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“But what?” Henry asked, fixing Oscar with his don’t-fuck-with-me stare.
“Well,” Oscar said, and faltered. “Well,” he said again, “in the sheds and all, like.”
“What, that he’ll see you naked?” Henry said. “I think that ship has sailed, mate. And I imagine he’s been averting his eyes pretty smartly, because if he’s an ugly bastard, you’re worse. Props.”
“Still,” Oscar said. “It’s a lot to overlook.” He glanced at Trevor, who nodded slightly, gulped, and looked uncomfortable.
“Mate,” Henry said. “Look at his partner. Anybody like that on our squad? Anybody close?”
“Well, uh,” Trevor said, “Dan Foster’s pretty good-looking.” The first-five. They were always good-looking. Something about that “running the boys around the paddock” thing. Cool, calm, and good-looking. Luke was thinking that, because he was sweating, and he didn’t know what was coming next.
A door opened, and somebody said, “Oi, you lot. Shut up. Trying to sleep here.”
“Skip’s telling us he’s gay, though,” Oscar said, possibly because he had more than a few under his belt himself.
“He’s what?” the man asked. Alex Stewart, that was, and now his roommate, Max Matthews, was crowding out behind him, wearing only a pair of rugby shorts, saying, “What’s going on?”
Oscar explaining, and more doors opening. Two-thirty in the bloody morning, and all Luke wanted was to take Hayden back to his room and do what most rugby players wanted to do after the match, but possibly even more so. And say all the right things and hear all the right things, too, but mostly—
Well, yeh. It had been a long two months.
It was also the worst nightmare of his life, coming true. Like dreaming you were naked in class, then waking up and realizing it was happening.
Hayden said, “You could hold my hand.”
“Yeh, right,” Luke said.
“I mean,” Hayden said, “you could hold my hand.” When Luke looked at him, Hayden grinned a little crookedly and said, “Stand your ground.”
“Oh. Right.” Luke did it. It felt … bizarre. He was standing in a hotel corridor amidst most of his teammates, in the middle of the night, holding a man’s hand.
Definitely his nightmare. And also the right thing, because it was Hayden’s hand, and his hand was solid ground, the only thing anchoring Luke here. But he had no control, not even his superpower of shutting up and walking away. There was nowhere to hide anymore.
A buzz of talk. More and more men standing around barefoot in shorts and singlets, the newest arrivals being filled in by the others, and Luke in the middle of it, silent. What did you say?
Finally, Henry put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, long and loud, and everybody shut up. He said, “Right. What did you think, when he never had a girlfriend?”
Everybody looked at each other, and Henry asked, “Has he ever made a move on any of us?”
“Well, no,” Oscar said, “but how do we know he won’t?”
“I won’t,” Luke said. “Sorry, but I’m not exactly tempted by you lot.”
Some laughter at that, and Henry said, “He’s our skipper. He makes the right calls, and nobody empties the tank more out on the field. Not the chattiest bloke, but that doesn’t bother me.”
“Yeh,” somebody said from the back of the group, “but do you want to take a shower with him?”
Henry waited a moment, and Luke thought, This is it, then. When Henry went on, though, he said, “You know my little sister, right? Aisha? Plays Sevens?” They nodded, and he said, “She’s a lesbian. Married to a woman. You don’t know that, even though it’s no secret, because her teammates aren’t bloody idiots, and they aren’t worried that she’ll grab them in the showers because she can’t resist their fat, hairy arses. So they go out and play the game instead of spending their time obsessing about what kind of sex she has. I don’t want to think about what kind of sex any of you have, so I don’t do it. None of my business.”
“But you’re Nigerian,” Oscar said.
“I’m English,” Henry said, with the kind of flat stare that would make most men take a step back.
“Well, but your parents,” Oscar persisted, possibly because of the drink.
“What, they should’ve tossed her out?” Henry asked. “Because they’re from Nigeria? I don’t think they’re the ones with the problem here. If anybody has anything to say about my sister,” he went on, folding his arms and giving them all the benefit of his hardest look, “they can say it to me. And if you want to say anything about the Skip, too. Here’s your chance. Come on. Say it to me.”
Some muttering, some shifting of feet. And somebody else stepping forward. Dan Foster, the first-five, who actually was good-looking and charismatic and all of that, saying, “This is a load of bollocks.” Luke’s heart sank, and he felt sick. Then Dan went on. “Luke’s our skipper, full stop. Who thinks he’s not a good one?” He looked around. Nobody spoke up. “Then what’s the problem?” Dan asked. “Last I looked, it was 2023. And I’d like to get to bed. I ran about ten kilometers tonight, because the Italians can’t tackle for shit, but they run like bloody greyhounds. I’ve got a new baby and a two-year-old at home, and this is my one chance to get some sleep.”
