The Wild Heart

by Emrys Apollo

  Would they survive it?

  He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. They were by mutual understanding no longer having sex or anything related to it. He didn’t actually know if not having sex helped his form-sometimes it did and sometimes it didn’t-but it didn’t hurt to try.

  Besides, they both would have done anything for the team. Another loss would cripple this team-and Clint. Sean shook his head inwardly. There was that fear again. It was starting to come back again and again, each time worse than before. He was frightened for Clint, for them, for the team.

  But they were playing so well. The semifinal against Paraguay had been their best one yet. Clint had been incredible, orchestrating their entire win through his magical feet. The whole team had clicked in a way they hadn’t been able to the entire tournament.

  It had to be a good sign, right? Besides, Clint had been in an incredibly good mood since his birthday. He’d spent that day replaying a video Andrea had posted on Instagram of Andrew singing happy birthday. Sean, too, had been forced to watch over and over again. Even Sean had to admit the video was adorable and, as a birthday gift to Clint-the second gift-, he acknowledged that maybe Andrew was just as cute as Hunter.

  Clint had laughed at that and rolled over, kissing Sean for long moments. It had inevitably made them both hard, but they’d both ignored that, their mutual enforced celibacy taking precedence. Besides, it was nice to kiss Clint without any expectations, like teenagers who couldn’t have sex anyway.

  Their relationship had taken a sweeter edge ever since the birthday, though Sean couldn’t pinpoint why. He just felt like another wall had crumbled between them during that sexual interlude that night. He didn’t know what exactly, but he only knew Clint was happy, affectionate and constantly touching Sean.

  Sean was very pleased about this, but something in him was also very scared. It just seemed too good to be true. He was generally an incredibly positive person, but he had always believed that if you laughed too hard, you ended up crying too.

  But for now, he enjoyed this Clint. He very rarely saw Clint like this, even with Sean. His hands were constantly brushing against Sean, touching his skin, holding his hand, kissing him.

  Before the match against Paraguay, Clint had kissed him lightly on his cheek. It was the first time they’d been touchy-feely in public after their relationship had started. He’d known they were generally considered an old married couple with the amount of times they were caught on camera all over each other, but this was the first time that Clint had initiated something and the first time it had happened since... that.

  And it had been so totally unexpected that Sean had blushed like a schoolgirl. His old classmates had sent him the video, laughing so hard over Skype that Sean had blocked them on the spot, refusing to unblock them for a few days following the incident.

  But he’d rewatched it over and over again and blushed harder and harder the more he watched. It was, of course, quite spectacularly the biggest giveaway ever, but he knew most people wouldn’t see something they weren’t actively looking for. So he’d escaped again-albeit through the skin of his teeth.

  Clint seemed oblivious to the video and never mentioned it to Sean and Sean was sensible enough not to bring it up either. He had no pride when it came to Clint, but perhaps this would be taking things a little bit too far. A man needed some self respect, after all.

  But that taught Sean a lot and, after that, he was guarded in public. It was one thing to be accused of having something with Clint when nothing was going on, but things could go spectacularly wrong if something leaked now. As it was, he was sure the hotel maids had noticed Clint’s sheets covered in semen twice-and they probably thought he was a lewd asshole, jacking off while Sean was in the room.

  But Clint seemed to not care. He was happy and confident, playing with vigor and enthusiasm during training, though he did flag quicker than some of the other teammates. Sean couldn’t blame him-he’d been playing every single game, all 90 minutes, for an entire season and then during the Championship.

  Sean should have known his premonitions were right, though. Because as the idyllic days passed, broken only by the nervousness of actually playing a final, he became almost complacent, almost too confident in them. He forgot that things could go so wrong, forgot how bad losing such a major tournament could be.

  Until the day of the Championship final.

  And that was the day it all came apart.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Morning after the Championship Final

  Sean woke up crying.

  He came awake immediately, suddenly, his chest aching so much he felt like he couldn’t even breathe. Rolling onto his side, he realized tears were sliding down his face, falling gently into his hair. Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe, tried to calm himself down.

  But the pain was like a ball lodged just below his breastbone, aching unrelentingly. For a moment, he gave in to it, let the tears fall, let the pain swim through his head, let it overwhelm him.

  But he’d gone through the Championship, and nothing could be worse than that. Nothing would compare.

  Was this much better, though?

  It wasn’t, not really. Two losses in a single year. It was baffling, something akin to torture. It was nothing short of agony and he was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. He wanted nothing more than to escape, to give it up, to stop playing for the team, for the jersey that only seemed to mock him.

  He rolled over, looking at Clint’s bed. It was still dark, but his eyes were adjusted to the dim light and he could see that no one was in bed. Clint was probably in the bathroom, wallowing. He seemed to be both broken and stronger by losses, so torn apart and yet always holding himself together, brittle and shattered, damaged and not destroyed.

  But as his eyes swept the room, still blurry from the tears, he realized something was off. For a second, he puzzled it out, until he realized with a bolt of horror that Clint’s suitcase was missing.

  The shock temporarily eased the ache and he sat upright, staring at the empty space where the suitcase had rested. Suddenly full of dread, he groped for his phone on the nightstand. Turning it on, he scrolled madly through the missed calls and texts looking for one name.

  Coming up empty, frustrated, panic mounting, he scrolled through the notifications again, stopping at a text from Maurice, alarm bells ringing. Maurice never texted. Opening the message with shaking hands, he read:

  Sean, Clint left. I think he didn’t tell anyone. But I think you should know he wasn’t himself. I think you should know he didn’t mean any harm.

  It was as if something broke inside Sean. He lay back down, tossing the phone away, ignoring its incessant chirping as hundreds of texts flooded his phone. The tears dried up immediately. His head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, thick and woozy and numb. He felt empty and drained.

  He stared at the ceiling, eyes red and dry, mind empty.

  Later, he would remember it as one of the worst days of his life.

  ***

  For the first few days after getting home, Sean checked his phone compulsively. He couldn’t help himself. He had set the ringer at the highest volume, chosen the most annoyingly loud ringtone he could find, but he still reached for his phone every few minutes, checking to see if he’d missed something.

  But although he received plenty of texts and calls, his heart always leaping in his chest before falling hard in disappointment at the wrong name on his caller ID, Clint never called.

  Sean was swimming in grief at the loss, feeling as if everything had grinded to a halt in its wake. The days went by achingly slow, almost agonizing. It was almost as if Sean’s grief was a black hole that sucked everything-he felt numb and unable to feel anything.

  He didn’t turn on the news, didn’t surf the web. But little snippets of the gossip reached him anyway. Little indications of what was going on. It started as a whisper-Blacker failed again-to loud, terrifying roars, so filled with hate and maliciousness, Sean f
elt weak.

  No one else was blamed, except Clint. He was torn apart so brutally, Sean felt nauseated by it. He didn’t know the full extent because of the wall of support around him, but he could imagine. Once, he even had a small flash of gratitude that it wasn’t him, but the guilt of such a thought overwhelmed him and he gagged, rushing to the bathroom and vomiting harshly.

  But through it all, another thought kept pulsing at him: Clint didn’t call.

  At first, Sean couldn’t believe he wouldn’t at least send him a text. He tried calling and texting Clint, but his phone was always switched off and his assistant picked up the home line, always saying bluntly that Clint wasn’t accepting any calls.

  After a few days, his father casually mentioned that Clint was on vacation in the Caribbean. It made Sean more upset than ever. That Clint could go on vacation but not send one text hit him hard. Once, in the middle of the night, he gave in and stalked Clint on Instagram. Faced with hundreds of selfies of Clint with fans, Sean turned off his phone, tossing it across the room.

  But it was a turning point. After that, Sean was mainly angry. He was angry about everything. He snapped at everyone, screamed at his assistant to the point where she burst into tears. His father tried to talk to him about it, but it ended up being a one-sided yelling match with Sean stalking out of the room, his father shell-shocked.

  Sean went back to his own place after that, deciding to stop camping out at his parents’ place. The house was so empty at first, so lonely, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. But after a while, the solitude descended on him like a blanket, almost soothing.

  He checked his phone less and less. After a while, he put it away completely, bingeing out on terrible TV serials and even worse action movies. His anger cooled, but there was something else taking its space-and it felt like bitterness and icy self-protection. His feelings for Clint were becoming complicated-the one thing that had been so solid for years twisted into something ugly.

  But Sean didn’t shed one tear about it.

  It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

  ***

  He would never forget it. His phone chirped and, absently, Sean picked it up. His eyes were glued to the TV and he barely glanced at his phone to see what it was.

  He froze immediately. Clint was there at the top of his inbox. Sean could see the beginning of the text: hey I just… And, suddenly, without thinking, without even opening the text, he deleted it. Hand trembling, he put his phone away, looking blindly back at the TV, heart pounding.

  It was a long time before he stopped shaking. It was the first time he’d rejected Clint, albeit in the mildest way possible. Somehow, he didn’t regret it. It may have been silly and childish and exactly the wrong way for a grown man to handle it, but he was tired.

  He’d been in love with Clint for so long. For years. He’d pined and longed for him, watched him date other people, watched him become a star before the whole world and never, never been able to be by his side as anything more than Sean, his biggest fan.

  And finally, over the last few weeks, he’d started to believe. Started to believe that there was the possibility of more. But again, Clint had let him down. Again, he’d fallen for exactly the wrong thing.

  Because if Clint had just left him one text, not even right away, not even within the first week after the Championship final, but if he’d contacted Sean once during the following two weeks, Sean would have forgiven him. Sean would have gone back crawling on his hands and knees for Clint.

  But two weeks. Two weeks without even bothering to see how Sean was doing? Not even bothering to tell his assistant to pass on a message. Sean had reached out so many times. It was too much. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

  After all, if Clint could stay away so easily, then he should just stay away.

  ***

  It was a few hours before Clint tried again. Sean didn’t open these either, deleting the texts immediately and with satisfaction. It was flattering that Clint was trying again, but Sean didn’t want to talk to Clint right now. He needed time.

  Then Clint started calling. He called four times over the next day, leaving increasingly concerned voicemails. Sean listened to these because he couldn’t help it, Clint’s seductive soft accent, with the syllables melting around the words too tempting to ignore.

  But he didn’t reply. He knew he would have to eventually. He wasn’t such an asshole. Clint had gone through a lot too. But he didn’t want to have that talk yet. He decided to wait another few days before contacting Clint.

  But Clint surprised him.

  Although, shock was perhaps more appropriate. Sean was so flabbergasted at seeing Clint at his front door, so shocked that he’d somehow managed to get through the security-he was having a serious talk with the stupid guard-that he simply stared.

  Clint was smiling shyly, looking fresh and red-Sean reminded himself to laugh at Clint’s incapability of tanning like a normal human being-and so good.

  For a second, Sean felt a huge wave of attraction, but hot on its heels was the icy cold confusion that had bewildered him all these two weeks. He dropped his eyes, feeling again the rejection of those two weeks.

  “What’re you doing here?” he said bluntly, not bothering to pretend.

  Clint’s eyes were careful now, watchful. He didn’t seem surprised by the reaction-almost as if he was anticipating it. Bitterly, Sean thought that he probably knew full well how he felt and didn’t care.

  “Can I come in?” Clint’s accent was more pronounced than ever as it always was after he went home for a little while. Sean felt his insides twisting a little. He grudgingly moved aside as Clint stepped over the threshold.

  The Championship final flashed through his mind as he glanced at the back of Clint’s hair. He remembered him sitting on the grass, knee drawn up, an elbow draped over his knee, staring mindlessly forward. He remembered not being able to do anything to stop it, not being able to stop Clint crying on the bus ride home.

  He’d only seen Clint cry once or twice. Even in grief, Clint was held together, tears streaming down his face, but otherwise making no sound, no move. He was so tightly restrained, Sean wondered what it must feel like inside his heart.

  He was wearing ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He looked lean and incredible. He’d stopped shaving and the scruff made him look both older and younger somehow. Sean felt both incredibly sad and incredibly weary at seeing Clint.

  They made their way to the kitchen quietly. For as far as back as Sean could remember, Clint’s first stop had always been the kitchen. He’d open Sean’s fridge and start munching on anything he could find. It had become a joke initially-and later, a ritual.

  But now the familiar routine felt odd, alien. Sean didn’t want to look at Clint and remember the final. He didn’t want to be reminded of Clint not wanting to talk to him. He didn’t want to remember how happy they had been in the days leading up to the final, kissing and touching and acting like-like they were in love.

  The word jarred Sean and he gritted his teeth, trying to fight the humiliation that was rising. He forced himself to meet Clint’s eyes who, for the first time, hadn’t helped himself to any food. Clint’s eyes were shuttered and he looked exhausted.

  “Hey. You didn’t reply to my texts.”

  Sean tried to keep his voice light, but he had a strong feeling Clint knew he was angry. “You didn’t reply to mine either.”

  Clint took a deep breath. He sat on one of the kitchen stools, looking at Sean standing opposite. “I’m sorry. I went crazy-I lost my mind. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I felt alone.”

  “You didn’t text or call for two weeks, Clint. You took selfies with a hundred different fans-”

  “-more than a hundred,” Clint interjected wryly.

  Sean continued as if he didn’t hear. “-and you couldn’t once say 'Hi, Sean, I need some time'?”

  “I fucked up, Sean. I felt like all of you blamed me-”

/>   “You thought I blamed you? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Clint’s hands were shaking a little now. “Well, let me tell you what it’s like, okay? All I heard was win everywhere. People were expecting me to do insane things and, you know what we’re not-” He stopped mid-sentence, looking horrified.

  Sean shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s true. The two teams are different. You can’t compare them.”

  Clint seemed to have run out of steam. “Yeah.”

  Sean felt tired. “I know you’ve gone through a lot, Clint. But we weren’t just friends anymore. We were more than that. You should have-”

  “Were?”

  Sean stopped, confused. Clint’s eyes were wide and there was a slight hint of something wild hanging around him now. “What?”

  “You said we were more than just friends. What do you mean were?” Clint’s words were so carefully articulated, so restrained that Sean knew he was getting agitated.

  Sean opened his mouth and closed it. He looked at Clint.

  Clint stood up so suddenly, knocking his chair over in the process, that Sean flinched. “Are you breaking up with me?” Clint’s eyes were raw and suddenly Sean felt guilt overwhelm him.

  But he remembered the two weeks, and felt suddenly that he was right to do this. Clint had gone through a tough time, but couldn’t he have sent one text? Just one would have been enough.

  You shouldn’t do that to the person you were…involved with. It wasn’t right. It was downright cruel. Sean wasn’t going to take that. He wouldn’t have done that to Clint if the roles were reversed.

  He met Clint’s eyes dead on, unflinchingly. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sean couldn’t stop staring at Clint’s fists. They were balled so tightly by his sides, the knuckles were stark white against his sunburn. He focused on the hands because the silence was deafening, painful, overwhelming. He wanted to speak first-and the old Sean would have. The old Sean would have felt the need to placate Clint, the need to make him happy-the old Sean put Clint first always.