Page 72 of The Fly-Half

“There’s still time,” I said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we’ve still got another… what, fifty minutes to play?” Mason asked, glancing at the clock as we walked down the pitch so that Avery, Devon’s substitute, could take the conversion. “Fuck me, I’m going to need a lie-down after this.”

“Do you think the gaffer will let us have pizza in the dressing room?” Jaden asked. “I’m starving.”

“Maybe,” Mason said. “They’ve done it for us before.”

We watched quietly as Avery lined up to take the kick. He was only nineteen and still very green around the edges, but he had a solid head on his shoulders and a good work ethic. Somehow, I’d managed to get the ball down pretty close to the left-hand side of the posts, so it would be a fairly straightforward angle for him to kick from.

As the ball dropped neatly over the bar, I couldn’t help but think about how Devon would have done it with a little more style.

Two hours later, I found myself walking into Lincoln Hospital with my phone in hand, hoping I’d be able to track Devon down. I was sore and exhausted because I’d ended up playing the full eighty minutes so Clive could bring on fresh legs in the front of the scrum and at the wing. My stomach was rumbling too because all I’d had after the match was a snatched-up slice of pizza Mason had brought me so I didn’t miss out.

But I’d figure out food and rest later. The first thing I needed was to find my boyfriend.

My trainers squeaked on the hospital floor as I followed various signs, trying to track down where Devon had said he was, then doubling back on myself when he said he’d moved again.

“Jonny!” A familiar voice called out to me as I rounded a corner and saw Tommy, the assistant head coach, jogging down the corridor towards me. “I was just coming to find you. Devon said he’d sent you on a wild goose chase.”

“How’s he doing?” I asked as I followed him towards another set of double doors, stepping out of the way of a nurse who was coming the other way.

“Not too bad. It’s definitely an orbital blowout fracture, but it’s a fairly minor one all things considered. He shouldn’t need surgery unless something changes, but he’s got one hell of a black eye.”

I nodded. I’d been expecting that given what had already been forming when he was on the pitch. “How long will he be out for then?”

“At the very minimum, three to four weeks. Then they’ll do another X-ray and see how it’s healing.”

I winced and grimaced. The thought of being without Devon for that long wasn’t a pleasant one, but out of the two of us, I wasn’t the one who was going to suffer the most. Devon would be miserable within a week and insufferable within two. He’d be begging me to take him to training and if I wasn’t careful, he’d start following me in a taxi because he’d be desperate to get out of the house. And since it was the run-up to Christmas, there’d be nobody around to keep him company. “He’s not going to like that. Have you told him?”

“I didn’t,” Tommy said with a half smile. “He wouldn’t listen to me, so I let the ophthalmologist do it. But you’re right, he didn’t like it. He should still make it to the Six Nations, though, as long as he rests.” His grin widened as we reached the doors. “I think he’ll have a good incentive, though.”

“Oh?” I asked, trying not to hope he might mean what I thought he did. I hadn’t had a call but that didn’t mean Tommy didn’t know something.

“I didn’t say anything. Just keep your phone on you this week.”

My head was spinning but I didn’t have time to process what Tommy was hinting at because the doors had opened out into a small waiting room, and sitting there on a small plastic chair was the love of my goddamn life.

He was still wearing his kit except for his boots, which had been swapped for a pair of trainers, and he even had his strapping tape on. The right side of his face was swollen and the skin around his eye had turned dark purple with a pinkish tinge around the edge. His eye was open now, but there was a bloodshot tint to it.

“Jonny,” Devon said softly as soon as he saw me, his lips cracking into the tiniest smile. “You came.”

“Hey, angel,” I said, crouching down in front of him and clasping both his hands in mine. “You doing okay?”

“Been better. It fucking hurts.”

“I bet it does.”

He tried to grin again. It was slightly lopsided due to the swelling. “Do I still look pretty?”

“The prettiest,” I said as I lifted his knuckles to my mouth and brushed a kiss over them.

“Liar.” He snorted and then winced. “Ow. Fuck, that hurt.”

“Did they give you some painkillers?” I asked, looking between him and Tommy. The list of what medication we were allowed to take when we were playing was limited, but if Devon was out of action for a while, it’d be different.

“Yeah, I’ve had some,” Devon said. “And I think I’m getting some to take home. We’ve got ice packs, right? I need to put ice on my eye.”

“Er, I think there’s a couple at mine,” I said, trying to rack my brains. Given the regular list of injuries we ended up with, Mason and I had amassed a fairly solid first aid kit—which was nothing more than a box under the kitchen sink we’d filled with stuff. There was everything in there, including painkillers, gauze, tape, plasters, supports and a couple of splints, a hot water bottle, Voltarol, Sudocrem, and a ton of other bits and bobs we’d picked up over the years. “I can ask Mason to stick them in the freezer.”

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