My Goal

by H J Perry

  "So we better unpack quickly and get Jason's apartment back in order before he gets home," said Scott.

  "Agreed. I don't want him regretting having me stay, even if it is for just a couple of months," said Liz.

  "It feels like you guys have lived here for months, anyway," said Harry.

  The four of them regularly hung out together in one of their homes.

  "It's hardly worth unpacking if you are all moving out again in a few weeks."

  Jason had already set in motion buying a large house to live in with Scott, and their friend Liz was welcome too. To the world it would appear that Scott was a lodger. The world was already under the incorrect impression that Liz and Jason were dating. Harry was one of the few who knew the truth about Jason and Scott.

  "Hopefully he'll be there for longer, but depending on tomorrow's match it could be all over for England," said Harry. "You guys are still coming to watch it with me tomorrow, aren't you?"

  "Yes, absolutely, in the privacy of your apartment or ours, so we don't have the eyes of the world watching us as we watch our boyfriend on the pitch, right Liz?"

  "Are you sure you're not some threesome?" Harry knew the answer; it was something they commonly joked about.

  "I'm still on for watching England play tomorrow with you, but who do you think will win?"

  "What, tomorrow or overall?" asked Harry.

  "The whole thing. Who would you put money on to win the Euro 2012?"

  "France, Germany, Italy are all contenders. Spain is playing tonight. They won the World Cup just two years ago and are in with a strong chance of winning this thing; they're fielding a very strong team." And keeping track of at least one of the Spanish players was a part-time obsession for Harry, but he wasn't about to share that information.

  "In my opinion, of all the teams, Spain is definitely the one to watch," Harry said.

  Harry closely followed the career of one member of the Spanish team ever since a certain embarrassing episode with that player several years earlier. Carlos Garcia may hold Spanish nationality, but he spoke with a London accent, having lived in the capital most of his life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  August 2012

  CARLOS

  For a professional football player, the football club may as well be his whole life. The team dominated his existence, spending endless hours together traveling and staying in hotels. Since signing the contract a couple of days ago, Carlos had read the biography of every player on the club's website, and their Wikipedia page if they had one.

  Going straight to the locker room on his first day, Carlos avoided the cafeteria and breakfast with his teammates for his first morning at BSC. Despite his history, his personal success, and his confident persona, he dreaded this morning like an adolescent teenager changing school midway through the term.

  It was important that he made the right impression from the outset.

  He'd met most of the starting players for the club's first team before, but only as adversaries on the pitch. Carlos didn't know them; he had no friends from his past on this team. Moving football clubs, relocating to new cities, and endless traveling made for a lonely existence.

  Alone in the locker room, it took Carlos ages to change into his training kit. He was distracted, and overthinking his fears from the conversation with his agent two days ago.

  "I'm the most expensive player ever to join their team, costing even more than the record fee they paid for Jason Tant last summer. Not bad at my age. Good job, Tony," he'd said to the agent in private after the contract was signed.

  "I know you were thinking of a more high-profile team. Won't you find the pressure overwhelming to take the team up the league when they've loitered at around fifth or sixth place for the last few years?"

  Tony had been reticent about his reasons for not pushing the BSC proposal. Carlos realized it was because BSC was not considered one of the uppermost teams.

  "I may be the star striker, but it's still a team game."

  "What do you think of the other players?" The agent sat back in the chair.

  "I'm the only one who's been a European and World Cup champion. Of course, they'll treat me like a God and welcome me with open arms." Carlos's positive self-talk and bravado hid but didn't conquer his genuine fears. He wanted a friend.

  HARRY

  The notorious loudmouth Spaniard turned up at football training one week into the start of the new football season. The prima donna couldn't even work from the start of the season, unlike every other player.

  Garcia was back in Harry's life, the latest irrefutable evidence that fate was set against him, despite all his prayers. The only man who knew Harry's secret had changed into his kit, ready for training. He was still in the dressing room, sitting in the previously empty space immediately next to Harry's.

  When the locker room door closed behind him, they were alone.

  Carlos sat on the bench, doing up his laces by pure dreadful chance. Eyes down and focused on his fingers, he didn't seem to notice Harry, who let his gaze wander over the taut, tanned skin of the footballer's limbs for a fraction too long before focusing on the spiky black hair. There was a lot of product in that hair.

  They were alone.

  Harry's stomach did somersaults.

  The real moment they almost came face-to-face in the changing room was even worse than anticipated.

  Surely Carlos wouldn't have deliberately chosen that part of the bench on which to pile his clothes when he stripped before and after training sessions. Not the empty place next to Harry.

  Carlos looked up. "Hi."

  "Who are you?" Harry got the quip in quickly. A joke. It could hardly be a put-down; everyone knew Carlos Garcia was joining Birmingham City South Football Club. Everyone in football recognized the top Spanish international player.

  "Do you play football?" Carlos came back with the witty reply. He had a smile on his face as he stood up and held out a hand to Harry.

  "You didn't research the team you were joining then, Carlos?"

  "Harry, you know I did. And, by the way, I can give you a lift home after work in a decent car while you save up to buy one of your own."

  They were then on to the well-trodden road of locker room banter: my car is better than yours, I've got more money than you. It was familiar, but in this case very true. Harry didn't need to Google the football star's net wealth to know that this two-time International Cup winner had already made a mega fortune that made Harry's weekly wage look pathetic.

  "That's kind of you, but I wouldn't want you to drive out of your way, as I live in a poor suburban shantytown." There's no winning the one-upmanship game with a player like Carlos, so Harry took the small talk in the direction of British style self-depreciation.

  "I hope it's not that bad. I've moved into the same building as you, into Tant's old home. That's why I'm offering you a lift, not because I fancy you." Carlos sat down and raised his right foot in order to adjust his laces. "Maybe I'll have to find somewhere else to live if it's that bad."

  Shocked at discovering Carlos would be close to him outside work as well as right there in the locker room, Harry was saved from finding some witty reply when the door burst open. Two more foreign players walked in, the Italian, Davide, and Emmanuel from Nigeria. When they saw Carlos, a fresh load of introductions and greetings began, while more and more men trailed into the locker room.

  Changing into his kit in silence, Harry kept an ear tuned in for an early alert if his fears became reality. He wondered if, when, and how things were going to turn unpleasant. It was just a matter of time before Carlos told all about that embarrassing night.

  Unless his luck changed. There was no way Harry would expose Jason, and just maybe Carlos would not expose Harry.

  Harry felt distinctly nervous, even a little sick, standing in the locker room with the guy he'd been crushing on for years. He was the only person who knew Harry's secret.

  Listening to the conversation, it dawned on Harry that he
should have offered a friendlier welcome to the new player. Congratulations for his recent Euro Cup victory were in order. Harry felt like a bit of a dick for opting for self-defensive banter.

  It was a mistake coming to the locker rooms early, trying to avoid the crowd that formed in a rush minutes before training was due to start.

  CARLOS

  His first locker room exchange with one of the players didn't go quite the way he'd intended. Carlos aimed to win friends on the team, and Harry was one of the players Carlos had hoped to bond with, particularly since they would be neighbors.

  Carlos had committed to memory the profile of every player. His research revealed Harry was a homegrown product of BSC, and a local Birmingham-born lad. He joined the club as an apprentice, age sixteen, and was still there eight years on. He was a good player, evidenced by the fact BCS kept him on with a long, lucrative contract instead of selling him.

  Harry had earned his right to the quiet self-confidence he displayed, in contrast to Carlos. Personal insecurity, the desire for popularity, and the need to fit in compelled Carlos to fidget and talk nonsense in an attempt to entertain in the locker room. He couldn't help it; he always drew attention to himself.

  Davide and Emmanuel greeted their newest teammate warmly when they entered the locker room. They congratulated him on his Euro. Carlos enjoyed their welcome. Shortly afterward he heard the language of his childhood.

  "Hola, Carlos. Felicitaciones."

  The highly recognizable English national team player greeted him with congratulations in Spanish. Jason clapped, and one by one, every player in the locker room joined in the applause. The locker room became packed with more and more men who came to investigate the noise. Soon there was raucous cheering echoing within the chamber.

  This is the reception he would have gotten if Carlos had returned to his previous London-based football club, where he was popular. He didn't expect it here as the newcomer. He appreciated the gesture, especially led by this team's star player.

  Pride competed with embarrassment as the noise died down.

  In Spanish, a language that most of the players probably wouldn't understand, Carlos addressed the leader of the compliment.

  "Jason Tant, que eligió el equipo equivocado?"

  Carlos asked Jason if he thought he'd chosen the wrong team. Jason played for England, the country of his and his father's birth. It was a nation that hadn't won any international tournaments for decades. He could have played for his mother's country, Spain, alongside Carlos. Spain had an unprecedented run of success, two Euro Championships, and the 2010 World Cup.

  Carlos had played in the Cup final at two of these international events. The recent Euro was massive, gaining an audience around the size of the US population. To play on the winning team in a World Cup final was something most boys would give up a kidney to experience. One in seven people watched it, all over the world, which made Carlos a household name from to China to Peru.

  "Nunca consideré España. Maybe I should have thought a little harder about which country I was going to represent." Jason offered his hand to shake as more men gathered around, like the fans who tried to touch him, as if football magic fell from his shoulders.

  "Thanks, everyone." Carlos looked around to include everyone in the conversation, not just Jason. "I'm pleased to be here, as the most expensive player bought by BSC football club. Sorry Jason, I took that title from you as well as winning the Euro. And, to make it a hat trick, I've moved into your old apartment too."

  "You're fast. I only moved out last week. Bought a lovely big house not far from there."

  "I moved in yesterday. I just couldn't get here for the start of the season last week." Carlos didn't elaborate on the extended holiday period he'd granted himself.

  Carlos soon forgot about the awkward start to the morning, and meeting Harry, as he chatted with the other players. Most knew a lot about him, but some were surprised by his excellent English.

  "I've just spent two and a half months speaking Spanish, but don't forget I've lived in England most of my life. I played for English youth soccer teams."

  "Have you met Harry Carter, one of our midfielders?" Jason asked. He walked over to where Harry stood, folding his discarded clothes and putting his arm around Harry's shoulder. "He stays quiet in the corner here, but he is the team's secret weapon on the pitch. The other side doesn't see him coming. And he lives in the same building as you."

  "Yeah, we were just talking. And we've probably met before. I don't know whether you remember, Harry? I was reading your bio the other day and I'd be surprised if our paths didn't cross when we were in the youth teams."

  "Yes. I think we've played on the pitch together as teenagers, but on opposing teams."

  HARRY

  Harry stood by, aware of the interaction and ignored until Jason dragged him back to the center of attention.

  Harry and Jason were usually among the first men arriving at the club every morning. The first changed, and the first out on the pitch, getting warmed up for training. Only recently, since discovering Jason's sexuality, Harry wondered if arriving at work early was a gay thing, but quickly dismissed that ridiculous notion.

  Jason was an elite player, along with Eric, the straight and married team captain. The thing that set them apart was the long hours and dedication they gave to training. They were never late.

  Harry didn't share that dedication. He loved the game and pushed himself to give his best performance, but he couldn't fully focus on the sport when battling the demons in his head. He was always hiding, denying, and suppressing one aspect of his character.

  Why wasn't Jason already on the pitch? He was usually one of the first in the locker room and already outside while others were just pulling up to park their cars.

  Instead, Jason was in the locker room bringing up the very time in Harry's life that he hoped Carlos would forget.

  Carlos must have been toying with him.

  There was no way he didn't remember.

  Embarrassing moments are always the most memorable.

  Harry looked at Garcia's face, Garcia looked back into his eyes, and before giving him the chance to think about their last meeting, Harry spoke. They played against each other in at least one youth match. It was a long time ago.

  The facts were easy to verify. As teenagers at the top of the youth league they had played opposite each other. No point in denying it. No point in pretending they hadn't met before.

  What other facts were going to emerge from their past? That was up to Carlos. Ever since that one and only indiscretion, Harry had buried those feelings.

  "You got a girlfriend coming with you?" asked Davide.

  "No. I'm free and eager to try out all the local Birmingham hotties," replied Carlos. "What's it like around here?"

  "There are plenty of girls to go around. Wouldn't you say so, Harry?"

  In the space right next to Carlos, the newest member of the team, it was inevitable Harry would be drawn into conversations. Even ones he'd like to avoid. When he took too long to reply, Carlos spoke instead.

  "Harry, you're a Birmingham veteran of the team. You'll have to show me around the city."

  Would Garcia say anything? Sitting there like a ticking time bomb, waiting to expose Harry at any time?

  CHAPTER THREE

  September 2012

  HARRY

  "You can bet on anything: The final score for a game; which players are going to be picked to sit on the reserve bench; who is going to score the first goal."

  Scott stood up and paced across Harry's sitting room.

  "Let's say one in ten men are gay. It might be less than that, five percent or seven percent, but ten percent is a nice round number for this example."

  Harry forced himself not to slump in his seat. He already suspected he'd soon regret asking the question.

  "So if there were eleven men playing on your football team at the last football match, how many of the players were gay?"

 
Harry gulped. It was as if Scott knew more about Harry than he was prepared to admit to anyone other than himself.

  "One, and it's Jason." Harry knew this answer was wrong, and he already regretted asking Scott to help him understand gambling.

  "Wrong answer." Scott looked Harry in the eye.

  Could Scott see that Harry knew the answer was two?

  Jason and Harry.

  Harry held his nerve; he was not coming out to Scott today. "If someone had said that to me last year I would have said none, there are no gay footballers, so the statistics must be wrong or something."

  "The point about gambling is you are making predictions based on statistics, but would you bet money on it?"

  "What is the correct answer?" Harry had never told anyone, but he finally wanted to share the burden of this secret with Scott. And it wasn't the first time that year.

  "Let me put it this way. Jason's sent off; the team is down to ten men, and you know one in ten people is gay."

  The sentences sounded simple. Harry shook his head, feeling as if Scott was goading him to come out. He understood the words, but had no idea what Scott was talking about.

  "We don't know. Unless you have some particular information, we just don't know. There might be no gay players, or there could be two or three. And that's why you shouldn't gamble high stakes on random chance."

  "Give me a different example." Perhaps the focus on gay football players distracted Harry from understanding Scott's point. "Not football related."

  Despite becoming the best of friends, the time was never the right time to confess that Harry was gay too. In a way, as time went on it became harder to admit, because he should have owned up sooner rather than later to Scott, Jason, and Liz. But on the other hand, without any actual boyfriend, there was nothing to tell anyone.

  Nothing to tell about his physical experience.

  Precisely zero.