“Then literally no chance.”
“Shame,”he’d said.“I’m looking to recruit a new best friend who’ll take on The Rock with me. Tag-team style.”
“Why do you want to fight The Rock?”
Harry had shrugged.“I have my reasons. Okay, fine. I just watched the latestJumanjifilm, and I have beef with my little brother. He has no faith in me.”
“You’re Abs, right? Harry Ellis? I’m Aiden.”
“I know. Why do they call you Pie? Like steak and kidney pie or something?”
“It’s Pi. Pee-eye. Like the number, because my birthday is on the fourteenth of March.”
Harry scratched his head.“I’m still going to call you Pie with an E, but the E’s silent so nobody will ever know.”
At the time, I had thought Captain Misery to be endearing.“We could always train . . . get better at fighting so we’re not instantly flattened by The Rock,”I’d suggested.
Harry’s face had split into the biggest grin, and I’d regretted my decision to move here a lot less. His distaste for Mathias Jones began the day after the then serving Cents’ fly-half announced his retirement—MCL tear—and free agent Jones’s name was bandied around as a potential replacement.
“If they pick him,”Abs had said.“I might as well quit rugby forever. I’ll never get any fucking game time.”
And as much as I had tried to persuade him otherwise, he’d been right. Gadget was—is—head and shoulders above not only Abs, but every guy on this team. It only makes sense they’d choose him for the role of captain, even when factoring in Abs’s half-hearted attempts to win over Dan Chelford, the current skipper, and our coach, Johan Eksteen.
But my best friend is in an especially grumpy mood this morning. All because of a little run-in with his long-standing situationship that happened on Saturday night. I don’t know the full details. He won’t talk to me about it.
In all fairness, the entire weekend was at best messy, and at worst a stain upon my very existence. I got dumped, which led tothe world’s biggest drink-to-forget-her binge, the world’s longest hangover, and the world’s heaviest feeling of regret.
Though I’m not sure the regret stems from my breakup, or my bender. There’s something else there. A different feeling of regret, as though something’s been left . . . undone or unsaid.
And it’s making me uneasy and sad and a bit cranky, like a decent—say decade long—nap might fix things.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved Georgia, probably still do. We were together for sixteen months, and I hope that we stay in touch, but she is the best friend of my teammate’s current long-term girlfriend, and well . . . from there it gets . . .
Really fucking complicated.
As though I’ve summoned him through thought alone, Eggo—real name Finn Eggington—walks through the door of the classroom and noisily drags an empty chair over to us.
He leans over me to speak to Abs, using my thigh as some kind of bridging device. “Mate, what happened to you on Saturday night? Did you score with the rich kid?”
“No, we didn’t hook up, I just—” Abs begins.
Eggo interrupts him. He’s never had the same patience for Harry as I have. “Mmhmm.Fine, tell me about it later.” He looks at me, hand still braced on my leg. “How are you holding up? You okay?”
My eyes flick down to his lips. He notices.
“No, not really, but I’ve decided not to let myself think about it too much until the end of the season.”
Eggo pats my leg, kind of paternally, then sits back in his chair.
“I’m going back to Perth for the summer,” I announce. My head is facing Abs, but I’m speaking to Eggo. They both stiffen beside me. “Well, British summer, not Australian summer. I just need some time to process. Is that okay?” Again, there’s no way for Abs to know I’m not talking to him, so he answers.
“What are you going to do with Trekkie?” he asks. Of course he cares more about my dog than me. Can’t say I blame him, though, or that I mind in any way.
Trekkie is my three year old rescue whippet. His name’s short for Star Trek: The Next Generation because although I like and will watch all theStar Trekseries and movies—and I am probably the world’s biggest Seven of Nine fanboy—the other Star Treks pale in comparison to the USS Enterprise and my beloved Picard.
I explain to Abs that I’ve booked my dog into kennels for five weeks, but he’s not having any of it and persuades me to let him take Trekkie for the off season. I don’t put up a fight. I’d rather he stay somewhere he’ll get daily cuddles and smooches over a cold, concrete lock-up with drainage holes in the floors. Plus, even though Trekkie’s been debollocked, he can get a little rambunctious and humpy with the other dogs if he spends too long socialising. Best to limit his canine interactions to the park near my house.
“Dearly beloved!” Dan yells from the front, jolting the three of us out of our conversation. “I’ve gathered you here today because . . . I have an announcement to make.”
