Page 13 of We Were Never Lovers
“What? Nothing,” Jack came over to him. “Shower?”
“C’mon, you can tell me. I won’t rip into you for it, I promise,” Sean said as Jack wheeled him into the bathroom. He felt Jack’s snort ruffle the top of his head.
“Ah, yeah you will.Youdefinitely will.”
“So there is something!” Sean crowed.
Jack scoffed half-heartedly behind him. In the bathroom Sean’s clothes and the bag to keep his cast dry were already laid out.
“There’s nothing, he’s fine,” Jack said as he squatted and got the foot plates of the chair out of the way while Sean pulled his shirt off.
“You know, you really suck at that,” Sean replied, muffled by the material. “I been watching ya this past year, with the guys, the media, and you walk into it, every time.”
Jack went quiet, but it was a particular kind of quiet, a quiet Sean could feel as he popped his head free.
“What? It’s true,” Sean said.
Jack leaned forward, slipped his arm around Sean’s back, his face hidden over Sean’s shoulder. Sean brought his arms around Jack’s neck and let him lift him as they both manoeuvred his pants off. Once he was back in the chair, Jack handed him his pants to throw over his crotch, careful not to make eye contact. Sean had scrambled for them the first time they’d done this as if to protect the modesty that’d be lost the second he got on the plastic shower chair Jack had gotten him, but he did it and Jack always made sure he had his pants within reach, handing them to him. Even though once he was in that chair Jack could have a good gawk at his dick and balls and ass if he wanted. Could do it in the locker room too, but this was different, Sean was vulnerable here and, to his shame, he was shy. He didn’t want Jack looking at him unless he got to look at Jack too. Buthe’d seen Jack, seen him in the showers at the club, his dick as insufferably impressive as the rest of him, uncut, thick and long, proportionate to his big body, but if Jack got to see Sean like this, when he was weak, Sean wanted to see Jack like that, pathetic and unable to protect himself. Apparently, Sean had, but he couldn’t remember it and, more importantly, he couldn’t fathom it.
As Jack secured the plastic bag around his cast, carefully avoiding Sean’s dick covered with his bunched-up pants, his long fingers accidentally caressed the inside of Sean’s thigh before Sean hastily took over and secured the tape in place. Sean strained to picture himself in Jack’s place—covering his cast, letting Jack lean all his weight on him, spinning him to the chair, helping him down so he didn’t crash onto the chair. And even for friends it was a lot, wasn’t it? Did mates help each other that much? Maybe if they didn’t have a missus, which he was sure him and Jack never would. And had they talked about that? Was that what this was? What they’d ended up as? Finally resolving everything and realising they were the two gay dudes on the team, why not share house it while everyone else moved in with girlfriends and got married?
“Okay?” Jack asked as he got the water running, his hand testing the temperature.
“You never answered the question,” Sean said as Jack handed him the shower head.
Jack flicked his eyes up briefly and met Sean’s, very careful not to look at his body. He was more wary than usual.
“I don’t,” he stopped, then he laughed helplessly, but his eyes were cautious, his expression tight. “I don’t know how to answer you.”
“It’s easy,” Sean replied and wet his face, his throat. “You just open your mouth and let the truth come out.” He blinked thewater out of his eyes and saw the curtain, heard Jack moving around behind it, picking up his clothes.
“I’ll get your breakfast ready,” Jack said, and Sean listened to him leave.
But Sean wasn’t to be deterred. Not this time. It’d been a week. He’d had to accept he and Jack were friends because everyone was telling him as much. All his friends, his brother, his cousins, the team medical staff, and the pictures he’d seen online once he’d done a search of himself. He’d seen him and Jack standing with each other in training drills, arms slung around each other and grinning at the most recent Brownlow’s. He’d gotten a splitting headache at that, and decided to take Dr Harris’ advice to leave screens and memories alone, to let his mind come back online naturally. But unless this was the most awful, elaborate prank, all of that suggested him and Jack were friends. So he was going to try.
“I’ll cut ya a deal,” he said as Jack served him his usual breakfast at the table.
Jack gave him another wary look.
“I’ll trust that we’re really friends,” easy on the sarcasm, he berated himself but barrelled on, “if you tell me why you got a hate on for Jorge.”
Jack didn’t react how Sean expected him to—which was to scoff, to roll his eyes, to get shy and rub the back of his neck—instead, he took a step back, a look of apprehension crossing his features.
“That’s a shitty deal,” he said and went into the kitchen to get their coffees and his own food.
“Is it? Why? I reckon it’s fair. I mean,” he went on as Jack gave him his coffee, his eyes skittering up to Sean’s before looking away again. “If we’re such good mates, what could you possibly tell me that I’d have a problem with?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re back,” Jack said and sat, picked up his knife and fork and cut into his poached eggs on toast.
And that pissed Sean off. As if some future version of himself was worth giving this information to but he wasn’t. Even though it was him they were talking about, it was maddening—what was wrong with him now? Didn’t Jack want to be friends with this version of him? Not like he wanted to be friends with Jack. Although he could concede that this older version of Jack was extremely courteous and took good care of him and that counted for something. Guilt. Probably guilt.
“What if I don’t come back?” Sean asked.
Jack stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth like the thought had never occurred to him. “Of course you will, any day now. It’s trauma-induced. Harris said—”
“I know what Harris said.” Sean focused on his food, his own anxieties ratcheting up. It’d been weeks, this should’ve resolved in the first few days and the longer it dragged on, the more likely it was he’d be stuck like this. Two years, gone. Where would he go? He couldn’t stay living with Jack, for as much as everyone, including his future self, said they were friends he couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of it. He’d need to find somewhere to live. He’d need to trust he could still play footy at the level he’d gotten to in the two years since he could remember. The whole situation scared him, which made him angry and when he was angry, Jack was his favourite target. But before, Jack had been the only consistent reason he ever got angry. And now here he was, sitting at Jack’s polished wood dining table, the spring sunshine lighting up the room, the wind chimes brushing softly in the breeze outside, Jack carefully putting his fork down and Sean wanted to throw his plate against the wall.
Jack gripped his wrist suddenly.
