Chapter twelve
A honking of a car horn from outside the house woke Seb up the next morning. Lifting his head from face down on the pillow, he squinted. “The fuck?”
A piping-hot mug of coffee clunked onto the bedside table beside him, followed by his mobile phone and the slap of a newspaper on his back.
“I just been on the dog with the club, they calling me in.” Jay was dressed. Which, yeah, was an odd sight already. But even more strange was that he’d donned the West Ham training tracksuit that hadn’t seen the light of day in a few months now.
“Right.” Seb swivelled onto his back, rubbing his eyes and fell against the upholstered winged headboard. The newspaper crumpled on his lap, so he unfolded it to the front page. “Didn’t have you down as a Sun subscriber.”
“Courtesy of your cleaner this mornin’.”
Seb snorted. “Out of all the posed photos of celeb couples from last night, they choose this papped one of us, huh?” He cocked his head taking in the photograph that had been blown up to fit most of the tabloid front page. It was of them, at the entrance to the Roundhouse, with Jay’s hand on the small of Seb’s back and leaning into his ear. Fuzzy around the edges, too. The headline in bold made him chuckle. Boyfriend Goals. Until he peered up over the paper and met with Jay staring down at him, chewing his bottom lip. “You pissed?”
“No.” Jay shook his head.
“Is the club?”
“Can’t see why. Ain’t exactly news, is it?”
“So, why they calling you in?”
Jay shrugged. “I dunno. My guess, they’re gonna tell me how long I got. Ultimatum, maybe. For the knee.”
“Right.” Seb shuffled up in the bed. “Do you need me to drive you? I can be ready in a jiffy.”
Jay arched an amused eyebrow. “A jiffy?”
Seb tutted. “It’s too early for me to mockney, right now.”
Jay chuckled. “Lucky I love you plummy.” He leaned down and planted a kiss to Seb’s lips. It wasn’t rushed either. He stayed there, for a good few seconds, regardless that Seb’s breath must have tasted like a day-old dog’s dinner.
“Minty.” Seb smiled.
“Stay in bed. My dad’s coming to this one.”
“Right.” Seb hid the disappointment. “You want me to stay here all day?”
“You got anything on?”
“Under here?” Seb lifted the duvet to display his morning salute.
Jay laughed. Which wasn’t the reaction Seb had been hoping for. “Nah, I mean you doing anything?”
“Oh.” Seb slapped the duvet back down, sending a memo below that he’d take care of it himself later. “Not that I recall.”
“Sweet. I’ll see ya laters, then.”
“That you will.” Seb reached for the coffee. He took a sip, cocking his head and enjoying the view of Jay back in his usual attire.
“Oh, by the way.” Jay stopped at the door and pointed down at Seb’s mobile. “Brought that up ’cause it kept beeping.”
Seb darted his gaze to his mobile screen. “Anyone interesting?”
“I didn’t check it.” Jay grabbed a baseball cap from the back of the door, scraped his floppy hair back and slipped the cap on his head. “Random number anyway. Laters.”
Seb took another sip from his mug and listened out for the front door, followed by the scratching of tyres on gravel before plonking the mug back down, shoving the paper from his lap and reaching beneath the duvet. He wrapped a hand around his begging cock and visualised Jay in his sweat-induced and mud-splattered football kit. Is it a fetish? He wasn’t sure. But it always got the job done.
His phone vibrating against the bedside table jolted him. He was about to ignore it and fulfil the job in hand, but a sudden thought struck. Could it be Kenneth? No one should ignore Sony’s A&R Director. Snatching the phone, he checked the incoming message.
Today. The Royal. 1p.m.
He threw the mobile away as if it was on fire and slammed back against the headboard. His fucking father. What could the man want? It’s been over a year. Seb shut his eyes, attempting to stave off the overriding curiosity. Irritated, he picked the phone back up and scrolled through the latest news reports. There he was. Every single entertainment section. With Jay, his hand on his back and leaning into his ear. That photo must have earned the pap a fortune as it was everywhere. He wanted to smile, enjoy the moment of step one celebrity couple status. But he clicked out of the phone and shuddered.
He hadn’t missed a single thing since walking out on his old life. And nor did he want any of it back. He wasn’t going to attend his father’s meeting. He didn’t need to go. He had no interest in what Will Saunders could be reaching out to him for. I have a potential touring deal with Sony Music, for fuck’s sake! He was climbing to the top, reaching the dizzy heights of international rock stardom. Everything his father had always told him he would never achieve. So, fuck him. And fuck Steven. And fuck the fucking Royal.
Mumbling obscenities under his breath, he stomped over to the en-suite bathroom and showered.
* * * *
“It ain’t all bad news.” John slapped a hand on Jay’s shoulder as they emerged out into the parking lot of Upton Park Stadium after a being holed up in their boardroom for a good couple of hours.
“I know. Cheers for coming.” He could hardly look his dad in the eye. He hated that the bloke who’d given up everything for Jay to get to this level now had to hear the bad news that it might have all been for nothing. And the papers that had once again been spread all over the tables regaling Jay’s public display of affection to his boyfriend. No-one had mentioned that, but it was a definite elephant in the room.
“They just sayin’ don’t go straight back into team training.” John loosened his tie, relaxing after having been done up to the nines for the meeting with the bosses. His dad was much more comfortable in paint-splattered decorating gear. “There’s a chance that you could undo the repair if you do. It’s all looking good, so take it light, train by yourself.”
“How long do you think they’ll keep throwing money at this?”
John shrugged. “Money stuff ain’t me forte. You know that. I’m here to make sure they got your best interests at heart. And I’d say, they do. You got time, son, don’t rush it.”
Jay understood. Any impact on his lower limbs at this stage in his recovery might regress him back to square one. He needed to build up his strength first, by himself, which he found so bloody difficult. He was a team sportsman, a footballer, training all his life with others. Yeah, he could do light jogging by himself, a few weights, swimming, all those other things that the club suggested. But he itched to get back into the game, to the point he was so fucking frustrated with it all. He didn’t know what else he could do to speed things up. He was a caged animal, ready to burst free. He needed to do something. Anything. He had to get back on the football pitch, because he was slowly losing himself in all this recovery.
“Do you think I was wrong?” Jay hadn’t ever asked the question outright to his dad before, believing he knew the answer already. John had warned him what his coming out could do to him. Now it seemed that John’s fears had been confirmed.
Pressing his meaty palm down on Jay’s shoulder, John stared into Jay’s eyes. Jay swallowed. This man, this man had seen Jay at his best and at his very worst. His opinion was paramount. “I’m proud of ya, son. You know that.”
Jay nodded, biting his lip. “Ewa said it’s all in my head. That somehow I’m manifesting the pain out of fear or some shit. I thought that was all bollocks. But I dunno, Dad, I thought I could handle all this.”
Stepping back, John smiled, the crows-feet around his blue eyes slicing down his cheeks.
“Maybe you need to stop thinking about what other people are thinking. You know what football’s like. You know what fans are like. You been coming here since you were five. You been playing football just as long. That’s you, Jay. That’s who you are. What other people think is, well, mute, innit?”
“Moot?”
“Yeah, as in they should keep shtum about things that don’t concern them.”
“Right.” Jay nodded.
“But they won’t, ’cause they gobby arseholes. So whatever they say don’t matter. ’Cause they have to flap their gums to keep warm in the terraces. Tha’s all it is, son.”
“Okay…”
“What you need to remember is who you are. Remember the kid who kicked a ball against a concrete wall until it was too dark to see. Remember the kid who saved every last penny of his pocket money to buy the best studs that we couldn’t afford. Remember the kid who went running every morning before school and every evening after, even in the snow. The kid who practiced ball skills instead of hanging out with his mates, chasing skirt. And the kid who didn’t take any shit on the pitch.” John smiled. “And remember the man who a year ago stood up for what he believed in.”
Jay nodded.
“I don’t think I’ve helped, have I?” John scrubbed his protruding stubble. “I been as bad as those in there.” He angled his head toward the stadium. “You fell in love, son. And I ain’t too old to know what that feels like. And you having to hide that? To keep shtum about it. Nah, that ain’t right. It ain’t right for you and it ain’t right for Seb. And I see what he’s being doing for you these past few months. I have to admit, I was wary at first. I thought he’d scarper off, that he wouldn’t deal. But look at him. He’s there for you, ain’t he? He’s not mucking about.”
Jay bit his bottom lip and glanced up to the sky. His dad, for once, was speaking sense. Seb had been there for him. This whole time. Hadn’t he?
“You need a lift back?” John squirmed out of his jacket and threw it into the back seat of his Fiesta. “I’m kinda going the other way, though. Gotta pick up the van and get to a job.”
“You should retire.”
“Ha. Yeah, all right, mate. Your mum’ll go barking if I’m at home all the time getting under her feet. We have talked about moving, away from the council-run gaff. Getting a house that we can do up ourselves. But, a mortgage is out the question at our age and landlords are bastards about that sorta thing.”
“I’ll have a look around for somewhere for ya. Maybe I can get a second mortgage?”
John tapped Jay’s cheek. “You worry about you. We’re fine. Getting in?”
“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll bell Seb.”
“All right, catch ya laters.” With that, John slipped into his car and skidded out of the stadium car park.
Jay hobbled to the gates, fishing his phone from his back pocket. Right, so he needed a confidence boost. He needed to get all the voices out of his head that told him he didn’t belong on the pitch, that he wasn’t a man, or worthy of his position in the team all because of who he chose to share a bed with. He needed to show the world who he was, no fear. Exactly how he should have been at the awards gig last night. Instead of a papped photo of him discreetly whispering in his boyfriend’s ear, it should have been a posed shot. A happy shot. The two of them. No hiding, no shying away, no ‘no rocking the boat’ mentality. A massive shout out to the world that, fuck them all, he was Jay “Rutters” Ruttman. You can knock me down, but I’ll get straight back up and in your fucking face again!
And who better to help him with that?
He swiped his phone, hit the Call button and waited. It rang. And rang. And rang. Lazy bastard. Tucking the phone into his front pocket, he resigned himself to a limp to the tube station. Actually, on second thoughts, he’d best get a taxi. Rummaging through his wallet for a minicab number he could rely on, a different card caught his eye. He tugged it out, flipping it over and clucked his tongue in contemplation. Should he? What the fuck have I got to lose? Tapping in the unfamiliar number, he waited.
“Riley Burton.”
“Riley, it’s Jay.” He shut his eyes. What the fuck am I doing? This went into the ‘all things absurd’ column of the ‘stupid things he’d ever done’ listings.
“Rutters?”
“Yeah, you said call. But if you’re busy, no sweat.”
“No, no, not busy.” Riley’s voice perked up a notch. “Well, I am. But don’t tell the boss, eh? How ya doing?”
“Recovering. Slowly. Just been at the club, actually. Starting me on light duty.”
“Sweet. That’s good, but I know you, Ruts, bet you can’t wait to get back on the team, right? And I mean that with no pun intended.” Riley chuckled. “Listen, did you have a chance to think about my offer? Talk it over with that fella of yours? Please tell me he didn’t persuade you out of it, ’cause I been chewing the CEO’s ear off about you, and I have to say, you’re the current hot favourite.”
“Really?” Jay didn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe that. Not with all the stuff he read about himself in the press.
“For sure. Look, you’re a catch. Girls all fancy the fucking pants of you, and the blokes seem to want to buy you a pint. If that don’t scream mainstream appeal, I don’t know what does. So, come on, let me buy you a pint and we’ll talk it over?”
Jay scrubbed his fingers across his brow. He’d got this far, might as well go the whole hog. What harm could it do? “All right.”
“Excellent.” A loud clap burst down the phone. “Feel free to ask the boyfriend to come along. I did ask the company what they thought of him, but a no go on that, I’m afraid. Not their target clientele. Too edgy. Particular. But happy to meet him. The geezer’s everywhere this morning.”
“Tell me about it. I’ll give him another bell, but looks like he’s still in uncle ned.”
“I hope that’s all right with you.”
“Bed. He had a late-night last night.”
“So I saw. All right. You at the club now? I can come pick you up, if you like? That way, I can do some more convincing and show you their company warehouse. It ain’t far from the Boleyn.”
After a brief pause, Jay made the most surreal decision of his life. “Sure. I’m at the gates.”