Chapter Eighteen

SUNDAY BROUGHT a worried phone call from Tracy. I walked out the back of the house and shut the door, at least attempting a bit of privacy while I assured Tracy that Ambrose was fine and that we were just hanging out together.

“Look after him, Shane. Something is wrong. He’s got something weighing on him.”

Ambrose was making coffee when I reentered the house. “What did Mum say?”

“She was worried because you prefer to sleep over at my tiny little house and share a small bed with me, rather than go to the mansion you helped her buy and sleep in your huge king-size bed by yourself.”

Ambrose smirked. “She doesn’t know the fringe benefits of sleeping in your small bed.”

Yeah. There was that. I wondered if Tracy suspected.

“Besides, it’s not a mansion,” he said as he passed my coffee.

“Compared to what we grew up in, it’s a mansion,” I said.

He didn’t deny it.

My phone started to beep then as group messages came in from the gang about our usual Sunday gathering. John confirmed the time the game started, as though it didn’t start at the same time each week, Jamie reminded everyone to bring a hat because it looked sunny out, Aaron demanded we bring food with us, and Vinnie told him they had plenty of food.

I giggled at the screen.

“Who’s that? Mum again?”

I shook my head. “It’s the guys. Group chat. Aaron said we all need to bring steaks and sausages to cook, and then Vinnie comes back and tells him to be quiet, that they don’t need that much food. They’re probably in the same room, yet they message via the chat.”

Ambrose gave a little snort and then sobered. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, of course.” I went every week. “Did you want me to drop you home first? I need to leave in about an hour.”

“Can I stay here?”

I didn’t expect that. “Oh. Umm… sure. If you want.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Did you want to come? See John play and have lunch?”

I would cop so much shit from the guys for never telling them about my famous friend, but it would be worth it if Ambrose wanted to come.

“Nah. I don’t want to socialize. I just want to… be a hermit for a while. Can I use your laptop while you’re gone?”

“No problem. What do you want it for?”

Ambrose looked to the side and mumbled, “Nothing much. Just some research stuff. Tax and legal things. Charity work stuff I’ve been doing.”

That was odd because I knew Ambrose had a tax accountant. And any “legal things” he could’ve asked my mum about. It rang some vague bells. What did Ambrose ask the other night?

“Okay. Can I use some of your groceries to make a salad to take to Aaron’s?”

“Of course.”

We chatted while I made up two salads—despite not enjoying cooking for one, when I got a chance to feed more than myself, I liked to make yummy stuff—and served out a portion of each on a plate for Ambrose’s lunch. He reassured me several times that he was okay at my place by himself.

So I dressed, packed the salads in a cooler bag with some ice packs, added some drinks and snacks, grabbed my camping chair so I could sit on the sidelines and watch John’s game, stole a kiss from Ambrose, and left.

I wasn’t the last to arrive, but only Jamie and Liam were missing. Aaron and Vinnie were sitting side by side, chattering—or rather arguing—about something, as evidenced by Vinnie’s violent head shakes and Aaron’s answering nods. Hiram had taken the spot on the other side of Aaron and was looking at his phone, probably playing one of those apps he was addicted to. Kee was sitting next to Vinnie, and on the other side of him were two coolers, several bags, and then Tate, sitting on his own but talking to his boyfriend across “the gap.” We’d taken to putting our coolers and bags in the gap between the footy-appreciation side and the nonfooty-appreciation side.

I walked up, greeted Kee and Tate, who were the only ones to notice me, added my bag to the gap, and set up my chair next to Tate. Since it was only Tate, Jamie, and me on the nonappreciation side, I’d gotten to know him quite well over the course of year. Tate worked in the fashion section of a large department store in the city. He’d given up trying to persuade me to wear anything other than my normal, nondescript clothing. He was a big movie and TV-series buff, so we usually chatted about that.

Jamie and Liam arrived soon after. Where I could sneak in and sit with only two out of the five people in our group noticing, Jamie arrived in a flourish, and half the crowd in attendance at the game noticed.

“Oh my gawd. It’s going to be a glorious day, isn’t it?”

Jamie didn’t know how to be silent. Or quiet. And we loved him for it. He came over and prattled on about how wonderful the sunshine was and how that meant it was going to be an early spring and then started in on an argument about how it was good for the bees but subsequently bad. We all had trouble following Jamie’s arguments. I listened as he opened his chair and plonked it on the other side of me.

But then Vinnie cut Jamie off midsentence with, “Oh my God. Shane. When did you get here?”

I shrugged. “A couple of minutes.” Or ten.

“Thought you’d sneak in, did you?”

Did I ever have to sneak anywhere? “Uh….” I didn’t know what he was getting at.

Vinnie stood and with determined movements, pulled me out of my chair. “I think there needs to be a change of scenery for you, don’t you think?”

I was perplexed, and so was everyone else in the group. Vinnie snagged my hand, lifted my chair, and very determinedly tugged me over to the other side of the gap and placed my chair next to Hiram.

Aaron protested. “Now, now. We can’t just invite anyone over to the footy-appreciation side, Vin. There’s rules about these things.”

“What rules?” demanded Vinnie.

Aaron looked shocked. “You can’t switch teams like that. It’s not done.”

Vinnie got a crafty look on his face. “You can’t switch teams—like you did?”

We all tried hard to hide our laughter. Liam spun on his heel and turned his back on his best friend. Tate slapped a hand across his mouth. Hiram looked up and squinted at the sun to hide his smirk. Aaron turned red. We still enjoyed giving Aaron shit for falling in love with Vinnie. Before they started to sleep together, Aaron was convinced he was heterosexual.

“I didn’t exactly switch teams,” he defended himself. “I just sorta realized I liked the other team too.”

Vinnie blushed. “And I’m ever so glad you did. But to keep with that analogy, it’s not that Shane’s switching teams, it’s that he’s been in the closet. Isn’t that right, Shane?”

“Umm… what?” I was confused.

So were others. Hiram cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m someone who can personally testify to the fact that Shane’s not in any closet.”

Vinnie shoved his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Not the gay closet. The footy-appreciation closet.”

“Shane likes football?” Kee was the first to get it.

“Why didn’t he just say so, then?” Liam was unfazed.

“But he always reads his book. Are you sure about this, Vinnie?” Tate had sat next to me through enough games that he knew I didn’t watch.

Jamie stood up. “I’ve known Shane the longest, and if he were a football fanatic, I would know about it.”

But Vinnie held his ground. “I didn’t say he was a fanatic. I said he’s an appreciator of football.”

“Why would you sit on the other side of the gap if you liked football?” Kee asked with uncertainty.

Vinnie smiled. “I think Shane is holding a lot of secrets. Are you ready to come out of the closet and tell us any of those secrets yet?” He was looking straight at me as he issued the challenge.

Remember those corporate people who pushed to get ahead? Remember that nondescript Shane couldn’t be bothered to work that hard and just rolled over?

I shrugged as though I didn’t know what he was talking about. Vinnie’s face fell.

Jamie suddenly had a lightbulb moment. The way I know that? He screeched out loud, “Oh my gawd!” Jamie doesn’t hold anything in. “Do you mean to suggest, Vinnie, that our favorite Shane here has a secret boyfriend we don’t know about?”

Vinnie crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know. Do you have a secret boyfriend, Shane?”

That one was easy. “No. Of course not.” Ambrose wasn’t my boyfriend.

Vinnie narrowed his eyes. Thankfully Aaron came to my rescue.

“I still think there needs to be some sort of test before we start accepting any old person onto our team.”

Liam was standing behind Aaron and muttered, “I’d like to know what test you did in order to change teams.”

“I’d like to see a scorecard on how he did on that test too,” Tate muttered.

“Hey,” Aaron roared. “Quit picking on me and tell me why Shane gets to sit on the football-appreciation side of the gap.”

I decided to speak up. “Actually I do prefer the other side, so if I could just—” I went to pick up my chair, but Vinnie stopped me.

“Tell me, Shane. You say Cuddy doesn’t have the height, but they’ve chosen him anyway. How do you think the team will respond today? Frasier’s going to have trouble if he doesn’t have that forward waiting for him. He’s going to have to push it farther down and find Cuddy in front instead of behind, right?”

I went cold. Hawthorn was playing today? Oh, shit. No wonder Ambrose wanted to wallow in the sulks by himself. And I let him. Tracy told me to look after him, and I abandoned him. I quickly began thinking of a way I could shoot off early and get home to him.

Aaron groaned. “Hell, Vinnie. Are we still going on about this Cuddy business? You don’t even go for Hawthorn.”

“They’re a professional team, mate.” Liam clapped Vinnie on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll be able to alter their playing style to replace a player. No one is irreplaceable.”

But Vinnie was stubborn. “I want to know Shane’s opinion on the matter.”

Seven sets of eyes turned my way. I actually hadn’t lied to any of them, not really—a lie of omission, as they say. I hadn’t put my hand up for either side of the footy-appreciation gap. They all just assumed.

Did I want to lie outright to my friends?

Dammit.

I sighed. “It’s not going to be Frasier who has the problem,” I predicted. “It’s going to be Fuerza. Cuddy doesn’t have the height, so he lacks the ability to bomb the ball with the accuracy Bro-Jak does. Cuddy’s faster and likes to run rings around his opposition, rather than take them on in a marking contest. He prefers a ground-ball game where the forward pockets come at him and he brings it down to them as a running game, chipping it in slightly over the fifty-meter line. Fuerza’s used to playing with Bro-Jak bringing the ball by using his strength to muscle through the defense, getting the free and kicking it long. With Cuddy, the forward pockets are going to have to think and respond faster because he’s coming at them quicker than Bro-Jak did. They’re not going to be able to anticipate Cuddy’s whereabouts until they’ve played a couple of games with him there.”

Vinnie nodded. “You’re saying there’ll be a lot of turnovers in the forward line?”

“I’d bring Martin out of full-forward and put him in the pocket. He’d respond quicker to Cuddy. If you can bring Martin into the forward pocket, then he’s going to get the ball. He’s going to need support there, but really, you just need someone to burst out in front of the goals.”

A look of astonishment passed over Vinnie’s face. “Shit. I reckon that would work.”

I became aware of the faces of the others. Shock and bewilderment on most of them. Exasperation on Tate’s face—he’d lost a comrade.

Hiram stood and helped me to sit in the chair next to him. “Welcome to the fun side.”