Chapter Four
Taine
Speedy did not approve of windy days, yappy dogs, or BC. The hamster had bitten his friend’s finger before crawling into Taine’s collar and promptly going to sleep. Typical. He brought him on an adventure and the creature slept through it.
His little friend had far more in common with Father Wilson than he thought. Taine had once taken the priest on a trip to Rome to see the Vatican. The man had napped through the majority of it.
“Into younger men now?” BC bumped elbows with him before hopping over the bench to sit next to his lover. “I definitely approve.”
“What’re you going on about now?” Taine folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the chuckling idiots. “Don’t start—either of you.”
“Saw you watching Freddie’s arse when he left.” Graham sat cross-legged on the bench with a grin of pure mischief on his face. “He’s a nice enough bloke, for a happy bunny.”
Taine couldn’t quite picture it, having seen the nurse at the hospital with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “A happy bunny?”
“Cheerful. So cheerful it hurts my eyes.”
“He’s responsible for keeping up the spirits of patients with potentially terminal cancer. I imagine if he came in like a grump, it wouldn’t do much to help.” Taine had no idea why he suddenly wanted to defend a young man he’d only recently met. He’d never particularly cared for dismissive humour. Yes, that’s it. Freddie being attractive and having sad puppy-dog eyes had nothing to do with it. “I wasn’t watching his arse.”
“Right. Go on, pull the other one,” BC teased him.
“Why am I subjecting myself to your special brand of absurd shite?” Taine allowed the brisk breeze to wash over him, taking the edge away from his slowly rising temper. The cruel words etched on Freddie’s car had angered him, more than he initially thought. They were callously hateful and intentionally hurtful. He breathed in the sea air and let the rage fall away like the waves crashing on the rocks below. “You never said why I had to make the trek out from Cardiff.”
“The Sin Bin.”
“What?” Taine stepped around the bench, so he didn’t feel as if he were frowning over the shoulders of the two men. “What about the sin bin? And why are you saying it so dramatically?”
“His brilliant idea.” Graham wound up being pushed off the bench by BC. “Plonker.”
BC shushed both of them with a sharp clap of his hands. “How many of our friends have either voluntarily or not so voluntarily been forced to retire from their beloved rugby? We get kicked off our teams, and they quickly forget about us, aside from the occasional video clips shown on pundit shows.”
“It’s a tragedy—getting old and having to stop careening into one another on a rugby pitch.” Graham dodged the kick aimed his way and shifted up to reclaim his seat. “Quit it.”
“Too many of us have lost our careers. Why?” Taine couldn’t quite see where this was going. “What about it?”
“I thought we might all start a workshop together where we teach youngsters the finer points of the game. We can call our company the Sin Bin. Run it from here in Cornwall, or maybe Cardiff since we’re all spread out across this part of the country. Might be fun to put all our combined knowledge together.” BC had begun to get more animated with each word. He clearly felt incredibly passionate about his brilliant plan. “Remi, Caddock, myself, you, Scottie, and maybe a few others. I’ve asked everyone to come out to the inn for the weekend. We’ve enough room to put you all up.”
“You’re serious?” Taine didn’t know if it was genius or idiotic. Both, definitely a bit of both. “Not the worst plan you’ve ever had.”
“What is the worst one he’s had?” Graham grinned over at the man sitting beside him, who shook his head violently at Taine. “Well? C’mon, spill it.”
“Cowpats.” He smirked at the scowling BC.
“What?” Graham blinked at him. “Cowpats?”
“Indeed. Your man there decided to cover the manager’s office with them.” Taine hadn’t even needed a second to consider it. “Not sure it helped him get back on the pitch, though, did it?”
Leaving the couple to tease one another, Taine strode up the hill to stand at the edge of the cliff. He tuned out the sounds around him to consider BC’s idea. The Sin Bin. A fitting name, given the amount of time all of them had spent in the penalty box.
Trouble being, it might not send the right sort of message to those attending. Did they want impressionable youths to think they encouraged bad behaviour on the pitch? Would anyone even want to attend with that sort of name?
“Attend our rugby workshops on how to get your arse thrown off the pitch in record time.”
Maybe the concept could use a little work—or a lot.
He supposed some of their behaviour likely spoke for itself. Not mine, of course. Aside from one infamous incident early in his career, his reputation had always been impeccable. He’d been the standout, along with Remi, while the rest of the group of friends tended to get themselves into trouble far too frequently.
“He’s thinking—careful not to disturb the frowning beast.” BC’s loud whisper carried over on the wind. He threw an arm over Taine’s shoulder when he reached him. “Well?”
“Idea needs work, maybe the name as well.” He shoved the grinning idiot away from him. “Not convinced we can all work together without a few bashed skulls.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“True.” Taine couldn’t disagree with him. They’d been kicked out of enough pubs in their younger days. “Definitely not convinced about the name.”
“What’s wrong with the Sin Bin?” BC asked stubbornly.
“Sounds like a brothel.” Taine shifted Speedy slightly. He’d have to put the hamster back in his travel terrarium at some point. “Or a grungy pub in a back alley in the worst part of town.”
“Told you,” Graham crowed cheerfully from the bench.
“I’m ignoring you both.” BC gave them both a one-fingered salute. “Would it kill you both to be a bit more sodding supportive?”
“Yes.”
Taine couldn’t help sharing Graham’s grin. “Probably.”
“Fuckwits.” BC glared before breaking into a chuckle. “Caddock will agree with me.”
“You really want to call it the Sin Bin?” Taine didn’t think it sounded much like the name of a training course. “What if we started our own pundit podcast? It would fit the title you’re so insistent on.”
BC turned serious, an unusual look for the usually jovial man. “Not a bad idea. Didn’t you go on a podcast with those two blokes from Liverpool? Or was it London?”
Taine had been introduced by Remi to two rugby fans that ran a successful weekly podcast. He’d been interviewed by them twice. “London.”
“We’ll talk about it with the others.” BC turned to lead him down the hill towards the inn. “I still like the Sin Bin.”
“You would.”