Chapter Nine
After Seb left, Jay limped out of the kitchen feeling every bit the crippled shit he was. He couldn’t have sounded more desperate if he’d tried. That call to Seb made his toes curl in embarrassment. He might as well have begged the man to stay with him, to wallow in his self-made pit of despair alongside him. But he couldn’t have asked him to do that. Seb still had a life to live. A career. And one that currently soared higher into the clouds, leaving Jay buried in a deep hole with the rising fear that he’d never manage to climb out. Not with his gammy knee, that was for fucking certain. That had also been the first time he’d cried in front of Seb, usually sobbing alone so he didn’t let out the nancy boy everyone expected him to be.
Exhaling through gritted teeth at every wince of pain, he made it to the living room and collapsed down onto the pure-white leather corner sofa. Rummaging behind the various retro scatter cushions that Seb had been collecting, he tugged out the remote control and switched on the box. He hurled one of the cushions onto the coffee table and lifted his bad leg to stretch it out, plonking it on top of the soft pillow. There. Day set. Just like every other fucking day.
Jay hadn’t ventured out of the house much, other than for physio sessions the club still laid on for him and the daily walks his therapist insisted he keep up. Ewa, his physio, recommended more outside exercise. Something about fresh air being good for the soul, not just the torn ligaments in his knee. Jay wasn’t convinced. Fresh air made him miserable. It only reminded him of being on a football pitch in all weathers and that his team were still training, playing…living. And his life had pretty much come to a grinding halt, just like the tube trains when he’d used to fall asleep on the District Line and end up at Upminster.
Flicking through the channels, he stopped on Sky Sports News and squinted at the headlines running across his screen. He couldn’t even bear hearing about the football scores anymore, so he skipped up a few channels and landed on the music stations. Someone was having a good old giggle at him today as the first video to pop up was Breaking Through from the Drops’ debut album released last year. And there was his boyfriend, filling up his wide-screen TV and strutting the stuff he couldn’t ever lose.
The video, Jay remembered, had been a relatively small-scale production, considering back then the Drops had little monetary backing. It had been one location—the swimming pool in the back of Martin’s folks’ house. At some point, all three band members had discarded their instruments and emerged into the pool, fully clothed, lying on their backs to sing to the stars, or in reality, the camera lens. Seb had come home freezing that night, having nearly developed hypothermia for his art. It had taken a particularly long hot bath and them both wrapping up in their double-down duvet to get his spark back. Why can’t it be that easy for me?
The chime of the doorbell ding-donged around the house and startled Jay away from staring at the screen. He thought about not answering it. Not only was it going to hurt like fuck to move now he’d just got settled, but no doubt whoever was at the door was delivering a parcel for someone else. He’d gotten to know his neighbours more over the past six months than he had all year, due to the amount of stuff he’d taken in for them. But the chime merged into a frustrated knock and Jay decided to use the walk to the door as a way to tick off his daily exercise regime.
“Hey, squirt.” Ann grinned on Jay opening the door with a disgruntled sigh. He left her to make her own way in and follow him back to the living room. “Welcome, Ann, how are you? I’m doing good, Jay, thanks for asking.”
“What?” Jay shot a glare over his shoulder. He heard her but couldn’t be arsed with the standoff.
“Nothing.” Ann fell down on the sofa in Jay’s primed spot.
“Jump in me grave, why don’t ya.” Jay hobbled to the other side and parked his arse there instead. At least he’d have a different view for today. “He called you, then.” Jay knew Ann wasn’t turning up on her own accord. She’d been vetted, prepared and, no doubt, warned.
“No.” Ann had always been shit at lying. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
“No, ta.”
“You need a shower too.” She screwed up her nose. “So either you go do that or I’ll throw a bucket of water over you and give you a sponge bath right here.”
“I ain’t goin’ out, Ann. Why does everyone think that if I leave the house, all my problems will be solved? Take a walk, get some fresh air, suddenly my knee ain’t crushed to tiny little bits anymore?”
“You know what?” Ann crossed her legs. “I always thought Seb was the drama queen. I’m changing my opinion.”
Jay shot her the finger.
“Nice comeback. Get dressed. This ain’t for you. It’s for me. I need to get off my face legless.” She smiled. “Excuse the pun.”
And now the jokes were starting. Great. Just what he needed. To be made to feel a mockery of to normalise his condition. There wasn’t anything normal about it. He could hardly walk a few paces without excruciating pain and his fitness had deteriorated, along with his honed body. It was why he hated showing it to anyone anymore. Especially Seb. He’d said it loud and clear—he loved Jay’s body. Had loved Jay’s body. How it had used to be, before the muscle had wasted away and left in its wake nothing of significance for a rock idol adored by thousands to want.
Fuckin’ hell.
And on that thought, he frowned. He really didn’t want to leave the house. But as Ann sat there, Jay came to the realisation that there wasn’t any better way to drown his sorrows. Hey, it had worked for Seb for a while—falling hard to the bottom of a bottle. Maybe he could try it? Might lift his mood a bit.
“All right.” Jay hefted up to a stand. “Where we going?”
“Somewhere full of men.”
“Ku?”
“Where they look at me and not you.”
Jay nodded. “Boozer down the road then.” He staggered to the living room door and prepared to tackle his Everest, the stairs.
“You need a hand?” Ann called out.
“I can manage a shower by myself, cheers.”
Ann shrugged. “Nothing I ain’t seen before. But whatevs. And I meant choosing clothes. I’m parched and on a time limit.”
After a particularly painful and slow shower, followed by finding clothes that still managed to fit with his body having shed a few pounds, Jay honoured Ann with a limp down the road to Greenwich High Street.
They tumbled into the first boozer that wasn’t jam-packed with tourists. He didn’t frequent the local bars that often, a few times with Seb and when his family visited, but mostly he preferred staying in. It was why he’d spent so much money on the house and garden, for it to be their sanctuary. Seb had ventured to the upmarket wine bars on the main stretch a few times when Martin and Noah were in town. Band-planning they called it, with a bar tab that seemed to hit the top end of Seb’s credit limit. Seb sure knew how to spend money. He’d had practice at that all his life. Jay, on the other hand, still saved more than he spent. Which was a bloody lucky thing, considering he might soon lose his wages altogether. Sick pay didn’t last forever. Lucky the club had a hefty insurance premium that he, and they, would have coming their way if Jay’s knee didn’t get sorted and he was forced to retire.
And that thought sent his stomach plummeting on reaching the bar of the Court Yard situated on the corner opposite the church. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of giving it all up. Of not being on a pitch again. Of having reached his peak. At least he now had a thirst on. And it seemed Ann was also pretty parched if her instant order of a bottle of crisp Pinot was anything to go by.
“On the Saunders’ tab?” the barman asked, eyeing Jay hovering behind Ann’s head. So Seb had been here. Quite a few times if he had a tab and the barman recognised Jay in one look.
“I think so.” Ann grinned at Jay over her shoulder. “Let him pay for it, yeah? Should have ordered Champers.”
“He’s nearing his limit.” The barman plonked down the wine bottle along with a couple of glasses. “So you might need to pay up after this. I can’t hang on to it forever.”
“Surprised you let him tally up so much. What’s the damage?” Jay fished out his wallet, thumbing his credit card.
“I usually set a grand limit. But he’s ordered in a couple of Bollingers. Magnum. I put it on his tab as I don’t normally have that stuff lying around, y’know?” The barman draped his arms over the draught taps. “So if this is going on, I need it settled up before you leave.”
Jay desperately tried not to let the shock show on hearing Seb had ordered in one of the most luxurious brands of Champers on the market and just handed over his card with a nod.
“What you two celebrating, anyway?” The barman took the card and swiped it.
Jay didn’t answer, because he didn’t actually have one. Instead, he thanked the bloke and tucked the bottle under his arm, limping off to the nearest discreet table. Two Bollingers? That was some expensive shit. Who the fuck was he planning to drink such luxury with? Someone brought up with as much of a silver spoon in his gob as Seb, no doubt. Rather different to his and Ann’s indulgence in the house Pinot. And the rate she poured it into the glasses, she was on a mission to drown both their sorrows, double lively.
“So, this.” Jay nodded to his filled glass. “You wanna talk about what’s goin’ on?”
Ann plonked the bottle down, picked up her glass and slurped from the edge. Classy as ever. “It’s over. Done.”
“Lucas?”
“No, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.” Ann deadpanned.
“Team Jennifer.”
“Are you ’avin a giraffe?”
Jay shrugged. “No. Pretty bastard thing to do, ain’t it?”
“What is? Moving on? Falling in love with someone else?”
“They fucked around behind Jen’s back. Everyone knows.”
“When things are over, they’re over.”
“So that makes it all right, does it?” Jay gulped down a load of wine and shivered, like someone had walked over his grave. “Anyway, what’s happened with you?” Better to steer the conversation elsewhere.
She sighed. “I’m just done with the waiting. We’re, like, mates, who hang out when we can. It ain’t got nothing to do with him always being away for basketball, or even that he wants to wait until we’re married to have sex. It’s just, well, there’s no heat. There’s no passion. There’s no…desire. That’s gone. And we ain’t even done it once!”
“You two been together since uni. Relationships go that way.”
“Has it gone that way for you and Seb?” Ann’s gaze lingered on Jay with genuine interest.
Shifting in his seat, Jay grimaced and rubbed his knee. Least the awkward display could be put down to his gammy leg and not the touchy subject of his and Seb’s lack of sexual encounters recently.
“Urgh.” Ann grunted, flipping her head back. “Sometimes, don’t you just wanna be thrown over a drum kit and taken? Ravished?”
Jay coughed back a bit of wine. “A drum kit?”
“You cannot tell me Seb ain’t done that to you? I heard his B-side of the Hideous single.”
“No comment.” Jay glugged from his drink, and yet again cursed Seb for that blasted song. “So, you’ve ended it for good this time? No bouncing back ’cause the bloke’s minted?”
“No.” Ann straightened, reaffirming her stance on the matter. “I never cared about his money.” She shook her head. “We just ain’t compatible. I need to find someone who can shove me against a wall.”
“I’m startin’ to worry about you.”
“I think it’s about time I gave up on blokes who don’t see me sexually, don’t you?”
Jay took that one on the chin.
“But then those that do, don’t want a relationship. So bollocks to it. Anyway, talk to me about you.” She leaned forward. “What’s going on with you?”
Jay cracked out a laugh at the absurd look of concern across Ann’s boat race. But for some bizarre reason, it was either that or the wine that made him want to blurt it all out.
“Well, nutshell, mate. My knee’s fucked. West Ham’ll give it one more go before telling me I ain’t worth it. I piss Seb off on the daily for moping, I snap at him. I pretty much hate myself and I’ll be retiring before my old man.” Jay held up his glass. “Cheers to that one.” He knocked back the remainder and slammed it on the table.
“You tried finding your own therapist?” Ann poured out more into his empty glass, adding a little to hers as well.
“What? Like a head shrink? No, ta.”
“No. Like an independent physio. Lucas told me that when one of the blokes on his basketball team injured his ankle, the club only wanted to pay out for work done in this country. Cheaper, innit? But apparently in the US, they have loadsa specialists on sports injuries and this bloke flew over there, paid it himself, fixed. Done. Back on the court.”
“I ain’t sure West Ham’ll go for that. I’m theirs, ain’t I? They have to vet who looks after my knee. It’d have to come out their insurance premium. And I’ll bet that’s reaching an end. And it ain’t like I’ve given them a hassle-free couple seasons, is it? Far from it. Surprised the club have kept up this much. Sometimes I think I should’ve taken their offer to have an agent to deal with all this shit. Might’ve got me a pay-out.”
“It’ll look a bit pony on them if they get rid of ya, won’t it? Oh, look at us, the first club to sign an out gay player. He gets targeted on the pitch, so let’s chuck him away after all. Nah, West Ham won’t do that. They’ll agree to anything if they think it’ll work. Unless, well, unless you’ve given up.” Ann’s eyes bulged so much they were in danger of popping from their sockets. “Have you?”
“No.”
“No-one would blame you if you have. It’s been tough on you. Can’t be easy taking that shit all the time. This is a nice out, if you wanted it? You could go back to uni, play semi-pro. Get outta the headlines.”
“That ain’t what I want.”
“Sure? ’Cause the way you’ve been acting lately says different.”
“Like how?” Jay gripped his glass, his fingertips turning white from not only the chilled wine but the pressure. Yeah, he knew he’d been acting like a bastard. Especially around Seb. But for fuck’s sake, his knee hurt. But that in no way meant he didn’t want to get better. Does it?
“Like it’s all over. And I don’t just mean the football.”
Jay didn’t respond. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and so bowed his head like some shameful puppy.
“He still loves you, Jay.” Ann’s voice lightened. “I see it in his face. I read it in his daily text messages. Fuck, I even hear it in his bloody songs! He isn’t doing a Brad Pitt. You cannot tell me you think that he is?”
“Maybe not. But for how long?” Jay took a deep breath and his squirming thoughts he’d held in for so long came tumbling out unannounced. “I ain’t the same man he left everything for, am I? And if it stays like this, then what can I seriously offer him? Shit, he’s one of the most desirable men on the planet, according to every bleedin’ magazine on the shelf. He’s a gay man’s wet dream and a straight woman’s epic fantasy. And here I am, a raspberry ripple and a has-been. I can’t see him hangin’ around for long if he knows this is all I am. He’ll find his Brad Pitt quicker than you can down that wine.”
The fact that Ann decided to finish her glass at that moment instilled no confidence in Jay that she would be convincing him of the contrary.
“So, what, you push him away to soften the blow?” Ann asked, or more stated. “Okay, look, not that I believe he will ever just up and walk away from you. I mean, yeah, he’s been flaky in the past. We know that. We forgave him, right? He’s more than made up for it. So I don’t think it’s fair to tarnish him with the Jolie brush.”
Jay opened his mouth to speak but Ann cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Hear me out. Let’s say that this is it.” She held up a finger from around her glass. “Wait. I don’t think that it is. I believe, like, a hundred percent that you are gonna recover and be back on that pitch. But we’re working your scenario. Let’s say you don’t get to play football again, professionally anyhow. And Seb, yeah, is Mr. Hot Shot travelling the world with a band that gets all the attention right now. I mean they’re three mighty fine dudes, without playing the boy-band cliché. They’re talented, driven and write songs that rile up a confused nation.”
“You sound like an agent.”
“Maybe I should be. But what I’m getting at is that you can’t just give up. He fell in love with you. Out of all of those who would take him to bed, he comes home to you. And that says a lot. Believe me.” Ann frowned, swishing the dregs in her glass. “You need to keep giving him a reason to come back. And you don’t need football to do that.”
“What else do I have?” Jay glanced out of the window.
A group of suited men, no doubt clocking off from their day of office-bound millions making, made their way across the road and stumbled into the pub, sending a draught through Jay’s floppy hair. The door slammed and their boisterous chatter continued as they crowded around the bar area looking for service. Jay shifted his attention back to Ann.
“I get what you’re sayin’. I do.” He scratched his thumbnail along the glass, almost wanting to crack it. “Trouble is, I’ve spent my whole life working toward football. Then I made it. Thought I was set. I don’t know how to do, or be, anything else.”
Ann exhaled a benevolent breath, and her features softened. “I know.” She smiled that smile Jay knew all too well. It made his eyes sting. “P’raps you could start with waiting tables?”
“What?”
Ann brandished the empty bottle with a sassy grin.
“Thought you’d be first up there.” Jay nodded toward the men at the bar. “Tall, good-looking, stylish barnet. All whistle and flutes.”
Ann gasped. “Did you just check them out?”
“No.”
But Ann did, and she whistled. “That’s a Boss an’ all. They are bang on at the moment. Anyone who is anyone is wearing those suits.”
Jay gave an apathetic nod, then hefted to a stand. “Same as?”
Ann snapped her fingers “Quickly, please.”
Jay tried not to hobble over to the bar, but grabbing a few ledges and backs of seats as he went certainly didn’t help keep up the pretence that he could walk without limping. He winced, slamming a hand down on the counter to take some of the weight off his leg and perched against the stool. The suits next to him were all handed their pints and remained in their huddle as the barman returned to Jay.
“Same again, please, mate.”
Another Pinot plonked down after, and Jay swivelled, catching the roaming eye of one of the office blokes. Jay smiled, his usual polite response to having been recognised, but he wasn’t really in the mood to do the glad-handing shit. So he took a deep breath, preparing for the walk back to Ann that he was going to attempt sans limp this time. Like scoring a penalty, he had to see the pain-free return in his mind’s eye before attempting it.
“Ruttman?”
Jay closed his eyes, masking his annoyance.
“Jay?”
One of the men edged through the others toward him. Shit, seriously? Navy Hugo Boss suit, candy-striped pink and white shirt finished off nicely with a deep pink tie, slim-fit and tailored. Clean-shaven face, green eyes, with light-brown neatly styled hair that had a hint of a spike to give it an edge.
“Fancy bumping into you here.” Riley grinned, holding out the hand that wasn’t clutched around a full pint.
Jay was in no mood for this, but he was in full view of the public and the other men Riley had emerged from were all looking his way. No need to fuel another headline. So he tucked the bottle under his arm and shook the offered hand.
“How’s the knee?” Riley nodded downwards, as if Jay would have forgotten whereabouts on his anatomy said injury had occurred. Like he didn’t have a painful reminder daily.
“Getting there.” Where, Jay wasn’t sure. But that had become the standard reply.
“Least you get to do a bit of midday drinking, though, right?”
“Ha. Yeah. And you.”
“Perks of the job, mate. Got a client round the corner. We’ve been working his social media presence.” Riley dipped forward to speak out the side of his mouth. “Trust me, he needs it. Likes to say a lot of things that probably he shouldn’t, y’know? Plus I’m hoping to get him an endorsement deal to rejig his public image.”
“Nice.”
“Amazing what getting your face in the right places, and the right gear, can do for someone’s public persona.”
The apathetic nod came out to play and Jay glanced over to Ann in the hope he could use her finger snapping as a way to make his excuses and scarper off. She was scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious.
“You with her?” Riley nodded over to Ann, taking a sip from his full pint.
“Yeah.”
“She’s a right sort. That’ll work your rep for you.”
Riley might as well have slapped Jay round the face. For both his statements. Straightening, Jay ignored the pain in his knee to broaden his shoulders. “That what you’d advise, is it? Get me seen out boozing with a brass? Go fuck yourself, Riley. I ain’t ashamed of who I am. And don’t fucking dare speak about her like that either.”
Riley’s face dropped. “No, mate. Sorry.” He shook his head, remorse flickering across his chiselled jawline. “That’s not what I meant. I been around these dicks all day.” He angled his head, indicating the rowdy suited blokes laughing and fawning over one another. “Part of the job is to merge into whatever works. Sorry, that ain’t the real me. Believe me.”
“Whatever.” Jay went to move away but Riley gripped his arm.
“Seriously, Jay, sorry. All I meant was that she’s a looker and if the paps were in here, you know they’d say something about it, regardless of how innocent it is. That’s all. The press make up their own stories. As I’m sure you know.”
“Yeah.” He’d avoided most of the stuff that got printed, but occasionally he stumbled upon the trash that was written about Seb, about how his gigs saw him partying late night with random men. He’d never tell Seb he’d seen them. And he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to know the truth. The injury had affected more than just his ability to play football. It had affected his sense of reason. And trust. As he’d just let slip to Ann.
“Let me buy you a pint, old time’s sake.” Riley held up a hand to the barman.
“I got a drink.” Jay tapped the wine bottle warming under his armpit. “And I better get it back before she dies of thirst.”
“Sure. Sure. Look, it’s been good seeing you again. I know this is weird as fuck.”
“You can say that again.” Taking a stride forward, Jay attempted to mask the dull ache that climbed up from his leg to his spine. He nearly made it another step before Riley curled his fingers around Jay’s biceps.
“Sorry, mate, I just wanted to ask if you ever found representation?”
Here we go. “No. I don’t need it.”
“All right, listen. How about this, I got a contract with a new leisurewear firm looking for someone to endorse their stuff. They want a relatively known sports personality to lift their brand up, y’know? I was offering to this client of mine, but having second thoughts, it could be better suited to you. Earn a few extra quid. Not that you need it, but, well, it’s all good for exposure.”
Jay shook his head. “If you want me to wear someone’s studs while I play, that’s pretty much a no-go right now. And I signed that with Nike.”
“Nah, it’s not pro-sports. More leisure wear, smart cas’, y’know? Really, they want a model. But I’m thinking you fit the bill pretty good.” Riley raked his gaze down Jay’s body, then smiled. “It could be a great mutual benefit. They get a decent-looking geezer, and you get the chance to show who you are to the nation.”
“A model?” Jay quirked an eyebrow. “That ain’t really me. That’s more Seb’s bag.”
“Your fella?”
“Yes. Boyfriend, partner. Whatever.” The casual, carefree way that fell from Jay’s tongue at least went some way to proving how far he’d come in the last few years. But also, most people kinda already knew that. And he wasn’t in front of a camera, at least not one he was aware of.
“In the band?”
Jay nodded. “You must’ve done your homework.”
“Yeah, yeah. I knew. Just, ah, nothing.” Riley scratched the nape of his neck, his cheeks tinging.
“What?”
“He just don’t seem your type, that’s all.” Riley shrugged.
Jay arched an eyebrow. “My type? What would my type be exactly?”
“Someone a bit, well, less out there. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good-looking fella. He’s just, like, everywhere right now.”
Don’t I fucking know it. A crash and thump interrupted and Jay glanced over to Ann. She’d thrown her phone on the table, folded her arms and scowled at Jay, tapping her shoe on the hardwood floor.
“Looks like you better get back.” Riley chuckled. “Do you believe in fate, Jay?”
“What?” He never had before. But then there was that time he got a fixture in New York…
“I do. And us, being thrown back to each other, is fate, my man. When I got the chance to pitch to be your agent, honestly, I wanted to turn it down. But then I thought, actually it’s a good opportunity to bury the past. Now bumping into you here, it’s like the world’s telling us we could be a formidable team.”
Christ, this bloke thinks he’s got the gift of the gab.
Riley fished out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Jay. “In case you lost the last one. Call me. We’ll go for a drink and discuss this endorsement deal. Bring your fella if you like.”
Jay tucked the card into his back jeans pocket. “I’ll think about it.”
“Great stuff.” Holding out his thumb and pinkie finger, Riley waggled it over his mouth to mimic a phone, then slinked off back to the other suited lads holed up in the corner.
Jay hobbled back to Ann. She snatched the bottle of wine and poured it into the two glasses as Jay slipped into his vacated chair.
“Take it that bloke ain’t for me.” She nodded over to Riley. “Who was he? Hammers fan, or after your number?”
“That?” Jay picked up his wine and took a glug. “Was Riley Burton. And, no, steer clear. He thinks you’re a right sort.”
Ann lifted up in the chair and peered over Jay’s head. She smiled. “Does he now?”
“Don’t go there.”
Slumping back down, Ann wrinkled her forehead. “Why does his name ring a bell?”
Jay swallowed a glug of wine. “’Cause that’s the fella I beat the shit out of on the pitch at the youth academy. Remember? When I got released. And him, evidently.”
Ann whipped her head around. “No, fucking, way!”
“Yeah. And he wants to be my agent and offered me a modelling job.” Jay held Ann’s wide-eyed gaze.
Then she cracked up. Jay didn’t blame her.
* * * *
Seb shook hands with the rest of the crew as he tumbled out of the disused warehouse. Their record label had scouted a pretty decent place to shoot their new video. A dishevelled factory on the Hackney/Newham border that had been scheduled to be torn down to make way for the new Olympic Park being built. The plan was to spray paint the inside with a load of graffiti to reflect an urban landscape, perfect for their new release. And no-one would moan considering the place would probably be a running track in a few months. Take that those who still think this three-piece are a load of toffs playing at being the working-class hero.
“How’s Jay?” Martin stepped up beside him, hands in his pockets.
Seb sighed, fishing his phone out. He scrolled through various missed calls and messages, but nothing of importance. At least not from Jay, nor Ann. Perhaps she hadn’t bothered to do his dirty work of making sure Jay got out of the house. He rammed it back in his pocket.
“Same as.”
Martin nodded, biting his lip. Noah joined them on the pavement, Marlboro red already in his mouth.
“This no smoking in pubs lark is seriously damaging everyone’s health.”
Seb snorted. “I think the idea was to do the opposite.” He kinda craved a suck on that stick, but thought better of it than to ask to go twos. He was having another go at quitting, for good this time. For Jay’s sake. Although, sometimes, it was probably better for Jay if Seb did partake in a bit of nicotine every now and then, just to make him chill out a little.
“Nah, mate, I mean me being in a pub all night without lighting up makes me cranky.” Noah shivered. “So I’m getting this one in before we head to the nearest place to discuss this shit.”
“No can do.” Seb shook his head. “I have to get back. I left things a bit…shitty at home. Plus, we need a proper sleep for tomorrow night, right?”
He bumped fists with the lads before sauntering over to Jay’s BMW parked up outside the gates. Sliding in, he breathed Jay’s scent still lingering on the upholstery. Musky sweat never left a leather seat. And Seb was grateful for it. He’d taken to driving Jay’s car more often recently, considering Jay couldn’t use it and the thing would seize up if left too long, but mostly because he felt connected to the sports coupe. Like it was Jay himself.
Shaking his head, he started up and joined the traffic, tunes blasting from the speakers. An hour pile-up meant he was home later than expected. He ground the tyres onto the gravel driveway, noting all the lights in the house were switched off. He sighed, turned off the ignition and headed in, preparing for what awaited him. Whatever it was, Seb would deal. A hell of a lot better than he had that morning. So he composed himself and entered their home, raining his keys on the sideboard and bounded toward the kitchen.
Switching on the light, he jolted at the sight before him. Jay sat at the island, head slumped. Had he even moved? After a moment, Jay peered up and squinted.
“Hey.” Seb stepped closer, noting the tub of ice cream in front of Jay.
“How’d it go?”
Seb slipped a hand on Jay’s back and lowered down into the stool beside him, rubbing in circling motions that rocked Jay in his slump. “Good.”
Jay nodded, licked off the last on his spoon and slid the tub toward Seb. “Dinner of champions, right?”
Seb snorted, took the spoon from Jay and scooped out the remaining dregs of Haagen Dazs. It was rock solid at the bottom, an indicator of the last time that they’d indulged in the only junk food Jay allowed. Usually though, a spoon wasn’t needed as Seb would be lapping it up from melting on Jay’s sizzling skin.
“How are you?” Seb swallowed, the cream hitting him where he needed it. He was starving.
“Went to the pub. Ann came over.” Jay peeked a look at him through the corner of his eye. “But I guess you already know that.”
No comment. “You want some proper dinner?”
“You cooking?”
“I got by with the scrambled eggs, didn’t I? I’ll bet I could go as far as bunging some beans on toast?”
Jay smiled, but shook his head. “Nah. I’m beat. I’m gonna get me head down. I got an early physio in the morning. Knock yourself out, though.” He swivelled out of the chair and grunted over to the archway.
Seb hung his head and noted the business card lying on the surface. He slid it over and read the name. “Who’s Riley Burton?”
Jay turned, hand on the wall to steady himself. “Some geezer who thinks people will buy shit if I wear it.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t panic. I told him no. He might tap you up for it, though.”
“He an agent?”
“Yeah and wants me to do a Beckham.”
Seb grinned. “Seriously? Fucking aces. You could so do that. I mean, I’d buy anything from you if you take your top off.” He winked.
Jay opened his mouth to speak, but Seb’s phone blasting out a tune from his back pocket stopped him from clearly going to dispute the fact. Seb fished it out, checked the display, and cut it off.
“Who was it?” Jay nodded to the phone Seb threw on the counter.
“No-one of importance.”
“You keep ignoring calls around me and I might get the wrong end of the stick.”
Seb snorted. Because that line was best left ignored. “Tell me more about you getting your kit off for cash.”
“Think the idea is I put the kit on. But I ain’t doin’ it.”
Seb bit his bottom lip, nodding. He’d run out of ways to make Jay see his worth. Maybe try for a different tack.
“Hey, listen, I was thinking of going for a run tomorrow. Before I have to go collect my suit.”
Jay furrowed his brow. “Suit?”
“The charity gig.” He paused, wondering if he should say the next bit. “You could come along?”
“Oh, right, I ain’t sure…”
“We’re performing. First up and I planned something epic. I got Ann a ticket too.”
Jay nodded and made his way to leave.
“So the run?” Seb called, hoping to hit something. Whether he was on target or not. “You want to come? Show me your route? Ewa recommended you start light jogging. And believe me, I’ll still be sprinting to keep up.”
“I ain’t sure—”
Seb’s phone vibrated against the counter, drilling a hole through the stilted conversation. He dropped his gaze from Jay and covered his hand over the display to mask the thrumming.
“Just answer it, babe. I’m going a bed.”
With that, Jay limped off. Seb deflated into the seat, crushed that another night had him left alone with only his unravelling thoughts for company. It didn’t seem to matter what he said, or did. Jay seemed unreachable at the moment. At least to him, anyway. The man he loved was too pained, physically and mentally, to just open up. He understood, he did. It just hurt so much to be brushed aside, to not be given the chance to make things better, to prove he could be the stability that Jay needed. Jay was lost in the whirlwind of the past year and Seb so wanted to find him. The way Jay had found him in New York.
He waited a while with just the whirring from the fridge-freezer to hide his thumping heart, until the phone buzzed again. He rolled his eyes, then swiped to take the call. Least it might stop the incessant ringing. “What?”
“Sparky.”
Seb ripped the phone from his ear and checked the display. English number. London. What the fuck? He slammed the phone back. “Stop fucking calling me, you utter—”
“Sebastian, before you hang up. I’m calling on behalf of your father. Believe me, I wouldn’t be continuing to chase you for anything else.”
Seb stood from the stool and scraped a hand through his hair. “If he wants to talk to me, he knows where I am. I don’t need his lapdog calling me every fucking second of every goddamn shitting day!”
“He wants to see you. Mutual ground.”
“Bore off.”
“It’ll be worth your while.”
Seb paused, his mind on overdrive. A thought struck. “Is he dying?”
Stephen’s chilling laughter sent Seb’s teeth on edge. “No.”
“Unwell, hospitalised?”
“No.”
“Bankrupt?”
“No.”
“Is he getting married and has an extended family he wishes me to meet?”
“No.”
Seb paused, racking his brains. “Then I’ve nothing further.”
“Thursday. One p.m. The Royal. You remember where that is, I’ll assume?”
Seb gripped the phone harder, his blood boiling and replied through gritted teeth, “I recall, yes.”
“If you’re there, you’re there. If you’re not, well, that will be a crying shame.”
Seb opened his mouth to reply, but the whirring through the phone speakers indicated he’d been cut off.
“Fuck!” Seb threw the mobile on the island, the already shattered glass spreading. Then he turned and met with Jay stood at the archway, topless, his jeans hung low on his hips. How long had he been there? Seb swallowed with unease.
“Couldn’t gis a hand with the shower, could ya?” The slight tinge to Jay’s cheeks made Seb melt.
“You mean?” Seb didn’t really want to think if there was a subtext to Jay’s request, he’d only be disappointed.
Jay’s chest rose with his inhalation. He nodded.
Seb rushed over, draping his arms around Jay’s neck and kissed him. “Thought you’d never ask.”