, I hauled my phone from my pocket and stared at it for a long minute, a mess of conflicting emotions, my nerves jittery with indecision. Fuck it. I opened a screen and typed. Then I switched the phone to silent, threw it on the bedside table, and crawled under the sheets. I wrapped my big spoon around Cory’s little one and held my nephew tight. I’d like to say my only thought was of the small, warm body in my arms, but instead, all that energy was focused on the only body I really wanted there. Go figure.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cam

  I SHUT my office door none too politely in Michael Oliver’s face and flicked the lock. The man was driving me nuts with all his prying. Not that I was telling him anything, but he had a nose for drama and the tenacity of a pit bull. For a guy who little more than a year ago had the whole commitment-phobic man-whore thing down pat, he sure as hell was a mouthy Dear Abby contender these days, dripping sappy happily married life all over the damn place. Ignoring his smug expression currently smooshed hard against the window in the top half of my door, I sat and pulled out my phone, pointedly ignoring him.

  “Don’t think you’re avoiding me, Cameron Delaney Wano,” he declared through the glass, rattling the handle. “You will tell me, so you may as well get it over with.”

  I jolted upright, and my panicked gaze swept the room. No one full-named me except my parents, mostly my mother, and only then when I’d fucked up so bad I was a whisper away from one of her epic and infamous interventions, whereby passports were needed to preserve sanity and avoid matricide. Calm settled as I remembered where
I was, but one glance at his self-satisfied smirk told me Michael Oliver knew exactly what he’d done. Fucker.

  “Don’t you have patients to attend to, Doctor?” I snapped, flipping him off. “That is what we pay you for, right?”

  “You don’t pay me anything.”

  I ignored the overwhelming desire to wipe the smarmy grin off his face and rolled my eyes. “Won’t stop me moving all your future X-ray requests to the bottom of the call list,” I warned. “You’ll be clocking out late for the next six months.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Fucker.”

  He shook his head disapprovingly. “So unprofessional. And by the way, you’ve got blue eyeliner on your right cheek.”

  I automatically flicked a horrified glance to the mirror beside my desk and heard him snicker. Goddammit. I threw a pen at the door, hating him down to the tip of his Gucci shoes.

  “Such a damn princess.” He pushed off the door and rapped twice on the window. “You might have won the battle, Nurse Wano, but not the war, my friend, not the war.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I threw back, failing to stop a grin from spreading. The guy was a total dick, and I loved him to bits.

  With quiet restored, I took a moment to reread Reuben’s texts for what had to be the millionth time since I’d received them, three days before. He’d texted every day, just a check-in—how much he missed me, how sorry he was, how he was working on making things right. And though I hadn’t replied more than once, the effort meant the world to me. But yeah, I might have cried at the last one.

  “How can I make what we have a little better, a little less over.”

  The lyric was followed a minute later by

  Can we please talk Sunday? I have a social worker appointment next week. I’d love for you to come with me. I miss you so much. I don’t have all the answers yet, but maybe you can help me with the rest, if you still want.

  I failed to keep a lid on the hope that surged through me when I read it. It was dangerous to want too much but, man, it was hard not to. I’d tried to hold off a reply for five minutes, made it to three, and caved.