Page 4 of Full Tilt
“They definitely matter. Pick the wrong one and society collapses.”
“Exactly.” He snorts. “How’s the body holding up?”
I shift, stretching out my shoulder. “Neck’s tight. Legs are pissed. Otherwise fine.”
“You still third?” he asks, and I roll my eyes. Joel is a Villa supporter, which yeah, in our family, it’s criminal not to be, but he’s very much a football fan and not a hardcore rugby fanatic.
“Yep. Just six games left. Could all go tits up, but we’re holding on.”
“Reckon you’ll make the play-offs?”
My grin stretches that he’s using terms I’ve spent years drilling into him. “If we keep playing like we did last weekend. Rafi’s on fire.”
“That’s the kid with the ridiculous speed?”
“That’s the one. Whole team’s rooting for him to make England. He’s got it in him.”
Joel’s quiet a beat, then says, “You seeing anyone?”
I bark a laugh. “What, in my spare time between being a hermit and dodging tabloid scum?”
His grunt of agreement travels through the speaker. Joel had been ropable during all the bullshit coverage when I came out. Like my team, he’s always had my back. “You’ve got a decent beard now. Someone out there must be into grumpy cavemen. Or bears—is that what some guys call you?”
I bark out a laugh and stir the pan. “Fuck off. I am not a bear. And perhaps never talk to me about bears again.” My brother means well. He also loves stirring me up. And as for being a bear…. I hold back my sigh. Sure, I may look the part, and at work, I can be grizzly and protective as fuck, but in the bedroom, what I wouldn’t give to be railed by someone who knew what they were doing and was strong enough to handle me.
I clear my throat and shake thoughts away that I absolutely don’t want to have while on the phone to my brother.
Joel’s laugh is loud. “Okay, okay, no grizzly talk. I got it. Are you good for tonight? You’re meeting the new tattoo guy, right? Which I haven’t told Mum about, by the way, and you’re welcome.”
He laughs again, warm and easy. It softens something in me. Reminds me I’m not just the player or the captain or the wall people bounce off. I’m also a brother. A son. A man with people who love me even if I vanish into myself sometimes.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” I say, a little quieter. Joel knows all about my aversion to strangers. Sure, there are times he’ll take the piss while singing “stranger danger” at me, but he knows all too well how people try to get close for all the wrong reasons. He’s also one of the few people who really know how meeting people like this Brent guy, someone who’s going to be in my space and I’ll inevitably spend hours alone with, makes me truly stressed.
Put me on a pitch with fifteen rugby players who I’ve never played before, my face squashed against theirs in a scrum, and I’m just peachy. Outside of rugby is a whole different story.
“I know. Just give the guy a chance. You trust your old tattooist, right?”
“Right,” I agree, albeit a little reluctantly.
“So I’m sure he wouldn’t hand over his client list to a wankstain.”
I huff out a laugh. “Here’s hoping he hasn’t.”
“I’m sure it’ll be bostin. Listen, I best get gone. I just wanted to check on ya.”
“Thanks, Joel. ’Preciate it, bro.”
“Take care of yourself, Cam.”
“You, too, man.”
We hang up, and the silence creeps back in, but it’s softer now, a little less isolated. I finish cooking, plate up, and sit down at my little table, phone facedown beside me.
Outside, the light fades, while inside, I eat alone. And in a couple of hours, I’ll be meeting Brent.
Here’s hoping the guy doesn’t turn out to be a prick.
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