Page 97 of Playing for Keeps
I stayed in the backyard as he wandered inside. I picked up the golf club and absentmindedly chipped the ball again, my mind on whatever conversation Luke was having.
Was it good news? Would he have been called otherwise? Although I had heard the New Zealand selectors sometimes gave courtesy calls to guys who were close but just missed out.
Before I had too much opportunity to speculate, Luke emerged back onto his deck. The smile on his face sent a thrill racing through me.
“You’re in the squad? You’re going to training camp?”
“I’m in,” he confirmed.
I went straight over and kissed him, because that seemed the most effective way to share my happiness.
He kissed me back enthusiastically, pulling back just as the rest of my body was starting to get into it.
“I need to call my parents.”
“They’re going to be over the moon.”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“How about I make us lunch while you do that?” I said.
“Okay.”
Before I went to the kitchen, I got my phone out of my pocket and checked it quickly. Because no matter what, you always had a brief flare of hope that the New Zealand selectors had somehow managed to see a particular quality in your play and decide you were this year’s dark horse who belonged in the squad.
But my screen was empty. Yeah, not really the surprise of the century. My best hope would be if the twelve guys who were better than me in my position somehow all managed to get injured at the same time.
I bustled around Luke’s kitchen, making us both a cheese sandwich. A memory came back to me of Luke and I using the microwave to melt the cheese in our sandwiches when we were kids, but overdoing it and causing the cheese to bubble everywhere. His mother hadn’t been impressed.
Luke came into the kitchen just as I’d finished, a large smile still on his face.
“What did they say?” I asked.
“What you’d expect. I’m fairly sure Dad was crying,” Luke said.
I snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Anthony always shed a few tears at Luke’s milestone achievements, much to Luke’s extreme mortification when we were teenagers.
“He cried when he first held Theo,” I said.
Luke paused where he’d been pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Did he?”
Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Back when things had been so shit between us. But I wanted to share everything with Luke, and I couldn’t pretend it had never happened.
“Yeah, Theo’s birth was hard on Char and she had to go to surgery after to get stitched back up. So I took Theo out to your parents in the waiting room because I didn’t know what else to do with this baby I’d just been handed. I wasn’t sure how they’d react because…you know…things had been quite tense, but the moment he was in your dad’s arms, your dad started to cry.”
For some reason, at the time, seeing Anthony with tears dripping down his face as he stared into the face of his grandson had made me realize that everything was going to turn out okay.
Luke swallowed. He met my gaze. “Wish I’d been there.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, me too.”
The air between us throbbed with everything that went unsaid.
Luke glanced over at the sandwiches. “One of those for me?”
“Yep. Knock yourself out.”
