Chapter Eleven

I REMEMBERED the long years between us—the childhood years and the teen years. In my mind it changed when I admitted I had a crush on my friend. From the time Ambrose was not quite fifteen to when he left for Melbourne as an eighteen-year-old, we were close, but I felt a distance between us as I fought my feelings for him.

Then there was that night.

That. Night.

And after nine years, I still didn’t understand.

It had been emotional. Ambrose was leaving for Melbourne to pursue his dream of playing AFL at the most senior level. Being picked in the draft was a miracle—Ambrose Jakoby, scrawny seventeen-year-old son of a single mother from Perth, Western Australia, being chosen to play for Hawthorn on the other side of the country?

By the time he had to leave, he was eighteen but no more mature. And so he slept with me and then dashed before I woke. To say I was confused over that episode was an understatement.

When he came home after that first season, we slept together again… until I realized it wasn’t anything to him. He wasn’t going to introduce me to his friends. It was exactly like high school, and it broke my heart. I withdrew all my feelings and hid them.

For the next seven years, I kept a tight lid on my thoughts. I was happy for him on the field, and I would send him messages of support and congratulations. When he came home between seasons, I made time for him. And if some of those days ended with us having sex, then I was happy to take it. I didn’t feel that he was obligated to me, and he was free to date as he wanted. I was free to do that too, and I did.

But deep in my soul, I knew I wasn’t over him. And why? Because he could be a fucking thoughtful guy. The last months between us had been cold because I thought he’d lost that. I had thought he’d gotten too big for his boots and that he thought Shane would be available to him whenever he wanted because I’d always been before.

So I tightened my arms around him and knew we were moving into another phase. I didn’t know what phase was, but I dropped the last barrier of my reserve and let him in.

“Thank you, Ambrose,” I muttered against his chest. “You shouldn’t have. But these are so cool.”

He smelled a lot better than he had twenty minutes earlier. I closed my eyes and remembered the times we’d rolled around on a bed with a lot less clothing between us. Once I had my own place, Ambrose would sometimes come and visit me and stay the night if he was home from Melbourne. But the times I remembered the most and with the most fondness were when he took me away with him.

“Road trip,” he’d tell me with a grin. “I’m headed down to see the surfing at Yallingup. I’ve booked a house, and you’re coming with me, right?”

Sometimes he’d say it over dinner, and Tracy would admonish her son. “You do realize that Shane works. Have you asked him whether he can take time off work before you drag him on a boys’ weekend?”

Or the time Ambrose told me he’d rented a cabin in an out-of-the-way fishing spot and my mother said, “I didn’t realize either of you fished.”

Neither of us did, although Ambrose gave it a try. I spent most of the weekend curled up on sun loungers or spread out on a blanket, reading a book. Ambrose did some of the active things—bushwalking, swimming, and kayaking. He dragged me along for the walking, but otherwise I either observed from the shore or told him I’d see him when he got home. And no one would’ve guessed we were anything but friends—no touching or kissing until we headed to bed at night. I wouldn’t even touch him when we were alone in the house, only in the bed we shared.

That trip held special memories for me. It was the first time Ambrose bottomed.

That still confused the heck out of me. Had it just been experimentation for him? Was the whole thing some bi-curious adventure?

“Five-minute warning.”

Tracy’s voice penetrated my memories, and I moved off Ambrose. He looked peaceful for the first time that night, as though my hugs had put something right in him.

“We’d better get moving,” I said.

“For some that’s easier said than done.” He sat up and reached for his crutches.

“I’m sure a big, strong man like you can handle it,” I said with a mock-sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

He got to his feet and glared at me. “Watch it. I can still beat you any day.”

I scoffed and preceded him out of the room. “Yeah? You think so?”

“You’re asking for it, Shane.”

I could hear him crutching up the hall behind me. “You’re all talk.”

I had turned the corner and could see our mothers in the kitchen when Ambrose retaliated. Suddenly my foot wasn’t where it was meant to be, and I fell forward, knocked into a wooden coffee table, and landed with an awkward thump on the ground.

“Ow.” I landed on my hip, and as the haze of pain cleared, I looked around to see what I tripped over. There was nothing… apart from Ambrose, his crutches, and that damn smirk on his face.

“Oh, Shane. I wish you’d be more careful.” My mother said with a note of despair. Tracy hurried over and righted the table. Ambrose didn’t move, and neither did the smirk on his face.

No one bothered to ask if I was okay or help me to my feet. I stood gingerly. My left wrist ached, I’d scraped my forearm on something, and my hip was going to be bruised.

I glared at him. “You know, you’d think people who got free rides from the airport would be more grateful.”

He grinned harder. “I needed to get you back for the new wallpaper my phone is rocking.”

Never back down. Wasn’t that the motto of childhood friends?

“True. I guess you’re Ubering for the near future, then.”

I tried not to limp as I walked away from him. “No. Hey! That’s not fair,” he cried as he came after me.

“Tell that to my hip.” I sat at the table where Tracy had already laid out all the plates and examined the graze on my forearm.

I half listened as Mum asked Ambrose how he was doing. He submitted himself for a quick hug from her, complimented her on her hair—yes, he learned that one from me—and sat next to me.

Tracy bustled around putting out bowls of salad and a large lasagna. Mum went on about Ambrose’s operation. I rubbed my arm and poured water in our glasses from the decorative bottle on the table. Tracy cut the lasagna, Mum passed the plates one by one, and Ambrose served himself some salad and passed the salad bowl to me.

“You’re not really going to make me Uber, are you?”

“I think I’m busy when you need a ride,” I said.

“You don’t know when I need a ride,” he said outraged.

“So when do you need a ride?”

“Saturday morning?”

“I think I’m meeting my friends then. We’re going to a new hipster café.”

So I was being petty. The length of our friendship allowed it.

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you wanted help with your wallpaper?”

“No. Not this weekend. I may be going on a trip.”

“Will you be taking lots of photographs on this trip?” he snarked back.

“It’s nice to see them arguing like old times, isn’t it?” my mother remarked loudly to Tracy.

I sat back and shut up, although I was the one wronged. Ambrose asked Mum if she’d ever helped with the legal paperwork to set up a charity because there was someone he knew who was looking into it. I zoned out a little as Mum began explaining stuff that sounded really boring. There was a muted beep from Ambrose’s direction and he reached for his phone to check it. When Tracy turned to me and asked about my job, I tried to make it sound scintillating.

When my phone vibrated in my pocket, telling me I had a message, I ignored it. Ambrose finished with his phone and rejoined the conversation, and I forgot about the text message until we ended our meal and I helped Tracy take the plates to the kitchen. While Tracy pulled a cake from the fridge for dessert, I took the phone from my pocket and checked.

It was a text from Ambrose with a photo attached, but no words—it was the photo I took of him in the shower.

“Chuck the kettle on, will you?” Tracy asked me. “I’m partial to a tea tonight. Ambrose? Elaine? Would you like a hot drink?”

Why did Ambrose send me that picture?

“Shane? It’s actually helpful if you put water in the kettle before putting it on the stove.”

“What?” I looked up from my phone to see Tracy regarding me with a smirk.

“Water? Kettle?”

I looked and realized I had put an empty kettle on the gas flame. I blushed as I quickly yanked it off and thrust it under the tap to fill.

“What’s got you so enthralled on that phone, anyway?” Tracy remarked as she put the cake on the table and began to slice it. “Secret boyfriend?”

Suddenly all three sets of eyes were looking at me. Put on the spot, I stuttered, “Ah. Umm. No. Not really.”

“Not really?” Mum asked with interest in her voice. She’d come a long way since the night I showed her the inside of my closet. “Not really is not a negative. It’s more an agreement with part of the statement. Since there were only two parts to the statement—secret and boyfriend—that narrows it down to a boyfriend who is not a secret, or a secret who is not a boyfriend.”

My mother had been working for lawyers for too long.

“Since I don’t have a boyfriend, then you’ll have to infer what you like.” That told them precisely nothing. Which is what I wanted.

“As long as it’s not illegal or addictive, then I’m okay with it,” my mother said. Illegal? No. Addictive? Fuck, yes.

“Or a grandchild I’m not ready for,” Tracy put in.

My mother groaned. “Oh yes. I am a little bit lucky. I haven’t really had to worry about that with Shane.”

Tracy passed Ambrose a piece of cake and gave him a long look. “I always said ‘Not before I’m fifty.’ But that milestone is coming up later this year, and I don’t think I’m ready even now.”

Ambrose looked hurt. “How come it’s Shane with a secret, and I’m the one getting lectured?” He took the plate from his mother. “Besides, being gay doesn’t mean you can’t knock up a woman. I know plenty of gay guys who’ve had kids.”

My mother’s gaze returned to me, and I rolled my eyes. “No, Mum. I haven’t knocked up anyone.”

Thankfully she seemed satisfied with that and turned back to her plate. I pulled the tea bags from the pantry, checked who was having one, and made two cups.

“Now that you’ve emerged from your bedroom, Ambrose”—Tracy took a sip of her tea and put the cup down—“I wanted to tell you that I have a long shift tomorrow. I’ll be leaving home about two, so you’ll have the house to yourself.” She gave him a large wink. “Can I trust you alone?”

Ambrose replied straight-faced. “Nope. I’m going to have strippers over, all my mates to get drunk and trash the house, and then an orgy.”

We all laughed because Ambrose had never done that in his life.

“Fine,” Tracy said. “But just in case you want some friends over to have a few quiet beers without your mum listening in, I thought you should know.”

We finished up the cake, and Ambrose kicked me under the table. “So you can pick me up on Saturday?”

“I told you, I’m going to a hipster café.”

I was careful to keep the grin inside. I would message him tomorrow and ask him what time he wanted me to pick him up, but for tonight, he could stew.