Chapter Three

HOW DO you tell the guy you’re in love with that his girlfriend isn’t good enough for him? Text message? Email? It was hard to keep lying to him for eleven years. When he left for Melbourne, I managed to mostly ignore Ambrose’s personal life, and it became very difficult, because I often saw him in the media. There were reports of Bro-Jak and Jen, Bro-Jak and Katy, Bro-Jak and Gabby. You get the picture. Although it helped that Ambrose lived in another state for nine months of the year and wasn’t around in person for me to lie to.

I somehow made myself finish my walk to work after I snatched the paper from the seller. I placed it on my desk and glanced at it every three minutes, hoping the words had changed. I pinched myself hard to check if I was dreaming—or having a nightmare?

I think people came to me that day and asked me for files. And I think I gave them the correct files. I really don’t know. One thing you need to learn about me? I take the easy way out a lot. I have a brain. It works. I don’t feel the need to extend it often.

You meet a lot of people in this life who are pushing themselves to be bigger, better, more. There are those who use others as stepping stones. There are those who use others’ ideas, expand them, and then use that to promote themselves. There are those who would sell their own mother to get ahead in life.

That’s not me.

I work in the corporate world. I see those people. I watch those people. They never see me. I truthfully can’t be bothered to work that hard. I did a couple of courses at tech school after high school and then settled down into a career of record keeping and document control. Blow those whistles and rattle those streamers—not. It isn’t exactly the job for movers and shakers, but I like it. It’s quiet, and the files don’t talk back to me.

I started off working for the same legal firm my mother is employed at. After a couple of years, I was poached by a mining company. The thing to know about mining companies is that a shitload of work goes into the process before the first shovel hits the ground. There are maps and reports and more reports. There are contracts and federal laws and state laws and council bylaws and indigenous tribal laws and surveys and property disputes and so on. And I’m the guy who gets to keep all the information in one spot. I’m the hard-nosed librarian gatekeeper. I have people sign in blood before they can take original copies of files out. I photocopy and scan a lot. I spend a lot of time in deep, dark, dungeon-like rooms. I enter information into databases and frown wildly when people move things around.

Yeah. I’m the life of every party with the stories I can tell.

And I can do my job with my eyes closed… or at least with my eyes on one particular news headline.

Bro-Jak Out for the Season.

I googled the article and was shown a clip in which the man I was determined not to love came down awkwardly on his knee and didn’t get back up.

I needed help. I needed information, and my mining files didn’t have it.

From a young age, I had a knack for gathering the facts I required. I didn’t have a father to help me, so I checked out books from the library and asked my friends. If the teacher didn’t know the answer, I would look the information up or ask my friends. Now, with the internet providing too much information—which is a problem in itself—I turned to my other source.

My friends.

I considered who to ask. Vinnie was the obvious choice. He was football mad and knew everything from the name of the Swans’ coach’s dog to how many kicks a player had in a game back in 1997. But he was also gay and had been my friend for years. He would be highly suspicious about me—the supposedly not-interested-in-footy guy—asking questions.

Kee could possibly know. He kept up with things like that, but he would also be completely nosy about my private life. Kee somehow managed to wheedle information out of me on a regular basis.

I could also possibly ask Jamie’s boyfriend, Liam. He knew everything footy, as it was he who started our local cheering squad on Sundays. Liam’s brother, John, played amateur football. In an attempt to teach Jamie the rules of our national sport, Liam dragged Jamie to watch each week. Then somehow Kee and his new boyfriend, Tate, were invited along. Then Liam’s best friend, Aaron. And then Vinnie, Hiram, and I began materializing as well, since our friends were there. Somehow we managed to end up back at Aaron’s house for an informal get-together every Sunday. There was beer and barbecue and good times.

The best thing about this was that Aaron and Vinnie ended up a couple. Aaron—who previously claimed he was straight and was easing into his bisexuality—had turned into a new friend over the past eighteen months.

He was also shockingly disinterested in others’ personal lives. So I waited until six that evening and called him.

“Hey, Shane,” he answered. “What can I do you for?”

I picked nervously at a scratch on my kitchen table. “Can you help me out with a problem? I was wondering something.”

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

“I saw the article on Bro-Jak busting his knee?”

Aaron groaned. “Hell, yeah. It looks bad, poor guy. But good for me. We’re playing the Hawks next week.”

I ignored Aaron’s one-eyed concern only for his team, the Eagles. “So he’s definitely out for the whole season? I mean, can’t they operate and he’ll be back in four weeks or something?”

“Nah. Not with knees. They can even put an end to your entire career.”

My stomach felt hollow. If Ambrose didn’t have his footy, he would be devastated. He lived his whole life for the game.

“So they operate?”

“Sure. Why?”

Why? Because I needed to work out if Ambrose would be coming home.

“So will Bro-Jak need to be close to his doctors? He’ll need physio, right? How long will that take?”

“I think so. Hang on. Vinnie?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear as Aaron shouted for the one person I didn’t want to know about my question. “No, wait—”

Shit. I heard Aaron talking to his boyfriend. His nosy boyfriend—his “why would Shane be asking about Bro-Jak” boyfriend.

“Shane’s on the phone. He wants to know what sort of recovery period Bro-Jak is up for.”

“Oh, hon. That poor boy is in a world of trouble,” I heard Vinnie say and didn’t know if he was talking about me or Ambrose. Then he was on the line. “Shane? You’re asking about Bro-Jak? Oh, he’s out for a decent stretch, definitely. I’m not sure who the Hawks are going to get to replace him. I mean, Sergio is good, but he’s not Bro-Jak-good if you know what I mean. They’ve also lost Lincoln and Stewart, who they could’ve promoted from the rookie list. I don’t think Simpson can step in either. His form hasn’t been good. What do you think about Cuddy?”

“He doesn’t have the height,” I said before I could stop myself.

Shit.

I wasn’t supposed to know about football, the Hawks, or even who Cuddy was—not that I really knew. I’d forced myself not to watch Ambrose’s games for the last three months. The only way to fight an addiction was to cut off the supply. And I’d admitted years earlier that I was an Ambrose-aholic.

Vinnie didn’t notice my slip of the tongue and continued the conversation. “True. If he just had a couple of inches….”

I let Vinnie rattle on for a bit before I cut in. “So Bro-Jak? They’ll want him in Melbourne, right? To support the rest of the team? Or will he come home to Perth?”

There was a pause.

A long pause.

Then Vinnie said, “Why are you asking about Bro-Jak, Shane?” There was a “what do you know that I don’t” tone to his voice.

Luckily I’d prepared for that eventuality. “There’s an office bet going on. What day will Bro-Jak fly back to Perth,” I said airily. “I thought I’d cheat and ask you guys before placing my bet.”

“Hmm,” Vinnie said in an “I don’t believe you” manner. “But let’s say you’re telling the truth. I’d put my money on pretty soon. Rumor has it his girlfriend has been seen partying with another guy. If they’re on the rocks, I’m guessing Bro-Jak will use it as an excuse to flee the scene.”

“He and Kendra are through?” I asked in surprise. I didn’t hear that, although I wasn’t surprised because I deliberately hadn’t read any article mentioning the name of the man I wasn’t supposed to be in love with.

Vinnie was silent again, and just as it was getting uncomfortable, he suddenly switched subjects. “You’re coming over here on Sunday, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” I said, surprised. Didn’t I come over most Sundays?

“Come early,” Vinnie said.

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“I want to talk to you about who you think should replace Ambrose Jakoby on Hawthorn’s starting lineup, since you don’t think Cuddy has the height.” He said it with a challenge in his voice, and I knew he’d sniffed out that something wasn’t quite right.

I tried to bluff it out. “So—Bro-Jak? Home in about a week you think? I should place my bet on a week from today?”

“Ten days,” Vinnie answered decisively. “And don’t forget to be early on Sunday. See you then, Shane.”