by Jay Hogan
I can’t wait to see you. I have so much to tell you.
I glanced around the change room. Guys showering, preparing to celebrate with the team and with their families and, hell yeah, I wanted that. And I wanted that with Cam. My gaze hovered over a few of those faces. Yeah, there’d be one or two who wouldn’t like it, maybe a lot who wouldn’t—players, fans, and media as well—wouldn’t like the fact I was gay, the fact I was out and proud, wouldn’t like the arms I fell into after a game, and for sure wouldn’t like the makeup and the sass. Still… fuck ’em. The management needed to walk the damn talk they’d been spouting, earn the rainbow tick they’d been awarded for their as-yet-untested policies.
Take a deep breath, Rube. Shit was about to get real.
I showered and dressed, basking in the ongoing ribbing and praise from my All Black teammates, who seemed determined to embarrass the shit out of me. Some dick had hidden my dress shoes, and I was still cursing the unknown culprit high and low when my phone went off in my pocket. Craig. Huh. Maybe at least one of my family was finally going to congratulate me. Sending a final glare at Johan, who I was 90 percent sure was the dickhead responsible for my missing shoes, I turned and took the call.
For a second or two I was lost. All I heard was Cory screaming in the background. What the fuck? My heart skipped into overdrive, and I ran for the back room to cut the dressing-room noise. Owen Parrish, at a nearby locker, sent me a worried look and grabbed my arm as I passed, but I threw him off.
“Craig?” I yelled into the phone as I ran.
My brother was rambling on about something, but it was slurred gibberish, and I couldn’t understand a damn word above Cory’s noise. He’d been drinking, that much was clear.
“Craig, just stop for a minute.” I leaned against the wall of the empty shower room. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying. Just take a breath and calm down.”
“Sorry…. Reuben… I’m so sorry. I can’t… you know… I just….”
I lost him again as Cory’s screaming grew more insistent. “Craig! What’s wrong with Cory? Where are you?”
There was no reply bar Cory’s cries and a few broken sobs from my brother. Then, nothing. Goddammit. I dragged a hand across my face and drew a deep breath. Owen appeared at my side, eyebrows raised, concern etched on his face. I shook my head, but he didn’t move. Instead he put a hand on my shoulder as I lost my freaking mind.
“Craig, listen to me.” I tried to calm my voice. “Is Cory safe? Make sure he’s safe, then go somewhere I can hear you. Got it?”
Cory’s crying dulled a little, but my brother remained silent.
“Craig, do you understand?”
Still nothing. Fuck. I felt so damn helpless. My useless fucking arsehole of a brother. And then just when I was sure he’d dropped the phone and walked away, I caught another broken breath. Thank Christ.
“Craig, talk to me.”
It took a few seconds but finally, finally he answered. “I’m… sorry, Reuben.”
“Quit that and just tell me where you are, for fuck’s sake. Are you home?”
Owen signalled he was going to get help, and I nodded as Craig rambled on.
“I really tried… you know… I….”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I really, really didn’t like where this was going.
“I’m not like you, Reuben… I just… don’t be mad… please…. Cory’s…,” he slurred.
My heart plummeted in my chest as it suddenly occurred to me Cory had gone silent. Oh, God. Holy fucking crap. “Where is Cory, Craig? What happened? Tell me where you are, and I’ll come and get you.”
“I do love him… you… you believe me… right?”
Love not loved. Okay, take a breath. Fuck, I needed Cam. “Of course you do, man. But everyone needs help sometimes, right? Tell me where you are, Craig. Please just tell me.”
He was making sounds, but his words were now so slurred, I didn’t have a hope in hell of deciphering any of it. I fired off a prayer to anyone who might be listening. “Are you at your house, Craig?”
“N-no.”
An answer, at least.
“Are you at my place?” He didn’t have a paid TV subscription and I did. If he wasn’t at a mate’s, he might’ve gone there to watch the game.
The All Blacks’ manager, Grant Copeland, appeared at my side with Gary Knowles in tow, concern etched deep into their faces. They were there for me, and the relief I felt was immeasurable. Other team members appeared but Knowles shooed them away.
“I can’t do it…,” Craig mumbled at the other end of the phone. “Reuben… I tried….”
“Craig, listen! Are you at my place? Please, Craig, just answer me, goddammit.”
The yes came as little more than a hiss before the phone went dead.
“No!” I shouted, hitting call back immediately. It went straight to voicemail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Goddamn you, Craig.” I tried again. Same result. “Son of a bitch.” I threw my fist into the wall, then found it stilled in Knowlesy’s grip before I could do it again. I spun around. “I have to leave. I have to get to him.”
Sean Mitchell grabbed me by the shoulders. “Reuben, calm down. You can’t go anywhere like this. We’ve got a first responder on hold. Tell me where to send him and what he needs to know.”
Right. Oh God. Thank Christ. Knowles dropped my hand, but Sean held on. I took a deep breath.
“It’s my brother, Craig. He’s, um… I think he’s been drinking, maybe more than that. I don’t know. He sounded really off. He’s got his four-year-old son with him, Cory. A real sensitive kid, likely autistic—we don’t know for sure. He was screaming in the background. He gets upset easy, needs things really calm, you know?”
Every eye was on me, and all I wanted to do was to push them aside, run for my car, and get the hell home. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, and Craig wasn’t making any sense, but it’s freaking me the fuck out. Something’s really wrong. I’ve never heard my brother like this.” My mind disappeared into a fuck load of worst-case scenarios.
Sean shook me to get my attention. “Where is he, Reuben? Where’s Craig?”
“My place, I think… 720 Colmar Road… shit, I can’t remember the zip.”
“It’s fine,” Grant assured me and relayed the information into his phone.
Sean squeezed my arm. “It’s okay, Reuben. That’ll get them there.”
My head shot up. “Tell them to hurry. And tell them the apartment’s above the bike restoration shop.”
Sean nodded to Grant who repeated the information into his phone.
“And there’s a spare key under the third step… if it’s locked,” I interrupted.
Grant nodded, taking his phone a few steps away.
Sean patted my arm. “Okay, Reuben, good job.” He led me back to the change room, which was mostly empty bar a few stragglers late to the team bus. They eyed me with concern, but Sean shook his head at their approach, and they left quietly.
He pulled up a chair and sat me down. “How about you try that brother of yours again? If he answers this time, see if you can keep him on the line till the first responders get there.”
I nodded enthusiastically. It was something to do, at least. “What should I say?”
“Just talk. Tell him someone’s coming, and that he needs to do what they say when they get there. After that, just try and keep him on the line.”
It took a half-dozen tries, but finally Craig answered. He said nothing, but I could hear him breathing, which was some reassurance. And I could hear Cory’s whimpers in the background. Thank God. I had no idea if Craig was listening, but I prattled on about the game, and Cory, and how much I loved the two of them, and how we’d sort things out, and stupid shit like that. And in all that time, Craig never said a word.
After what seemed like a fucking eternity, other voices emerged in the background—I heard Craig’s name, then someone picked up the phone and reassured me my brother was alive, but not responding, an
d that Cory was agitated but okay. It was just as well I was sitting, since all the strength ran out of my limbs and I collapsed against Sean, seated alongside. He wrapped an arm over my shoulder and took my weight without comment.
The medic asked if there was anything they should know about Craig’s medical history, and who the next of kin was. Thank God, legally that was me. I’d pushed Craig years ago to give me a medical power of attorney over Cory since I looked after him so often. He’d been reluctant at first, but then agreed, even asking if I would be that for him as well.
The paramedic said the plan was to transport Craig to Auckland Medical once he was stable, and did I want Cory to be taken there as well? It seemed the best solution and would save time all round.
“I’ll drive you,” Sean said.
“You don’t have—”
He raised a brow, silencing me. “This is how we do things, Craig. We’re family, and we don’t let family hang loose. If you don’t want me staying to hold your hand, that’s fine, but I’m dropping you there, no argument.”
Relief hit me like a freight train and I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be okay once I’m there. There’s a… friend I can call. He works there.” I hoped to hell Cam would be happy to be that “friend.” I eyed Gary Knowles apologetically. “I’m sorry about missing the dinner.”
“Hey—what he said.” Gary nodded Sean’s direction. “And I hope things work out. Keep us in the loop. We’ll check on you tomorrow, if not sooner.”
Sean bundled me off to grab my gear, and by the time we hit the motorway, my phone was blowing up with “sympathy and good luck” texts from the rest of the All Blacks and the Blues as well. The word had got out and I remembered Gary’s words about the All Blacks being family. It felt good.
Cam
WITH THE game over and the break room clear, I snagged a chair in the corner and put my feet up with a hot drink. I was due off shift in less than twenty minutes, but I was done with this day big time, and was now officially in hiding from a certain doctor. Yeah, right. Like that plan had any hope in hell of success. Halfway through my coffee, the door cracked open.
“Hey.”
Fuckety fuck fuck. “If you’ve come to interrogate me….”
“I haven’t.”
Something in Michael’s tone pricked the hairs on the back of my neck and I sat up. “What’s up?”
He slid in and shut the door, leaning his back against it. “We just got a call. An overdose. Male in his twenties, possible suicide attempt. The guy’s young kid was with him.”
My gaze narrowed and my heart kicked up. “And?”
He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “The name is Craig Taylor. Reuben Taylor’s brother, or so we’re told.”
Jesus Christ. All thought slid from my mind as my heart squeezed tight, and something deep inside ran to panic. Then my brain caught up…. Holy shit. Cory. The kid they were talking about was Cory.
“You said his son was there? Cory?” My voice cracked with every unsaid emotion railing through my head.
He laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Kid’s okay, apparently. Freaked-out, but okay. He’s on the spectrum, right?”
“Maybe, probably,” I mumbled, words unwilling to form sensibly in my mouth. I scrubbed a rough hand over my face and slapped my cheek. Shit, shit, shit. Get it together, Wano. He’s gonna need you.
And that kicked my head into gear. “Fuck. The media’s gonna be all over this. We need to tell everyone to keep this on the down-low. We’ll use the family room at the end of corridor C—got it?”
Michael nodded and stepped back through the door.
But I wasn’t done. “And get Hugh in—he’s the best psych guy. Brendon’s on call, but Hugh’s way better, and he owes me. Plus I want Rob on the trauma side of things.”
“No. I’m taking it,” Michael corrected.
I glanced up. “But—”
“It’s done, Cam. I’ve rung Josh. He’s fine with me staying. What? Did you think I’d bug out on you?”
I blinked furiously but wasn’t fooling him for a second. “I don’t know what to say.”
He took my hand and lightly kissed my cheek. “It’s what friends do, right?”
I nodded, still overwhelmed. “Thanks. And if Brendon causes a stink, send him my way. I could do with a good fight.”
Michael snorted and turned to leave, but I dragged him back. “We need a lockdown on reception. No cameras, no journalists, no nothing, you hear me? Anyone caught giving out information will answer to me, and I’ll fuck them up big time, including you medical lot. And—”
“Cam,” Michael interrupted, squeezing my hand. “Slow down, sweetheart. We’ve got this, okay? Now breathe.”
I closed my eyes and did as he said, feeling my body calm just a little. Then I levelled a gaze his way. “Does he know?”
“Reuben?”
I nodded.
“Yes. He’s on his way but traffic’s a bitch after the game.”
“Right. I’ll wait in the ambulance bay—Cory’s gonna need someone he knows at this end or he’ll scream the place down. I should be off duty anyway.”
Michael’s gaze turned steely. “Good, because you’re not on this one, Cam. I want us to be crystal clear about that. You’re too close.”
I sighed in irritation. “I know, I know.” I followed him out the door, but before we could separate, he grabbed my bicep and held me still. Then he raised a hand to my left eye, running his thumb back and forth under my lower lid.
“Your liner was smeared,” he explained, releasing my arm. “Now come on, Florence. Let’s do this.”
“Wait,” I said, struggling not to burst into tears at the unexpected tenderness. “Not that I don’t appreciate all this supportive shit—” I swallowed hard. “—because I do. But you and me? We do snark. We don’t do touchy-feely. They’re gonna know something’s up.” I tipped my head to the nurses’ station, where a few curious eyes were already glued in our direction.
He sent me a wicked grin. “Nah. We’re all good. I told them Josh and I are banging you to spice up our sex life. It’s working a treat. Believe me, no one’s asking any questions.”
He winked and left me in the doorway doing my best to pick my jaw up off the floor. Son of a bitch. Nah. He wouldn’t. Would he? Ugh, Jesus fuck. This was Michael Oliver. Of course he fucking would. I stormed after him, then pulled up short as two of my staff side-eyed me from their notes. Was that a giggle? They broke apart and headed off as soon as I clocked them, and I caught Michael laughing at me from the X-ray light box. Fucker. There’d be time to deal with him later. I flipped him off and headed for the ambulance bay.
Reuben
BY THE time I arrived in the ER, I’d heard Craig was already there being assessed, but nothing more. Sean wanted to wait with me, but I wasn’t up to company and sent him back to the postmatch dinner with a promise to keep him informed.
A couple of journalists lurked outside, though how the hell they’d got there before me, I had no idea. I barrelled past their barrage of questions, and the staff on reception rushed me straight through to a room at the back. There a nurse directed me to a spot against the wall, where I took a minute to digest the sheer volume of equipment and people surrounding a single gurney, knowing that somewhere in the middle of all that attention lay my brother.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t see him, then a nurse stepped aside and I caught a glimpse. Intravenous drips erupted from his arms and his neck, wires cascaded from his chest, and he looked as dead as a fucking ghost. My knees buckled.
A nurse caught my elbow to still my slide down the wall and kicked a chair under my butt. “Park yourself here a minute.” She patted my shoulder. “You get a quick look but that’s all, and then I’m gonna take you to a room where you can wait. We need all the space we can to work on him, okay?”
I nodded, barely registering what she’d said.
“Good. Are you next of kin? Or your father maybe? He was on some old records we had
.”
I blinked slowly, my brain still firing up after the initial shock. “No. Not Dad. I mean, I’m the one… I have power of attorney for Craig if you need it. I can download it on my phone if you need to check. Just, don’t ask my father for anything.”
She nodded. “We will need to have a look, and the doctor will need to activate it. At least we know who to talk to.” She paused. “Just so you know, your father was already contacted by team management before Craig arrived. Guess they weren’t aware of any… problems between you.”
I dropped my voice. “Damn. I just… well when he gets here—I don’t want him seeing Craig, not yet. Or me for that matter. Don’t let him back here.”
She raised a brow. “If you have his POA, what you say goes. We’ll do what we can.”
I released the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks.” I stared at my brother laid out on the gurney with a half-dozen pairs of hands working on him, including those of Michael Oliver. Cam had told me the guy was the best at what he did, and as if on cue, the man looked over and gave me a tight smile.
“Is he gonna be all right?” I asked the nurse.
She squeezed my hand. “He’s got the best people I know working on him. He’s unconscious, so we can’t know exactly what he took, but he’s breathing on his own and that’s a good thing. Looks like he had a lot to drink, and there were a couple of unlabelled empty pill bottles on the floor, plus some paracetamol flats, but until we get a toxicology screen back, we’re kind of working in the dark. The doctor will tell you more once we get those results, and down the track the psych team will be wanting a talk with him as well. It looked like a suicide attempt.” She eyed me meaningfully. “That likely?”
No, yes, shit. I blew out a sigh. “I want to say no, but he’s been under a lot of pressure lately. His work, his son….” Shit. Cory. How could I have forgotten? I scanned the room. “Cory came in with him, right?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I should have said earlier. He’s fine. One of our staff’s taking care of him.”