chapter Three
“Have you only just got up?”
Seb peered over his laptop. “Huh?” He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there at the island working on band stuff, but by the look on Jay’s face Seb assumed it must have been quite some time.
“It’s three in the afternoon, Seb!” Jay waved at all the boxes still obstructing the archway from the hallway to the kitchen. “And you ain’t moved nothin’!”
“Oh. Right. Shit.” Seb slapped the counter and stood. “Don’t go all nuts on me again.”
“Seb, you promised you’d clear it.”
“To be honest with you, baby, it’s mostly yours.”
“Yeah, so I see. Your music room got kitted out first day we moved in. You even have pictures hanging on the wall!”
“The nails were already there.”
Jay made a face that pretty much summed up that Seb was in the dog house. “I’m meant to be on rest right now.”
“Wait, hang on.” Seb furrowed his brow, checking the clock on the laptop screen “It’s three already? You’re a bit late for nap time.”
“Yeah. I had to meet with that agent they trying to palm off on me. Gaffer’s orders. I would’ve called—”
“Agent? And?”
Jay chewed his bottom lip. “Pointless.”
“Told you.” Seb drifted his gaze to the laptop screen. “You want someone to look over contracts, I’m your man.” He smiled. “I’m your man for most things. Generally, I’m just your man.”
Jay breathed through a smile, relaxing from his stiffened stance. “Let’s unpack. I can get in the sleep later before tonight.”
“Sure, but I also have some news that might help all this disappear.” Seb grinned, waggling his fingers in the air as if he could rid the boxes by magic.
“We ain’t getting a housekeeper. We don’t need one.”
“What? No—” Although, yes, they did. But Seb’s phone buzzed on the counter, striking the conversation to an end there. “I won’t answer it.” Slipping out from behind the island counter, he shrugged. “It’ll only be the mother.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Mine. American number. The longer I keep this address a secret from her, the longer it is until I have to deal with her demands to see me.”
“She’s trying, Seb.” Jay’s features softened.
That sympathetic look from Jay meant all was now forgiven, so Seb seized the opportunity with both hands by wrapping them around Jay’s neck and yanking him forward for a sloppy kiss. It took a while, but Jay soon slipped his hands around Seb’s waist and tugged him closer, indulging him by deepening the kiss.
Jay pulled away. “Oi, hold up. That’s your dirty kiss.”
“Is it?” Seb hummed, and smiled, pecking down Jay’s neck to taste the salty residue and breathe in the customary scent of football. Even if Jay had showered, the remnants of a hard session were always noticeable. “They need to bottle you.”
“That means somethin’ else where I’m from.”
Seb chuckled, his lips tingling against Jay’s stubble. He scrambled to lift Jay’s top up and Jay lifted his arms for Seb to rip it over his head. Throwing it on the nearest box, and shrugging at his boyfriend’s disgruntled eye roll, Seb put a stop to any more arguments by sliding his tongue inside Jay’s mouth and lapping up sugar-free mint chewing gum. Dirty kiss, indeed.
“Seeing as you started this…” Jay gripped Seb’s arse, almost hoisting him clean off the ground. “Wanna go upstairs for a bit? I could do with a deep massage.”
“When you said deep, I had other ideas.”
Jay smiled, trickling sweet breath onto Seb’s cheek. “That an all, then.”
Seb grinned and moaned a delicious purr from the pit of his stomach.
“Yoo-hoo, only us, loves.” Barbara encroached on the moment by entering their kitchen. Jay’s mid-fifties mother stopped, blinked, and probably would have covered her eyes if she weren’t carrying a heavy casserole dish in both arms. “Oh, sorry.”
Jay’s dad also joined in on the intrusion and almost bashed into his wife at the doorway. With his hands unoccupied, he did cover his eyes. “Fuckin’ ’ell, lads.”
“Mum, Dad.” Jay let go of Seb and shot his exasperated glare on his parents. “You’re a bit early. And the key was for emergencies.”
“Sorry, love.” Barbara stepped over the boxes and set the dish on the counter. “But I made this and it needs to go in your oven.”
Seb peered into the meal-on-wheels and sniffed. Lasagne. Mum’s special. Jay’s mum’s, not his. Sylvia had barely cooked before her estrangement and she hadn’t gotten any better since their reunion a year ago. Or so Seb assumed. They only spoke long-distance and irregularly at that, with her living in New York. Still, it was more than he conversed with the man who lived on the other end of the District Line, had brought him up from the age of nine, then cut him off completely twelve years later. Good times.
“I said I’d cook.” Jay flicked out his hair, his cheeks a delightful pinky tinge.
Seb had a sudden urge to tell the in-laws to bugger off and slam Jay up against their American-style fridge freezer and lick him all over. He resisted though. That was apparently called progress.
“But I like it. Keeps me busy since I left the garage.” Barbara smiled.
She’d given up her job at the local Tesco garage, which meant she now had an abundance of time on her hands. She claimed the early retirement was due to her not needing the money now both her boys had moved out, but Seb had a sneaking suspicion it was to do with not wanting to read the front pages of the tabloids that had borne her son’s face more than once over the past few months.
“And your dad said he’d have a look about, see if anythin’ needs fixing?”
“Cheers.” Jay swiped an arm along his forehead, beads of moisture trailing the fair hairs of his arms.
Seb dug deep into his resolve, hefting out a disgruntled sigh. Why did his boyfriend have to be so goddamn fuckable?
“That plasma screen could do with puttin’ up in the gym room.” Jay nodded to his dad.
“Done.” John scurried off, tool box in hand.
Seb bit his bottom lip, masking the chuckle. Jay’s dad was a legend and wholly accepting of their relationship, but Seb guessed he didn’t want it rammed down his throat by walking in on the two of them snogging half-naked in the kitchen. Cock-blocking aside, though, there was some good to having the in-laws close by. Food and free home help. Kissing Barbara’s cheek, Seb leaned toward the box and grabbed Jay’s T-shirt. He supposed he should cover up, considering he was standing there in just his boxers.
Barbara yanked out an antibacterial wipe from the packet on the side and cleaned the crumbs and jam stuck to the surface around Seb. “I spoke to Ann’s mum the other day. Such a shame about Ann and Lucas.”
Seb caught Jay’s look of confusion, swiftly followed by guilt, as he poked his head through the T-shirt. Jay hadn’t had much time with his bestie from school since their move, and he’d obviously realised he wasn’t up with the latest gossip in Ann Baker’s love life.
“He can do that, Mum.” Jay pointed to the now gleaming marble counter top.
Seb stuck the two appropriate fingers up behind Barbara’s back. Yeah, he was a loudmouth punk rocker, but he still had some respect for his surrogate mother. He’d start having to write songs sans swear words soon.
“I don’t mind, love. Now, where d’you want me to start?” Barbara glanced around, hands on her hips. “Where’s Seb’s lot?”
“That’s all been done.” Jay headed over to the nearest box and lifted the flaps.
“Oh.” Barbara’s tucked a lock of greying blonde hair behind her ear. “Did you not get any stuff from your old house?”
“Which one?” Seb drummed his fingers on the counter.
“The one out west?”
Seb snorted. “No.”
Jay straightened and Seb braced for what he knew was coming next. Many a conversation had over the past year about why Seb had refused to try and retrieve the things still left at his father’s house usually had Seb reaching for his guitar and a closed-off room.
“You should.” Jay’s gruff voice had an air of threat and authority that Seb usually shivered on hearing. This time, it just made him clam up.
“We’ve talked about this, Champ.”
“You can’t give up everything you ever owned. Surely there’s stuff there you want to get back? Something you need. Want? That’s rightfully yours.”
Seb sighed and slapped his laptop shut. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he didn’t respond. Not even when Barbara turned her own set of blue eyes on him. Obviously sensing the unrest, she hurried out of the room, hopefully to find some unpacking to do somewhere else.
“Seb—”
“Jay, leave it.”
“I’ll go with you. Your old man’s being a stubborn git. He’s had time to get over it. He’s just saving face, feeling a bit guilty and waiting for you to make the first move.”
“Guilty?” Seb furrowed his brow. “One, that’s an emotion my father does not possess and two, what the fuck would he be guilty about? I walked out on him, his business.”
“For good fucking reason.” Jay clenched his jaw, his features hardening. “He’s gotta know that now, right?”
Ah. Seb hung his head. “Go sleep. I’ll unpack with your mum and see if your dad needs any help.”
Jay arched an unconvinced eyebrow.
“As in hold the tool box, make the tea, that sorta thang.”
Jay snorted. “Don’t cook, don’t clean, DIY non-existent. What do you do?”
“When I look this fucking good, I don’t need any other skills.” Seb grinned, then scooted around the island and kissed Jay. “Get some rest before the Ruttmans take over this house completely.”
He tapped Jay’s cheek then bounded off to find which box Barbara had her nose buried in. It also allowed him to exit himself from the awkward conversation of having to deal with all that birthright nonsense. Jay banged on about it more often than Seb appreciated. He never wanted anything to do with any of it. Ever. He’d given all that up, for this. And he couldn’t be happier about it. Nothing would get him contacting his father again. Not even the hidden box in his wardrobe in Kensington that he often pondered over whether to get Yulia to sneak it out for him. But even that wasn’t worth the fight.
Fuck ’em. The new motto was working out pretty damn good so far.
* * * *
It took the best part of the rest of the day, but with his parents’ help the unpacking had been done by the time Jay awoke from his pre-planned shut-eye. For all the rigid schedules the club put on him—from training, gym work, watching repeated matches for opposition tactics, nutrition and physio—the monitored sleep was the hardest to stick to. Especially when his boyfriend was a night owl, and Jay was up with the lark with a timetabled no-disturb nap in the late afternoon—which was the only real time they seemed to get with each other. Apparently, according to the Sports Science guys, sleep and recovery was more important than muscle work. A tired body wouldn’t be able to achieve optimum results on the pitch.
When he entered the kitchen, dressed appropriately this time, the place was packed out. His mum hovered by the counter, preparing the salad to go with the lasagne bubbling in the oven. His dad was mid-chuck of two-year-old Lily, her blonde curls bouncing around her cherub-like cheeks. She giggled and it was so infectious that Jay had to laugh along with her. Bryan, Jay’s older brother, clean-shaven for a change, but clutching his usual can of Stella, had an arm draped over fiancée Cheryl’s shoulders and she had her manicured fingers wrapped around a wine glass.
One person was noticeably missing. “Where’s Seb?”
Barbara sprinkled the bacon bits into the bowl. This was an all-out accompaniment to the meal, then. “He said he had some stuff to do.”
“Play music!” Lily declared after being tossed in the air.
Course he would be. Jay did the rounds, shaking the men’s hands and kissing the women’s cheeks. When he got to Lily, she tapped a finger to her lips and Jay honoured her with a kiss there instead. She snickered uncontrollably after.
“I’m here, I’m here.” Seb rushed in, running his fingers through his hair to spike it up in the right places. “Sorry, very important business to take care of.” He kissed Jay, then yanked open the fridge. “You want?” He waggled a half-empty bottle of Pinot.
“Nah. There should be some lemon water in there?”
“Lemon water? At a dinner party? Champ, you need to loosen up.”
Bryan snorted a laugh and Jay flipped him off.
“James Arnold Ruttman!” No matter how old, or how successful Jay got, his mother would never miss an opportunity to reprimand him.
Seb chuckled and poured the wine to the brim of his glass, then topped up Cheryl’s and Barbara’s, chucking the now empty bottle into their recycling unit. He settled in close to Jay and his familiar spicy aftershave oozed off his smooth skin. It smelled better than the bubbling cheese coming from their pristine and pretty much unused farmhouse oven.
Jay got himself a water. “What important business anyway?”
“Well, you’re gonna flip your shit when you hear.”
“Sebastian! We have a minor present.” Barbara brandished the wooden salad tongs at Lily.
“You just got full named, fella.” Bryan held up his can in cheers. “Official welcome to the family.”
“I’m actually honoured.” Seb raised his glass to the room. “And the middle name’s Michael, just for next time, and we all know there will be one.”
Barbara tutted and went back to tossing the salad.
“And might I say, Babs, that necklace really suits you. New, is it?” Seb pointed to the pendant draped around Barbara’s neck.
Smiling, she stroked a finger over the silver heart. “Why, yes, it is. John bought it for me. A Tiffany, no less.”
“A Tiffany?” Seb raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Nice one, John.”
John set the panting Lily to sit on the island counter. “Cheers. Got it Romford market. Right bargain, an’ all.”
“The market?” Seb sipped from his glass, masking an amused smile.
“Yep.” John cracked open a beer can and slurped from the bubbles protruding from the hole. “Came with a box, so I know it’s legit.”
Seb plucked the jewellery from Barbara’s chest between his fingers and swiped his thumb across the smooth pendant. Jay exchanged confused glances with his brother as Seb settled the pendant back and picked up his wine.
“Beautiful, Babs.”
“Thank you, Seb. I’ve been wanting one for ages.”
“Me too.” Cheryl elbowed Bryan beside her. “But this one ’ere’s a right tight arse.”
The Ruttman chitchat started up again, with Lily demanding more throwing about and Cheryl and Barbara now locked into a conversation about the latest in costume jewellery.
Seb leaned in to whisper in Jay’s ear. “Fake.”
“Really?”
“You can’t get a real Tiffany from Romford market, I’m afraid.”
“Shit.” Jay glanced over to his smiling mother. “Don’t tell her, she looks so happy about it.”
“I won’t. Where is Romford anyway?”
“Up near where I train.”
“Right, right.” Seb nodded and took another swig of wine. “And I know exactly where that is.”
Jay sighed. “One day, you might even learn the offside rule.”
“Oh, Christ, no. Please don’t make me sit through that again. There isn’t enough time in my life, nor condiments to act as players.”
Chuckling, Jay caught onto the sparkle in Seb’s eye that reminded him why Seb might be acting so antsy. “Well?” He bumped his shoulder to Seb’s. “What’s the news?”
“Oh, yes.” Seb held out his arms in display of himself. “You are all looking at the main stager and headline act at this year’s V Festival.” He added in a boastful bow.
The Ruttmans, and the honorary one, all offered their own congratulatory cheers, clinking cans or glasses. Jay slipped a hand up Seb’s back and pulled him in to plant a kiss on his ear. “Congrats.” He meant it, even though a sudden twinge settled within his chest. That was going to elevate Seb’s celebrity status sky high.
“Right, it’s ready.” Barbara ushered everyone into the back dining room, plonked the still bubbling dish into the centre of the oak table and slipped off the oven gloves.
Everyone else brought the various extras to go with it and set them down on the table, taking up their chairs with Lily placed in the booster seat at the end. Seb sat next to her and sneaked over a biscuit. He winked, she giggled and Jay tucked in beside Seb with an odd feeling of mush in his stomach. He was hungry. That was all.
“How’s the new signings?” John helped himself to a plate of grub and sat to eat immediately after. “That Davies is quick footed.”
“Yeah.” Jay avoided the eye contact and served up a plate, which he handed to Seb. “He’s good.”
“There been any…banter?” John shovelled in a mouthful of lasagne.
Jay eyed the occupants around the table, each one giving some look of sympathy or concern. They had his best interests at heart. They worried about him and about what he’d dealt with since coming out. And they all, in their own way, had sacrificed so much for him to get where he was. Which was why he had to give them what they wanted to hear.
“There’s always banter, Dad.” Jay stared at his plate, rifling through the salad contents. “Ain’t nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good.” John waggled his fork. “’Cause that’s all it is, son. You know that, right? That’s what changing rooms are for.”
Jay heard the heavy intake of breath beside him and knew Seb was doing his best not to cut in and retaliate. Least he was learning the ways of the Ruttmans.
“No point callin’ out every twat in there,” his dad rattled on, stabbing through the leaves and dipping them in copious amounts of salad cream. “’Cause you know what snitches get, dun’t ya?”
Jay nodded. “Yeah, Dad, I know. Cheers.”
Seb bounced his knee beside him, so Jay rested his hand on it beneath the surface and gave it a squeeze.
“Nah, what you need to learn is great fucking comebacks.” Bryan wriggled forward in his seat. “Y’know, when some tosser on the stands yells at ya, you just tell ’em to shut their pie-eatin’ cake hole and that you might be bent but at least your teeth are straight.”
Jay pinched the bridge of his nose as silence descended over the Ruttman table, except for Seb, who burst out a laugh.
“Holy shit. I take it back.” Seb wiped the snorted wine under his nostrils. “Him. He needs to be your agent.”
Bryan winked and Cheryl slapped him on the arm.
“I fear for your child, Bryan.” Barbara shook her head in disapproval.
“Don’t panic, Ma. You know what her first word was.”
Barbara tutted. Lily giggled and Seb offered her another biscuit from a stash that Jay had no idea where he was getting them from. It couldn’t be his pockets because his jeans were far too tight. Jay decided he didn’t want to know where he was producing the chocolate chips from and just allowed his niece to be bribed.
“You gettin’ an agent, son?” John swiped garlic bread through the Bolognese sauce.
“Nah.” Jay shifted in his seat. “No point.” That was all the explanation that needed. He had no desire to bring up the reminder of Riley Burton and how the bloke had set Jay’s life on a completely different path to the one he’d been destined for from the age of eight.
“Why don’t we talk about something other than football?” Barbara suggested. “I saw that Manor place has a wedding show on this weekend. Thinking of going?”
“Ma, they’ve only been together a year.” Bryan waved his beer can between Jay and Seb. “Marriage is a bit far off.”
“Nor is it legal.” Seb pouted.
Jay flinched. Marriage had not been something that they had discussed. Because they couldn’t. But that pout from Seb suggested that he might want to, if they could. Would he? Jay met his boyfriend’s doe eyes and checked for any signs of the man’s usual sarcasm. Seb shrugged.
“I meant you two, you prat.” Barbara sipped her wine. “You’re the ones engaged. Thought you could set an actual date soon.”
“Indeed.” Seb nodded. “How long is it one must wait from hooking up, getting engaged, then producing offspring before actually setting a date to make it all official?”
“We don’t all have cash to splash. You know how much a wedding costs these days? Especially when she wants a bleedin’ Vera Wank.”
“Wang, you tosser.” Cheryl whacked him on his arm again.
“Would you stop that, woman!” Bryan rubbed his biceps. “I keep spillin’ me beer!”
Seb chuckled, bouncing Lily’s hand up and down. Jay mouthed the words ‘I’m sorry.’ It didn’t matter how many family dinners he made Seb attend, Jay was still more than a little embarrassed by how they turned out. He doubted Seb’s family gatherings back at his Kensington mansion would have played out like this. It would have been all black tie, classical music playing and talking through the latest in the stockmarkets.
Seb mouthed ‘I love you’ back. Jay smiled, his cheeks warming.
“You should check down Romford market.” Seb curled a lock of blonde hair around Lily’s ear. “You might find a cheap knock-off there.”
John clanged down his cutlery and Barbara cleared her throat, hand trailing to the pendant around her neck. Jay nudged Seb’s knee with his own in warning.
“Or, you know, a legit going for a decent price.” Seb bit his lip.
“Do they do wedding dresses there, John?” Cheryl asked, her blue eyes sparking in genuine interest.
“Not sure, love.” John scraped the last of his dinner into his mouth. “I’ll check next time I’m there. Got a block of flats to repaint for the council.”
“I don’t think she should get her dress from a market.” Barbara wrinkled her nose. “We can definitely help chip in, can’t we, John?”
“Shouldn’t it be the bride’s family who foot the bill?”
“Well, yes, in the eighties. We’re all equal opportunities now, aren’t we, love.” Barbara smiled across at Jay and Seb.
“What’ll be your first dance?” Seb cut in.
Jay knew he did that to steer the conversation away from the awkward subject of money. He kinda loved him for that. Jay had been planning to offer his brother some cash for his big day, but as a date hadn’t been set, the subject hadn’t come up and he didn’t want to announce it to the table. That could come across like he was gloating. What a way to emasculate your dad and older brother.
“James Blunt.” Cheryl smiled, flicking her plait over her shoulder. “You’re Beautiful.”
Bryan gave a look that suggested he hadn’t been on board with the agreement of that one. Jay doubted the bloke had much say in any of it at all. He chuckled.
“I keep tellin’ her she can’t have that. Not when we use the geezer’s name as the ultimate insult.”
Barbara narrowed her eyes in confusion.
“Cu—”
“You can’t have that song,” Seb broke Bryan off before he could finish. “It’s about not getting the woman of your dreams. She’s with someone else.”
“Is it?” Cheryl balked, her button nose wrinkling.
“Listen to the lyrics, people. But I guess that’s understandable as his voice sounds like a cat’s being strangled to put up with it until the end.”
“No it does not!” Cheryl folded her arms.
“You want a beautiful love song? I’ll write you one.”
Cheryl glanced around the room. “Don’t you, like, swear, in all your songs?”
Seb managed to disentangle his hand from Lily and twisted in his seat. “My older tracks were of that ilk, yes. And I am more prone to a heavy guitar rock-out, but, recently, my muse has changed from the anger fuelled and angst-ridden punk into a more… fluffier sound.” Seb gave a lopsided smile. “I can produce an acoustic love song better than Blunt. In fact, I’ve been working on one recently. But I don’t think it really goes on any of our albums without a fight with those at the label. So…” He waved his hand. “It’s yours, if you want it.”
Cheryl clapped her hands. “Really?”
“Sure. But you need to set a date by the end of the night.” He winked across the table at Barbara.
Jay draped his arm over the back of Seb’s chair and tangled his fingers through the hair on the nape of Seb’s neck. Seb could work his charm to the best of his ability. Cheryl and Barbara were putty in his hands right then. But, then, so was he, so who was he to complain about it?
“I’ll need to hear this shit first.” Bryan sat back in his chair.
“All right.” Seb leapt up and bundled out of the dining room.
Jay’s arm suddenly felt the cold in Seb’s absence, and he watched with anticipation as Seb returned with his acoustic guitar in hand. He settled back down in his seat and Jay itched to caress Seb’s skin whilst Seb twisted the pegs and tuned the strings, like he sometimes did when Seb did this when they were alone and Seb was sans clothing.
There was something about him when he played acoustic. He didn’t have his usual brash persona that he wore when on stage in front of the crowds that swarmed to see him play. Still confident, but as Seb’s fingertips drifted over the strings, plunking and thrumming through the repeated chords, he appeared vulnerable somehow, like the real Sebastian had been stripped bare. Jay often watched him composing a new song, oddly fascinated by the process. Stop, start, stop, continue, and repeat. When the words eventually fell from humming lips, it was like witnessing Seb become himself, shedding the layers of thickened skin and crumbling those walls he’d built around his heart. He was set free by his music.
So was Jay.
Slipping into a rhythm, Seb shuffled on the seat and cleared his throat. “Lyrics aren’t exact,” he spoke, then gently hummed a sweet melody, words following a short time after.
The heartfelt love song sent shivers along Jay’s spine, and the others stared in awe. Seb didn’t get far into it before the doorbell interrupted his flow. He flattened his palm over the strings. “I swear I did not invite Martin or Noah.”
“Ann, then.” Jay bounded up from the table and jogged through the house. His mouth instinctively fell open on opening the door.
“Hey, big guy.”
“Tom!” Jay wanted to smile, but something caught in his throat. The guilt. The memories that had flooded him on seeing Riley after all those years. Should I tell him?
“I got your card. With the new address. Thanks. And congratulations.” Tom flicked his quiff up higher and peered over Jay’s shoulder. “I won’t stay, I know you’re probably busy with Seb. I was just in the area. Kinda.” He shrugged, his retro tan satchel falling from his shoulder. “I’m off to the airport.”
“Where you going?”
“Back home. For a while.”
“Yeah?” Jay gripped the door, shuffling his feet, undecided whether to invite the guy in. Seb and Tom hadn’t exactly made friends, and he suspected neither of them believed there was no love lost between them. “Is everything all right with that now?”
“My parents? I don’t know. We’ll see.” Tom glanced down to the floor.
“Come in.” Jay waved a hand. “There’s a bunch of us here.”
“No, no. Thanks. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You ain’t.”
“Thanks, but Julio’s waiting.” Tom angled his head toward the running taxi at the end of Jay’s drive. “I just came to say goodbye. It’s been great hanging out with you and, y’know, seeing you come out of your shell. It suits you, y’know.”
“What does?”
“Contentment.”
Jay bowed his head. Was he contented? He wasn’t sure. Recently he’d been getting the Jekyll and Hyde vibe.
Tom flipped open the flap to his bag and pulled out a brown paper wrapped gift. “I also wanted to give you this. House warming, goodbye gift. Whatever.”
“What is it?”
“Open it.” Tom smiled, fastening the buckles on his bag.
Holding the door open with his back, Jay untied the rough rope that held the paper together and slipped out an elegantly framed photograph. He screwed the paper in his hand and stared at the images behind the glass. Two photos, side by side, both similar shots. The first one, a captured action shot taken at one of his latest football matches. Jay had seen the same photograph in papers, online, up for sale in certain memorabilia shops and he’d scrawled his name on many a replica postcard outside the stadium. It was a perfectly captured image of one of his blasts at goal, his blond hair sticking out from the effort and determination plastered on his face as his boot made contact with the ball at hip height. Next to it, separated by a white border, was a similar image. This time a much younger Jay, seventeen to be exact, studs in the air and tapping a toe to the ball and the same look etched on his youthful features. Except his eyes didn’t shine as bright. Jay knew they’d been over clouded by fear back then.
“Tom,” Jay breathed. “Where did you get this?”
“The first one, from an online seller. It’s not the original, I’m afraid.” Tom tapped the frame, wiping away some of the frays from the rope. “That one,” he pointed at the photo of Jay from his youth team days, “I took.”
“You?”
“I hung on to it. Sorry.” Tom adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I never told you, but I came to a few games and hid in the shadows more than just that one time.”
Jay sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Things were best left in the past.
“You’ve come a long way, big guy. A real long way. Let that remind you of how far.” Stepping into the doorway, Tom kissed Jay’s cheek. “Keep showing the world they should be more tolerant, eh? Be a hero. You’ve always been mine.”
With one last stroke of Jay’s cheek, Tom stepped away and rushed across the drive into the waiting taxi. Jay closed the door. Blast from the fucking past today, or what?
“The home delivery guy’s pretty friendly.” Seb’s voice startled Jay and he tucked his hands into his jeans pocket.
“Tom.” Jay passed over the framed picture. “Looks like I got my own stuff to hang on the walls now.”
He kissed Seb on the lips, then sauntered passed him. He wouldn’t indulge the bloke in his jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous about. Tom was past. Like that second image was. Jay was living the other one now.
Whether it was how he’d imagined, or not.