Chapter Sixteen
The entire house rattled on its hinges as the door slammed shut. Jay didn’t know what to do first—run after Seb and demand he tell him what the hell was going on, throttle Noah for causing all this, or scream at Ann for keeping everything from him. The unified exhale of breaths from all those still left in his kitchen gave off a stagnant atmosphere and Jay’s head rushed through a dozen emotions at once. He couldn’t clear it. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t figure out what had gone so wrong. Had Seb’s reaction been an admission of guilt? Or was it a hasty retreat from having been wedged into a corner by everyone’s accusations? Jay needed to talk. He had to get all the squirming, confusing, relenting thoughts out of his head and sort through them. To make some kind of sense over what had just happened. And there was only one person in the vicinity who could help him with that.
“Ann, can we talk?” Noah got there first, though.
Ann sniffled and nodded. “I think we should.” She peered up to Jay with concerned eyes. “Jay, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He was. He knew his reaction to her news hadn’t been fair. Ann was an adult. She didn’t need to tell him everything. She wasn’t his property. She wasn’t even his girlfriend in order for his betrayal to feel justified. Deep down, he knew that had all been about Seb. He wanted to ask Ann to stay with him. To talk to him. For her to tell him that he was being an idiot, that none of that stuff with Seb and Stephen could even be remotely true. He had a sudden urge to go back to how things used to be, before all the adulting. When he and Ann had used to sit on the park swings and make plans for their future, not actually be living it. When football, relationships, media-frenzies and babies hadn’t even been a faint line on the horizon. “Go on.” He nudged his chin toward the door. “You two gotta lot to sort out.”
She looked as guilty as hell, but smiled through the tears. “Are you okay, though? What was all that about, with Seb?”
It wasn’t fair to offload his own woes on her. Not when Ann had so much stuff to deal with. Regardless of how he felt about her situation, she clearly needed a chance to figure out her next steps. And that wasn’t with him. And whatever he thought of Noah, at least the man had stepped up when he needed to.
“I’m all right. And, honestly, I’m not sure.” It was the truth, sort of.
Ann squeezed his arm. “I’ll call you. Later.”
After walking them out, putting on a brave front, and closing the door, he came face to face with Martin standing awkwardly behind him.
“Dude, I’m sorry. Had no idea he wouldn’t have discussed it with you either.”
“Yeah, well, it seems he likes to keep secrets.” Jay fished his phone out from his back pocket, opened the Safari App where he’d stored the MTV news report, image and all, and showed it up to Martin. “Tell me that ain’t him.”
Martin squinted, leaning forward. “There’ll be an explanation for that.”
“Which is?”
Martin shrugged. “I don’t know. But the Royal?” He shook his head, disbelief written all over his face. “There would have to be a pretty damn good reason for Seb to have been there. Even more so with that.” He pointed an angry digit at the phone.
Jay looked at the picture again, clicked it off and sighed. “Why? What’s so special about the Royal?”
Martin blanked. “Oh. Well, that’s where it happened, y’know…”
“Exactly!” Jay’s heart, already crushed, felt like it’d splatter all over the cream walls. “All the more reason.”
“No, no, he wouldn’t. Not after that last time…” Martin trailed off, eyes darting to the floor before finally focusing back on Jay. “Trust me. He wouldn’t.”
“What aren’t you tellin’ me? And what hasn’t Seb told me? Again.”
“It’s not my place if you don’t know already.”
“Martin, I swear to fuckin’ God, I’ll smash your entire kit in there.” Jay jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the music room. “Tell me what you already thought I knew.”
Martin heaved out a sigh. “That’s where Stephen got a bit…fist happy, shall we say? Seb ended it, he got a whack. I had to come pick him up after he’d tallied up the bar bill to such heights even Will’s credit card couldn’t bail him out. I had to tap my dad up for a loan. It’s why Seb bought me the guitar. To say thanks. And sorry, I guess.”
“Shit.” Jay hung his head. He’d known Stephen had been rough. Seb had admitted to that. He’d also been a witness to Stephen going off the rails in New York. But he hadn’t known it had ever been as bad as proper beatings. “Stephen used to beat him?”
“Once. He did it once. Because Seb ended it. Stephen kept coming into Seb’s room after that, but Seb managed to get him out. Lock on the door. Then you.”
“I’ll never understand why he didn’t tell his dad.”
Martin shook his head. “’Cause the guy is manipulative, man. A real sleaze. There was blackmail, there was bribery, there was a lot of fucking shit that went down back then. It took a lot for him to do what he did. To stand up to him. It was you who gave him the ultimate courage, though. Like, no disrespect here or anything, mate, but I don’t think you quite know the circles he roamed in. That Stephen and his dad roam in. The pressures of that world to be something when you’re not is pretty hard.”
Jay inhaled a deep breath. “I understand that more than you’d think.”
Martin nodded. “Yeah. Guess you would.”
“So why would he be there? That’s him, Martin. We both know it.”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” Martin squeezed his arm. “Talk to him. Listen to him. That’s all he’s ever asked people to do. Why d’you think he writes it all in songs? ’Cause no one ever listened to him otherwise.”
Jay was now even more confused than before. He’d no idea why Seb had gone to meet Stephen. He’d attempted to run through all the rational scenarios when Riley had driven him home earlier and he’d concluded that he should give Seb the chance to tell him without prompting, without Jay having to say he’d seen the picture. But when Seb hadn’t even mentioned it, then outright lied when Jay had asked him where he’d been, and then storming out when Jay had posed the question of the Royal at all, everything pointed to the worst. If Seb had been planning a two-year trip to America, would he have contacted Stephen for some sort of rekindling? Deep down, Jay couldn’t believe it to be true, but his crippled self-esteem knocked his confidence. Jay wasn’t good enough, he hadn’t been giving Seb what he needed. Seb had been a highly sex-charged bloke before Jay, one-night stands second nature. Why wouldn’t Seb go elsewhere if he wasn’t getting his basic needs met by Jay? Unlike Jay, Seb could have sex without making love. Love and sex are two different things.
“I’m going to shoot off.” Martin opened the front door. “Call him. Talk to him. Do not let him down that bottle before you do. I’d been happy those days were over.”
As the door closed for the third time, the house shunted into complete silence, which didn’t help the thoughts still swimming in Jay’s head. He scraped back his hair and paced the corridor, trying to decide what to do. Where would Seb have gone? Why had he gone? Was he gone for good? The very thought made Jay sick to his stomach. He pulled out his phone and clicked on Seb’s name, setting off a delicate buzzing in rhythmic timing with the ringing in his ear. He followed the vibrations and peeped in to Seb’s music room. Seb’s phone, on the floor and plugged into his laptop, was no doubt downloading his music as well as charging the battery. Switching his off, Jay stomped in and tugged Seb’s phone from the wire. Was it committing the ultimate sin to check through his boyfriend’s messages? Can I be forgiven for needing to do it, having to see for myself?
He’d got as far opening the iPhone to the main screen when his own phone buzzed in his hand and made his heart leap into his throat. He dropped Seb’s, shattering the already broken screen and threw a guilty glance over his shoulder, checking if someone had seen his betrayal of trust. When only the ticking clock stared back at him, Jay checked the message.
Mate, it’s Riley, I’m down that pub near you. Tap me up if you want a drink.
At that moment, Jay couldn’t think of a better idea. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, grabbed his keys and left the house.
* * * *
Dangling the bottle between his legs, Seb lowered his head to shield his face from the passenger’s opposite. He should have picked up his shades on the way out, or hailed a cab rather than riding the train. But his head wasn’t thinking straight. His trembling legs had stalked toward the Docklands Light Railway, leaped over the turnstiles and he now found himself sitting in a carriage hurtling him back over the river.
The whisky remained unopened. He yearned to down the entire thing and scorch his insides. Like the good old days. Always trust in Jack to give him what he needed. But now knowing that he was on display, a photograph waiting to happen, a headline ready to be sold, he thought better of it than chuck back the stuff in public. He needed privacy. He needed somewhere he knew, and could trust in. Beneath the duvet, entwined with Jay. Seb snorted. No such luck.
Looking up, he checked which stations he’d be passing. He stood, grabbed the rail overhead and leaned in closer. The plan materialised in his head without much thinking. Gripping the bottle, he stood by the exit doors and bundled out at Bow Church. Ignoring the high-pitched bleeps from those who had Oyster Cards, he trundled down the steps, out into the street and headed left toward the underground. He managed to sneak in through the disabled entry behind a mother with buggy and boarded the District Line, Westbound, trying not to let his gaze settle on the stations leading eastward. Plaistow. Jay’s side. He’d obviously been merely a visitor there.
Leaning against the glass pane by the doors, he tapped his fingernails on the bottle, impatiently willing the tube ride to go quicker. He avoided eye contact with those passengers alighting and boarding. It wasn’t too hard; Londoners barely acknowledged one another’s presence as it was. But him, having been in the media twice already that day, he couldn’t risk anyone calling him out. Nor did he want it. He wanted to be in the shadows this time. Alone. The way I’ve always been.
When the carriage doors swished open at Victoria, he jumped off and his legs knew the way. Holding the JD by the neck, he departed into the bustling west end. Without looking, he paced the same pavement he’d stepped on when he’d been a fervent teenager, a heartbroken young adult, and a cynical new man. The darkened sky matched his mood. Except for the occasional flicker from the street lamps or the dim haze from the late-night coffee shops and packed-out wine bars, the gloom shrouded him. Here, he could hide in the shadows.
Hitting the fork in the road, he stopped and breathed in the exhaust fumes from the city. Across stood his old haunt, and the low drone of chatter even sounded the same. Except, back then, there wouldn’t have been as many gatherings on the narrow path, considering smoking had been permitted inside. He glanced up to the sign and the huge Stag’s head above the door welcomed him back. As much as he craved a cigarette, he knew better than to ask for one from those huddled under the veranda and so thrashed through the doors and into the bar.
All men, mostly suited, with a couple of females dotted among the many that stuck out like a sore thumb, filled up the traditional tavern. Seb headed straight for the bar stool at the end and dumped his bottle of Jack on the matt with a vicious thud.
* * * *
When Jay arrived at the Court Yard, Riley was propping up the bar and laughing with the bird serving him. Perhaps this hadn’t been his best idea. Watching Riley trying to cop off with the staff hadn’t been number one on his to-do list. He was just about to twist around when Riley caught his eye and held up his pint.
“Jay! Mate. Come on. Don’t let the draught in.” He ushered him over, pulling out a stool from beneath the bar. “Go on, park your arse.”
Jay limped over, his knee aching from not having been able to rest that day. He settled down in the seat, offering a firm nod in greeting to the bar girl. “Corona, please, love.”
She nodded and leaned down to the chillers. But Jay glanced up to the spirit section and for some reason a stupid thought struck.
“Actually. JD.” Seb’s poison of choice.
“Nice.” Riley tapped him on the back and gulped from his full pint. “I’ll join you on that. Make that two, Christie.”
“Single?” the girl asked with the glass already tucked under the Jack Daniel spout.
“I am, he’s not.” Riley cackled and shoved Jay on the arm.
“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, mate.”
“Right.” Riley’s face dropped. “Sorry. Make it two doubles.”
Two tumblers of Jack landed in front of them and Riley shoved the girl a tenner, waving her off. Jay lifted the glass to his lips, the pungent musky scent hitting his nostrils and sending him on a whirlwind of nostalgia. That was Seb in a glass—rich, aromatic and smooth. For all of Jay’s avoidance of hard spirits, whenever Seb had been on the JD, Jay hankered for his intoxicated kisses—almost as though Jay could get high from the droplets still left on Seb’s tongue. Maybe it was just Seb? The morning after a night’s drinking had always dissuaded Jay from overindulging, but right then, he felt like he had a hangover from Seb.
“You wanna talk about it?” Riley leaned his forearms on the bar counter, wrapping both hands around his pint.
Jay did, but he wasn’t sure Riley was the right person. Who else is there?
“He walked out.” Jay hovered the glass at his lips, still unsure whether to drink.
“For good?”
“I don’t know. When I asked him where he’d been, he lied.”
Riley whistled, taking a swig of beer. “Shit. So, the fella? The one in the picture? Who is he?”
Jay’s eyes fluttered to a close. He still couldn’t bring himself to think it could be true. Trouble was, no one had given him any other explanation. “His ex. Lover. But it’s more complicated than that.” Downing the JD, the hit caught in his throat and burned his chest. He coughed into a balled fist and his eyes streamed. “Fuck.” His voice was as hoarse as his forty-a-day grandmother’s. “That’s why I don’t drink.”
“Ha, and that ain’t done much for your street cred neither.” Riley chuckled and clapped Jay on the back. “I’m sorry, mate. The bloke’s an idiot. You’re better off without him, if you ask me.”
Jay shook his head, undecided whether he was disputing the accusation or just doing it for want of anything else to reply. “I dunno. Maybe it’s all my fault.”
“How’d’you figure that?” Riley finished his pint, then went onto the glass of Jack.
“I’ve been a prick recently. Since this.” Jay tapped his knee. “It’s got in the way, of us. I haven’t been able to…” He met Riley’s gaze, wondering how to put it. “Perform.”
Riley furrowed his brow, then after a moment, “Oh! Right. No going bump in the night, I get it. ’Cause of the pain?”
“Yeah, and the pills, and the ops, and, well, me. It’s all in here.” Jay tapped his head, and the realisation struck for the first time. This was his fault. All of it. Even before the injury, Jay had been pushing Seb away. “It’s all because I just never let us be free. I wouldn’t let us be seen, be talked about. As much as I was out, I still hid it. I told the world I was gay. Then I ran away and shut the door and asked Seb not to open it. I didn’t come out, as much as just peep my head through the window. Then getting this injury, I didn’t challenge it. Seb told me to. I wouldn’t. It’s football. You leave it on the pitch.”
“Yeah. I know.” Riley downed his JD and waggled the glass at the server.
Jay had still yet to take another sip. The first lot had burned his chest and seared his taste buds. The girl passed over another glass to Riley, offering Jay the same. He refused. He might be able to nurse this one all night.
“You know what you need?” Riley bumped his shoulder. “A good, old-fashioned, night on the town. One where no one knows you. Where you’re not looking over your shoulder. Where did you used to go before you met Seb? To hook up, I mean?”
Jay furrowed his brow and attempted another sip. “Nowhere.”
“What? You met all your old conquests on the pitch? I doubt it, mate.”
“No, I mean, I didn’t. Hook up. Go anywhere.”
“You’re kidding?” Riley shook his head and knocked back half the whisky. “You never had anyone, before Seb?”
“No. Well, there was Tom. But that wasn’t, y’know…”
“Tom?” Riley scrubbed a hand over his face, his dry fingertips rasping against his stubble. The scratching reminded Jay of Seb’s hands over his skin—years of playing guitar had given Seb’s fingertips their calloused edges. “Oh, right, the American. Yeah, I remember.”
Jay didn’t prompt him again. Riley should remember Tom, considering he’d been one of the ones to give him a smack in the mouth. It wasn’t worth dredging up and would only highlight what a surreal situation this all was. Jay, here, drinking with the bloke who’d sent his life down the fork in the road. What would Tom say if he knew?
“So what you’re saying is that Seb, he was your first?”
Jay knocked back the rest of the JD and slammed it on the surface, his chest on fire. “Man, yeah. I’d slept with girls.”
“Right. Wow.” Riley ponderously sipped from his whisky. “That’s, shit, I don’t know what to say, mate. That, there, might be your problem.”
“What?”
“You’ve only been with one man? One bloke? How do you know he was even the one for you? You gotta fuck a lot of frogs before you find your prince.”
“That so?” Jay waved his glass at the serving girl and she refreshed it quick smart. The whisky, like Seb’s Jack’d-up kisses, was quite addictive once the initial burn had worn off. That was like a euphemism for the man himself. “I think if you know, you know. Don’t matter if you’ve fucked a dozen or none. The feeling’s gotta be the same, right?”
“Maybe.” Riley shrugged, then lingered his glass at his lips and held Jay’s gaze. “Maybe it’s time you found out.”
* * * *
“You can’t drink that in here.” The above strobe lights shone off the barman’s bald head.
Seb stared the bloke in the eye, wandering his gaze down the man’s checked trousers, white vest and braces. Nothing changes.
“Sebastian?” The barman grinned, cocked his head and slammed a hand on his slender hip. “Long time, no visit. Thought you’d outgrown us.”
“Donnie.” Seb greeted the owner with modest enthusiasm. “Glass. Ice.”
“You know I can’t let you drink that in here.” He pointed to the full bottle of unopened Jack.
“You want me to go outside and drink it? I’ll still need a glass.” Seb wriggled out of his jacket. “And ice.”
“We’ve got security now.” Donnie angled his head toward the beefcake folding his arms at the end of the bar and staring at Seb as though he’d just taken a shit on the counter.
Seb sighed. The last thing he needed was to be chucked out. He slipped the bottle across the smooth wood. “Gift. For you.”
Smiling, Donnie curled his fingers around the bottle’s neck and dragged it to his chest. “What can I get you?”
“JD. Bottle.” Seb squared his shoulders. “Glass and ice.”
Donnie chuckled and dumped the bottle back down in front of him. “That’ll be fifty. For you.”
Seb tugged out his bank card from his pocket and handed it to Donnie to swipe through the till. Slipping it back into his jeans, Seb nodded a thanks for the glass plonked in front of him while Donnie sprinkled ice from the scoop into it.
“You looking for something tonight?” Donnie’s green eyes twinkled. “I know a few of the regulars miss your visits. But we’ve been playing your records and keeping your stool warm for you.”
Seb stared across the counter, his face a blank expression. Donnie smiled, leaned forward and his once youthful complexion was now sprinkled with deep lines.
“Although, I think most people in here would be very interested in watching your boyfriend fuck you.” He stood straight. “I know I would. And might I say, Sebastian, I was very surprised to hear how that turned out. You were never really the marriage-and-kids type. Not when you used to drink in here.”
“People change.” Do they? Jay didn’t think so.
“I’d certainly change to be on the receiving end of a footballer. Nice catch by the way. How does one score that sort of discreet gym Queen?”
“Fuck off.” Seb twisted open the cap on the bottle, filled his glass to the brim and his chest tightened like a vice grip. Why the fuck had he come here? What could he possibly gain from going backwards? That’s what he’d told the others. Always move forward, always aim high.
He could get himself back, that’s what. He had changed. After vowing never to be controlled again, it had happened without him knowing it. He’d been censored. Like when the radio bleeped over the obscenities to play his tracks, Jay had clamped a gag on him. And for what? For ‘survival on the pitch’? Didn’t work, did it? He’d been targeted and injured anyway, sinking him into depression and clearly blaming Seb for what had happened, to the point Jay couldn’t see past his paranoia anymore. Seb had tried to understand, had accepted everything Jay had asked of him, and had been the dutiful, and fucking faithful, boyfriend. Okay, so on a couple of occasions, he’d slipped up and mentioned them in the media or on stage. He couldn’t help it. He was so goddamn in love with that man it had been hard to keep schtum. Maybe Jay was rethinking everything and had realised that having a boyfriend in the public eye wasn’t what he wanted. That look on his face as he’d asked about the Royal…
Seb tapped his pockets. Shit. He’d left his phone at home. Is it my home? Where was his home? Cupping his palms against the glass of JD, Seb hung his head and the ice melted through the warmth still in his hands. His father was currently clearing out his childhood home, ready to sell to the highest bidder, and whilst Seb wouldn’t have cared a few weeks ago, suddenly the thought of not being able to go back there caused a dull ache in his heart. Or was that just what Jay had left him with?
Seb clenched his jaw. His father—this was all his fucking father’s fault! Why couldn’t his dad have just left things as they were? Not once in Seb’s miserable upbringing did he think that his father had really cared for him. Seb had been his commodity, his heir, not his son. But what he had done earlier—calling a truce, confronting Stephen and apologising for not having been there, telling Seb he was proud of him, offering his possessions back—what had that all been for? For Seb? Or to relinquish the guilt Will carried around? Selfish bastard.
If Will had just let things be, the way Seb had done, Seb wouldn’t be here right now. Alone, cold, and inhaling the stale odour of the past. Jay wouldn’t have accused him of cheating, and Seb would have had time to convince the band that the tour was right. Once again, his father had prevented Seb’s happiness.
Pushing his glass away, Seb stood.
“Leaving so soon, Sebastian?” Donnie wiped down the bar, and dragged the bottle of JD over to his side.
Seb didn’t respond. He just left the bar. Sans his bottle, with not a single drop having touched his lips. See, people do change.
* * * *
“I think that’s the last thing that should be on my mind, right now.” Jay knocked back another swig of whisky, the fuzzy haze now hitting his mashed mind and relinquishing his knee to a mere distant, dull ache. “Not least forgetting that the paps follow me like flies round a shit heap.”
“See, that’s where I think you went wrong.” Riley swivelled to face him, leaning his hip on the counter. “Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re as brave as fuck to come out like you did. As a professional. I mean, shit, that had to affect more than just your performance on the pitch. That’s hit your profitability, your transfer possibilities and the club’s marketing. There’s a reason no-one ain’t come out before. Because it’s a risk, business-wise. What club would want to take on a liability and a potential hostile crowd?”
Jay listened with one ear, the other trying to drown Riley out. Jay had lived all this. He didn’t need reminding that his coming out had affected his career potential—regardless of what any Kick It Out campaign fought against. He knew West Ham couldn’t sell him, not that he’d want to go anyway. What club would make a play for a bloke who caused trouble? Even if his knee wasn’t an issue, he’d struggle to make the national side. England wouldn’t risk taking an out gay player to a hostile country, rendering him not worth the aggravation. He’d been through all of this with management and with those running the campaign. He’d taken the first steps, yeah, paved the way for others to step out into the limelight—except none had. And why? Was it because they could see how it had affected him? He unconsciously rubbed his knee.
“You should have stayed in the closet.” Riley tipped his glass toward Jay. “And, yeah, before you ask, that would have been my advice if I’d been your agent.”
Jay had heard that over and over as well. To the point he’d started wondering it himself.
“You could have had a sweet life then. Found a bloke who didn’t want to be in the limelight, didn’t harass you to come out, didn’t take on the media as some kind of fucking mission to change the world. You could have just had a regular hook up, with a guy who understands why you have to keep it all in.”
“Really?” Jay rolled his eyes. “I ain’t sure there are many blokes out there who would understand or accept being swept under the carpet. It ain’t fair on them, like it ain’t fair on Seb.”
“I don’t know, mate. I think you’d be surprised.” Riley swigged from his glass. “You’re not the only one to have feared coming out. Some of us stayed in, and let it ruin us anyway. Then ran away to another country, so as not have to face it.”
Jay turned to meet with Riley’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes. Had he heard right? He couldn’t have. Not Riley. Not the man who’d called him faggot on the pitch? “Are you sayin’—”
“That I’m gay?” Riley laughed, then shrugged. “Bi. And it took me a long time to get to that point.”
“But—”
“Come on, Jay, you did psychology.”
“How did you know that?”
“I know more about you than I should. Or than I want.” Riley chugged back his remaining whisky and slammed the empty glass on the counter. He dipped forward, resting his forearms on the counter and hung his head.
Shame? Was that shame? Remorse? Regret… Jay had no clue. Nor did he know what to ask. So he didn’t say anything.
“Back in the Academy, how many times do you think we played each other on the circuit?” Riley didn’t look at him when he spoke, but the pause indicated he expected Jay to answer.
“No idea. A fair few. Local teams. I’d been at West Ham since eight. London tournaments each year, plus at least two games a year.”
“Yeah. A lot.” Riley nodded at the returning girl, pushing his glass over and she added another refill, which he knocked back. “I started noticing you pretty early on. You had skill. I was a scrappy defender, used my bulk rather than my brain. You seemed to be able to get around me even though you were smaller, skinnier. You could showboat, too. But you never did it for effect.” Riley shook his head through a fond smile. “And you were quiet. Really fucking quiet. Then suddenly you’d burst across the pitch like someone had lit a firework up your arse, with that platinum blond hair flopping all over the place. You set me on edge every time I played you. I liked you. First, I thought you were a great footballer, with real potential. Someone to learn from, to aspire to. Then, I don’t know, I started seeing you differently.”
Jay’s chest rose with the realisation. Maybe it was the whisky that had caught in his throat, but something prevented him from being able to speak. He just sat there, blank.
“I tried to talk to you a couple of times. You probably don’t remember. I think we both got a lot of stick back then and conversing with the enemy only got you more. So I admired you from afar. I figured, if you were like me, and I had suspicions that you were, then we could be friends. Tough it out together. So when I got picked for that tournament at West Ham, I’d sort of understood what my feelings were and I wanted to tell you. To ask if you were hiding and struggling with it all too.”
Riley threw the remainder in his glass down his throat, grimaced and shook out his shoulders. Jay’s phone vibrated in his pocket, so he tugged it out while Riley wasn’t paying attention and set it on the counter. He clicked the screen and his heart sank.
How’s things, Squirt? Ax
Shutting his eyes, he covered the screen with his hand as Riley continued.
“Then I saw you. With that American. Not just me. A couple in my team were with me. And fucking hell, did they let rip.” Riley searched Jay’s gaze. “I didn’t touch him, honest. I didn’t. But I didn’t stop it either. Because I couldn’t, if I did, I’d be called out. And right then, I was so fucking angry. How could you be so fucking stupid? So careless? I couldn’t understand why you’d do that, there, then! Why hadn’t you been hiding in fear, like me? And what the hell did that guy have that you couldn’t have seen in me.”
“Riley, I—” Jay found his voice, but he was cut off anyway.
“Let me finish, Jay. I’ve carried this around a long fucking time. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for allowing that to happen to him. And when I was on the pitch, I took it all out on you. Everything. My anger, my hatred, my fear, my shame. It was all there in every tackle. I didn’t want what happened to your bloke, happen to me. I wanted to play football, be accepted, be part of the team. But after seeing that, I knew if anyone found out, I’d never be able to. So I took you down. And believe me, I have regretted it every day since. Because if I hadn’t, maybe, just maybe, I’d’ve had the balls to tell you how I felt. Then we could both be playing football. Together. And, perhaps, we’d be each other’s closet.”
Jay wasn’t sure if Riley was finished, so he held his gaze for longer than it was comfortable. He wriggled in his seat to give him time to gather some thoughts. That was a hell of a lot to take in. Nor had Jay suspected any of it. That moment, on the pitch, had changed his life so drastically, and defined who he had been for so long. And it was all fake. It hadn’t happened because someone had called him out, didn’t believe he belonged on a pitch. It had been because Riley had been defending himself.
“So now we have a chance.” Riley lowered his voice. “You don’t need Seb, Jay. He makes your life more difficult. I see that. You need someone who understands. I understand. I can be what you need. I could’ve been back then, but I was scared. So let’s shove that under the carpet and start over. And I promise, one night with me, and you’ll realise that there is a better fit out there.” He slipped a hand up Jay’s back, stroking his fingers along Jay’s neck and tugged him across to whisper in his ear. “We both want it. Why else would you have done what you did today? I saw you getting ready for those pictures and, fuck me, Jay, I can’t wait to get a taste of you in my mouth.”