by Jay Hogan
He studied me critically. “Yeah, right. Who wouldn’t be?” He chewed on his cheek for a minute, still watching. “You know we’ve got your back, right?”
I did know that. Not every player was on board with having a gay teammate, but those who weren’t—less than a half-dozen, I guessed—had so far kept their heads down and their contracts safe. “Yeah, and I’m grateful, man. None of you asked for the extra grief all this fucking media bullshit has brought with it. Everyone wanting your opinion on having a gay teammate, right?”
Tom frowned. “Hey, any one of us could suffer from personal crap that ends up affecting the team. Having said that—” He grinned. “—I gotta admit yours sure is a doozy. You’ve singlehandedly managed to get rugby homophobes in a dozen nations quaking in their bigoted boots and putting up wards on their clubroom doors to protect against rainbow intrusions.”
I snorted. “Yeah, how about that?” I dropped my voice. “Not that we’re immune here—even in this team, right?” I flicked my gaze to Derek Lander, a few seats away. Our new winger had shaken my hand on his first day of training, but since then had been conducting a less-than-subtle mission to avoid any unnecessary contact. He hadn’t said a single word to me off the field—apart from the day he left an open Bible on my locker seat “by mistake”—and had even missed a few easy tackles on me in training.
Tom followed my gaze. “Yeah, well, don’t quote me on this, but his time’s about up. A few senior players had a chat with him yesterday, and if things don’t change, the bosses will have something to say to him personally.”
I sighed. “None of you deserve this.”
“We deserve you,” he countered. “You’re young, gifted, and the best fucking fullback in the country when you put your mind to it. You’re good for this team, and for rugby in general. Do I give a shit that you’re gay? Hell, yes, I do.”
Damn. I tried not to let my disappointment show.
He chuckled. “Fuck, you’re so easy, Taylor. Lighten up. I give a shit because it’s good for the fucking game, and because being gay is part of who you are, and you are a freakily skilled rugby player.” He leaned in. “In fact, you’ve got me thinking I might help my own game if I walked the talk and owned the fact I’m bi, right?”
Wait. What? Holy shit. The man was a redneck’s idea of perfection.
He eyed my shocked expression with amusement.
“You mean you’re….” I looked around the change room.
Tom laughed but kept his voice low. “What? You think you’ve got the monopoly on that crazy alphabet you lot like to throw around like a secret handshake? Yeah, I’m bi. And yeah, I’m not out. Friends know but…. Well, I kinda think I’ll let you do your thing first. Take some of the heat off for when it’s my turn.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Bastard.”
He grinned. “Damn right. Seniority has its privileges, you know. Anyway, what I really wanted to say is that you just need to focus on playing well and prove those ignorant bastards wrong. Let us old buggers take care of idiots like Lander. Got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.”
WE TOOK to the field a few minutes later, and the first thing I did was scan the crowd for Cam. Georgie had taken Cory for the night, and Johan’s wife plus a couple of others had taken Cam under their wings, insisting he and Matt—who’d missed the call-up this time—sat with them. Cam was initially unsure but went with it.
He sent me a photo of both him and Matt decked out in All Black supporter’s gear bedecked in silver ferns, their cheeks decorated with AB stickers, though I was fairly confident the swag booths didn’t carry the thick kohl pencil he’d used to rim those tawny eyes, or the black lipstick he sported. And I was 100 percent positive they didn’t carry the black silk briefs he’d had custom made, with my jersey number, fifteen, embroidered on their arse.
We were gathering for the national anthems and I still hadn’t spotted him. Then all of a sudden, I caught movement and… there he was. Close to the field, about three rows up on the halfway line, standing and waving his arms like a lunatic. Fuck he was gorgeous, and as I watched, he struck a hand-on-hip pose and blew me a kiss. God, I love him.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard, because no sooner had I laughed at his antics than every camera in the ground zoomed in and, yep, there he was, in full living colour on the big screen. I chuckled and shook my head, knowing this was beaming live to millions of people in a dozen nations around the world. A quick glance around the team revealed most players sported the same amused grin; a few even slapped me on the back.
When Cam saw himself on the big screen, he immediately waved to the crowd. He’d warned me that after everything we’d gone through in the last month, he wasn’t going to hide, and fuck if I wasn’t proud to the tips of my All Black boots. A roar of amused applause went around the park, overwhelming the slight rumble of distaste and the few boos thrown in for good measure. We’d been told about a few banners spouting various gay slurs being taken from some supporters before the game, but for the most part those people were in a minority, and though the blatant bigotry still kicked me in the gut, my concern was more for Cam. A quick glance in his direction revealed him ignoring the crowd, his gaze locked on me, and I tuned the rest out.
With the anthems done, we lined up for the haka, and as always, a shiver ran through me at the importance this honour carried—for the team and the nation as a whole. But as we gathered in the spearhead formation, I frowned. The spot I’d been designated was taken and Johan was signalling me to the centre. I glanced around but saw nothing unusual. Everyone else was in his place.
Being the rookie, I wasn’t about to argue and just moved to my new spot. Johan manhandled me into place and settled alongside, while I took a moment to calm my nerves as my heart surged into my throat. I still couldn’t believe I was here. I couldn’t imagine ever taking for granted the pride and sense of awe that came with being part of such an incredible team.
The chanting of the haka began, and as the challenge mounted and circled the grounds to the roar of the home crowd, the stadium a tide of black in full vocal support, I was carried on the wave of sound, my heart bursting in my chest. And alongside me, every one of my teammates, my fellow warriors, answered the same call.
The dramatic end to the haka fired the adrenaline through us all, quickening our hearts, our muscles, and our determination. A team of talented men walked into the stadium, but after the anthem and the haka, a single connected body of muscle took shape on the field. These were the All Blacks, the greatest rugby team in history, the most successful sports team on the planet, and I couldn’t believe I could now count myself one of them.
As the sound of the haka bled away and I made to move over to my starting position, Johan’s hand on my arm stayed me. He wore a wry smile. Huh? Something was definitely up. A hum of curiosity travelled the stadium as the remainder of the team kept to the centre and began to form a loose circle around me. This sure as hell wasn’t the normal routine and the hairs on my arms stood to immediate attention.
My gaze flitted nervously over the faces of my teammates, but except for the deep scowl embedded on Derek Lander’s forehead and a few curious looks from the Springbok camp, no one seemed overly concerned. No one except me.
Then someone whispered in my ear. Tom MacDonald. “Heads-up, Reuben. This is for you.”
What? A glance at the big screen and I suddenly understood. Holy fucking shit. My throat tightened with a wealth of emotion that wasn’t about to be denied as the entire team circled me in silence, facing out to the world. I brushed the moisture from my cheeks, unable to drag my eyes from the team’s unspoken message. It was a clear-as-shit heads-up to the entire rugby world, that this team had my back. I jerked my head to the stands and saw the management and coaching staff on their feet. They’d known. Family.
My gaze shifted and caught Cam standing with a hand over his shocked mouth, staring at the screen, Mathew’s arm around his shoulders. Then Cam tu
rned, and we held each other’s gaze till the formation broke apart and every single AB filed past me with a high-five before taking their position on the field. Even a few Springboks ran up to shake my hand.
Then Andrew Simon, our captain, called out, “Look sharp, Taylor, it’s up to you now.”
I gave him a thumbs-up and ran to my position from where I grabbed a last glimpse of Cam in the stands. No, I disagreed. Now, it was up to us.
JAY HOGAN is a New Zealand author writing in m/m romance, romantic suspense, and fantasy. She has travelled extensively and has lived in the US, Canada, France, Australia, and South Korea. She has a BA degree in nursing and in theology, and in another life, she was an intensive care nurse, counselor, and a lecturer.
Though a late bloomer publishing-wise, she has always had pen to paper from poetry to fiction, benefitting from the unwavering support of a long-suffering husband and the services of an in-house beta reader—oops, sorry, she means daughter.
She is a cat aficionado, especially of Maine Coons, and an avid dog lover (but don’t tell the cat). She loves to cook (pretty damn good), loves to sing (pretty damn average), and as for loving full-time writing—absolutely… depending of course on the day, the word count, the deadline, how obliging her characters are, the ambient temperature in the Western Sahara, whether Jupiter is rising, the size of the ozone hole over New Zealand, and how much coffee she’s had.
You can find Jay at:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JayHoganAuthor
Twitter: @jayhoganauthor
Email: [email protected]
By Jay Hogan
AUCKLAND MED.
Crossing the Touchline
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Crossing the Touchline
© 2019 Jay Hogan.
Cover Art
© 2019 Kanaxa.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-190-0
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64405-191-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018963159
Digital published April 2019
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America