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“Twice?” Julian said. “I don’t think so.”
“As I’m staying here, at the Sofitel,” Luke said, “I do think so.” He went over to the double doors, picked something up from the ground, and brought it over. “I was just collecting a couple of hoodies, as it’s getting colder. Put this on,” he told Hayden, then, when Hayden didn’t move fast enough, helped him do it.
“Luke Armstrong, aren’t you?” the male cop asked. “There can’t be two men with that face, not to mention the rest of it, but you’re in the wrong country. Missing a match, I’m thinking.”
“Well, yeh,” Luke said. “I am. Back in En Zed for my sister’s wedding. My mate here was waiting for me, like I said, not stalking anybody. The tall one has delusions of grandeur, I reckon.”
“Excuse me,” Julian said. “I live about a hundred meters away, and I’ve caught Hayden hanging around here twice now.”
“Last night,” Hayden told Luke. “In the parking garage.” His head really did hurt, and all he wanted was to lie down. He was never going to be a rugby player.
“Ah. When I’d just left him,” Luke told the cops. “Again, not stalking.”
“Who are you, exactly?” the female cop asked. “Luke who?”
“Armstrong. Captain for England,” the male cop said. “Plays in France as well, though he’s a Kiwi. Grant Armstrong’s son, but not quite a traitor, I guess.” Which was a joke, apparently. “There was only ever going to be one winner here.”
“Rugby?” she asked. “Or …” She looked at Luke speculatively. “Well, yeh. That’s got to be rugby.”
More two-toned wailing, and now, the ambulance was pulling up, two ambos jumping out.
“Over here,” Luke told them.
Hayden said, “Honestly, I don’t need the fuss. I just need to go home and lie down.”
Luke ignored him. “TBI, I think,” he told the ambos. “Got hit in the side of the head, right here.” He pointed to the spot. “Vomiting, dizziness, weakness.”
One of the ambos probed gently with his fingers, and Hayden let out a gasp. “Let’s get you to hospital, then, mate,” the other man said. “Looks like you’ve been hit here on the cheekbone as well.”
“Wait,” the female cop said. “We’ll need a statement.”
“Get it at the hospital,” Luke said. “From both of us. He’s not going anywhere for a while, and I’ll be with him.”
“You can’t just let him walk away!” Julian said, losing some of his aristocratic cool. “He attacked us!”
“Which one did?” the female cop asked. “The one your friend hit? Or the one who was holding both of you up at once by the jumper while you hit him?”
“Yeah, nah,” the male cop said. “You’re not on the pavement, and you don’t need the ambulance. That’s not attacked. If Luke Armstrong attacks a man, reckon he stays attacked.”
CHAPTER 10
Not How We Do a First Date
“This is possibly,” Hayden told Luke, “the most embarrassing episode of my life. It’s got competition, but still.”
Where was he while making this confession? On a gurney in a wailing ambulance, that was where, with an ambo beside him and Luke sitting on a bench opposite.
“Why?” Luke asked.
“Why? Why? Let’s see. Because I stink of vomit, just to get that one out of the way. Because I’ve just been bashed again, but this time with extra drama and humiliation. Because you ruined your evening coming to my rescue, and now you’re going to be spending it in hospital. Oh, and possibly because you got hit yourself, and it was my fault.”
“First,” Luke said, “I’ve stunk of vomit more times than I care to think about, and even when I didn’t, somebody else always did. Second, you didn’t ruin my evening, and I’ve spent heaps of time in hospital. Heaps of time visiting mates in hospital, for that matter. And hit? You call that hit?” He laughed. “Nah, mate, that wasn’t ‘hit.’ Who was that bloke?”
Hayden glanced at the ambos. “Tell you later.”
“What, because we’re gay?” Luke had a spot of color high up on each cheekbone, but he was sitting solid, hands on his knees. The way, Hayden imagined, he’d sit on the bench waiting to go into the game, if he ever did sit on the bench. Hayden was guessing it didn’t happen often. “I came out. People are going to know I’m gay.”
“That’s right. You … you did.” Hayden was getting another wave of prickly sweat, and with it, another wave of nausea. “Going to be … sick again,” he managed to get out, and the ambo held an expandable blue plastic tubular thing for him to retch into while Hayden thought, Good thing I don’t fancy you, mate, or I’d be even more humiliated than I already feel.
