The Wild Heart

by Emrys Apollo

  But something had changed in him. He was acutely aware that Clint could hurt him, could hurt him with something worse than rejection and betrayal-he could hurt him with neglect.

  It had never occurred to him that being ignored was far worse than being rejected. Rejection was a humiliation, but it didn’t feel as all-encompassingly personal as being ignored did. It had shocked him how much he had trusted Clint and how easily it had broken, all in a few days.

  “Why?” Clint’s voice was coarse, nothing like his usual soft slurry tones.

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  It slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say that. He regretted it immediately. It was probably the worst thing he could say to Clint, the biggest insult. It was a slur not only on their romantic relationship, but their platonic one.

  The thought rose that most likely their friendship was over, but he stuffed it down, knowing it would cause him hysteria and panic.

  Clint’s face was so stunned, so full of hurt, Sean looked away. He felt guilt blind him for a second.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it’s not enough that you’re around for the good stuff. What if something else bad happens and you go missing again? I don’t deserve that.” Sean’s voice was soft, devoid of anger. He felt heavy and sad.

  “Sean, I made a mistake-”

  “That’s probably true,” Sean interrupted quietly. “But I deserve better.”

  Clint fell silent. He was staring at Sean, eyes wide, as if unable to believe that Sean could walk away so easily, could end it so abruptly. “So you won’t give me a second chance? How could you punish me for my first mistake?” For the first time, Clint’s voice was rising, a note of hysteria coloring his words.

  It made Sean miserable. “Look, Clint, everyone deserves second chances. But something in me feels different.”

  Clint moved quickly to come stand right in front of Sean. He reached for him, but Sean flinched in response and Clint froze. He swallowed hard, dropping his hand. “What do you mean? You don’t love me anymore?” Clint’s voice was low, almost broken.

  “I still love you. I don’t think I can ever stop,” Sean laughed bitterly, watching relief ease Clint’s features. “But it doesn’t feel the same. I don’t trust you.”

  “Because I didn’t text you for two weeks?”

  Sean felt angry suddenly. Clint was making him sound like an overemotional toddler, and, damn it, Sean was entitled to how he was feeling. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t trust you to not hurt me,” he snapped, finally fed up.

  That was a blow. Sean could see Clint mentally reeling a little. He was quiet for a second, eyes searching Sean’s face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sean.” Clint took a deep breath. “What I did was wrong, unforgiveable. But I was so-I felt that everyone must hate me. I know that makes no sense, but that’s how I felt.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Sean said flatly.

  Clint stared. “What?”

  “I don’t believe you thought I hated you. There’s no way I believe that.”

  Clint looked away. “I knew you didn’t hate me, but-”

  Sean laughed loudly, mirthlessly. “Lying to me now, huh?”

  “Don’t be cruel, Sean,” Clint said through gritted teeth. His cheeks were flushed.

  Sean turned away suddenly, rubbing his forehead. Clint was right. Sean had never been a bitter person and he didn’t need to start now. “Let’s go sit down. We can’t stand here all day.”

  He led the way out of the kitchen, intensely aware of Clint following him. His body was still reacting to Clint, although not as badly as previously. Sean waited for Clint to sit first in a plush leather armchair before choosing a seat far away enough on the cushy couch to give himself a little bit of breathing space.

  They were silent for a little while, Sean avoiding Clint’s gaze. Finally Clint leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I knew you didn’t hate me, but I was ashamed to face you.”

  Sean’s eyes snapped up at that. “What do you mean?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

  “I feel like I let everyone down-”

  Sean held up a hand firmly. “Let’s stop right there. We’re not going down that route. That loss wasn’t just your fault. It was all of us. We’re a team of 11, not 1.”

  Clint rolled his eyes, but Sean could see the tension leaving his body. The fact that Clint had even doubted, for a second, that Sean might blame him was baffling. He wondered suddenly if they both didn’t trust each other in the most fundamental way, in that all-important way, the thing that differentiated between love and lust.

  He felt emotion rising and took a deep breath. The black hole was beckoning again, threatening to suck him under. He fought hard to regain calm, to focus on the conversation. He concentrated on Clint but he could feel the edges of his vision begin to blur.

  But Clint knew immediately. He moved forward, moving to sit next to Sean, but not as close as he would have sat just a few weeks back. Gingerly, he placed a hand on Sean’s back. This time, Sean let the touch happen, didn’t flinch.

  Seemingly gaining confidence, Clint’s hand began to rub gently up and down Sean’s back. Sean took a sudden shuddering breath and, to his horror, the emotion of the previous weeks rose in a huge wave inside his chest.

  He hadn’t cried all these days, not once. Not since Maurice had left him that text had he even shed a tear, or choked up. But now it was as if Clint’s one touch had unblocked a dam and he felt panicky, afraid of what was going to come through.

  Clint was moving closer now. Sean could feel his warmth against the side of his body, emanating through his clothes. They were still not quite touching, but it was a distance of only a breath, really. Sean closed his eyes, willing his emotions to go away, but it was too much and he heaved a huge hiccupping breath, burying his face in his hands.

  Clint’s arm was closing hard around his shoulders and, blindly, Sean turned into his arms. He buried his face against Clint’s chest and felt the grief of the loss again, as painful as it had been when he’d watched the trophy being lifted by someone else.

  He didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. He held himself together through sheer will, pride rearing its head fiercely and demanding that Sean not cry in front of-

  Well, Sean didn’t know what their relationship was called anymore and he wasn’t going to dwell on it. He could feel Clint still rubbing his back slowly, running his hand gently over his body. Sean decided to allow it. He himself wasn’t getting excited-surely a first-but he needed Clint’s warmth a little more, and so he closed his eyes and burrowed deeper in Clint’s embrace, wondering when he would next be able to enjoy this.

  When Sean felt Clint’s lips gently grazing his forehead, he leaned back, pushing against Clint’s chest. “No, no.”

  Clint let go immediately, but his eyes were intense. “I was just-”

  Sean shook his head. He shifted further away from Clint. “You can’t just come back and kiss me. Things just don’t go back to the way they were.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clint said, clearly frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “Please, Sean. Please give me a second chance.” He reached out to touch Sean, but Sean leaned away, wary.

  Clint’s face tightened, but he said nothing. “I can’t, Clint. Honestly, I’m just really tired. I wish-”

  Clint leaned forward. “What?”

  Sean looked at him, eyes suddenly heavy. He wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to deal with Clint anymore. “I wish you would go. I just want to get to bed.”

  Clint looked stricken. A part of Sean knew it was because Clint had come here fully expecting to kiss and make up, that he took Sean for granted, that Sean making a stand was a surprise to him.

  The thought was irritating to Sean, but he also knew he was to blame. He had let it happen. He had allowed himself to become this person who allowed Clint to do as he liked, to walk all over him, to simply crook a finger and beckon Sean, who’d run over like a lapdog.
r />   He had let Clint take advantage of him. He had let Clint disrespect him in a way that both of them had probably never even noticed, and he was done with it.

  “Sean, please,” Clint whispered. “Can’t I stay here tonight?”

  Sean shook his head. “I don’t want you here. Please just go.” He could feel Clint staring at his bowed head. He wished Clint would just leave. He was so tired.

  “Can I come back tomorrow?”

  Sean lifted his head with effort. “Why?” he said tiredly.

  “I just want to talk, please. I need to talk to you,” Clint said quietly.

  Sean leaned his head against the back of the couch and felt his eyes almost sliding shut. He nodded slightly. “Okay. I’ll tell you when to come over.”

  Clint nodded, his eyes holding a new wariness and respect that Sean had never seen before. Sean liked it. “Will you let yourself out?”

  It was a dismissal. Clint stood, still staring. He lingered for a second, as if expecting Sean to call him back, but Sean just turned his head away, staring at the crackling fireplace opposite him. The spitting logs were soothing and he didn’t say anything as Clint left quietly.

  When he heard the faint click of the front door closing, he closed his eyes, relief flooding him. With effort, he stood and, almost swaying, made his way quickly to his bedroom.

  He fell fully clothed into bed and slid into sleep immediately.

  ***

  When Sean woke the next morning, he lay for long minutes in bed, enjoying the peace. He could see his phone on the nightstand and wondered who had put it there before reasoning that the housekeeper must have done it when he was asleep.

  He missed Hunter terribly. He hadn’t spoken to him properly in days, weeks.

  He took a deep breath and grabbed his phone. He dialed Francesca-his ex-hoping she was awake. She picked up on the second ring, sounding harried. “Hey, Sean!”

  “Hey, Francesca. How are you?” Their conversations were always polite if a little stilted.

  She ended the small talk fairly quickly, passing the phone to Hunter. Hunter was very determined to inform Sean that he’d had a slight fever the previous night. He proceeded to tell the story of the doctor’s appointment with so much excitement that Sean smiled, his heart squeezing with affection. He made the appropriate noises of wonder and disbelief, clucking his tongue in sympathy.

  Hunter talked for only a few minutes before losing interest and wandering off. Sean made Francesca put him on speaker phone but Hunter’s favorite show was on and his interest could not be piqued. Sean said his goodbyes and hung up, smiling.

  He felt better and calmer already. If he could handle not being with his son all the time, he could definitely handle Clint.

  He sighed inwardly. He’d agreed to let Clint come over today. He wished there was a rule that banned people from making decisions when they were sleepy.

  He rose slowly and his phone chirped. Glancing at it, he saw it was Clint. Unable to help himself, Sean smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time Clint had woken up this early on vacation.

  Tapping his phone, he opened the text.

  Morning. when can I come over?

  Sean smiled. It felt surprisingly good that Clint was trying this hard.

  He tossed the phone aside without replying. Let Clint wait a bit. Padding to the bathroom, he was surprised by another chirp. He glanced over his shoulder. He could see the words shimmering on the lock screen of his phone: Clint.

  Another text in less than a minute? Smiling uncontrollably, Sean made his way into the bathroom. He finished his morning ablutions quickly, but the solitude reminded him again of what had happened between them. He felt himself feeling that familiar sadness again.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to stop. He was so tired of being sad, so tired of it. Championship America had come and gone-and wallowing wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all him. It still hurt, like a wound that was exposed and wouldn’t heal, but, damn it, he was done being sad.

  He emerged from the bathroom feeling fresh but serious. He picked up his phone warily, opening Clint’s second text.

  Did you sleep well?

  Sean tried hard not to smile, but gave in at the last minute. Leaning against a pillow, he typed back.

  You can come by after lunch.

  He started scrolling through his emails, but to his astonishment, Clint replied to his text immediately.

  Not before? Please?

  Sean maintained a stern face. He tapped out a reply.

  I’m busy.

  This time, he didn’t bother opening up his emails again because, sure enough, another text appeared in his inbox within a minute.

  Okay. Can’t wait to see you.

  Sean felt a slight fluttering in his chest, but tossed the phone aside. He wasn’t going to reply to that. Clint deserved to suffer a little. But he seemed to underestimate Clint. His phone chirped almost immediately.

  You didn’t reply to my question.

  Which?

  Whether you slept well.

  I did.

  Good.

  Sean shook his head. This was a bad idea. His heart was already softening and, although it was flattering to have Clint be so attentive and doing something he hated to do (texting), he knew that how he felt hadn’t changed. He still didn’t trust Clint and that was no way to carry on a relationship.

  He firmly put his phone away and padded downstairs, deciding to have some coffee and wake himself up.

  But he couldn’t help himself from pulling his phone out after a few minutes and rereading their conversation.

  And, for the first time in a few weeks, Sean grinned freely.

  ***

  By the time Clint came over, Sean had calmed down. He opened the door to find Clint in a plain white t-shirt stretching tightly over his chest and knee-length denim shorts. He looked mouth-wateringly good and he’d shaved.

  He smelled good, too. Of his familiar soap and shampoo. Sean stepped aside without murmuring a greeting, keeping his face impassive.

  Clint was standing inappropriately close and there was a particular glint in his eye that Sean could recognize. It was when he looked at the goal-when he saw his way to it, when he knew he was going to score.

  It was incredibly sexy, of course, but it was irritating. Did he think he was going to score here?

  Frowning inwardly, more turned off by this than anything else, Sean led them into the kitchen. This time, Clint went to the fridge and helped himself calmly to some milk, looking at Sean as he drank from his glass.

  Sean felt truly irritated now. Shouldn’t the person apologizing be somewhat humble? Perhaps appear meek and respectful?

  Clint seemed somewhat cocky, almost swaggering around the kitchen, completely unlike his texts in the morning. Sean wondered what the hell had happened in the hours in between, but damned if he was going to ask. He eyed Clint irritably, deeply regretting allowing him to come over.

  Clint sat down at the breakfast counter and smiled at Sean. Sean felt like throttling him.

  “So,” Sean said coldly, pointedly.

  Clint tilted his head, still smiling infuriatingly. “So.”

  Sean dearly wished he could throw something at Clint’s head. He looked longingly at the vase of flowers next to him.

  Clint seemed to sense this because he said, “I wanted to talk to you, Sean. About us.”

  Sean glanced at him, ready to snap, but he saw Clint was serious now, eyes fixed warmly on Sean’s face. Caught slightly off guard, Sean tensed. “I don’t know what there’s really to say.”

  “Why don’t you sit?” Clint said, nodding his chin to one of the stools opposite him.

  Sean automatically moved towards the seat, but he caught himself. He didn’t have to do everything Clint said.

  But this seemed a silly thing to take a stand on.

  He shook his head inwardly at his thoughts, wondering if they were drifting slightly towards lunacy. He made his way to the stool, p
lopping down into one, not meeting Clint’s eyes.

  “I made a mess of things yesterday,” Clint started, letting out a long breath. He huffed a breath of soft laughter. “Actually, I’ve been making a lot of messes lately.”

  “-Where did you sleep last night?”

  Surprised, Clint stared. “At a hotel.”

  Sean nodded. He had forgotten to ask, and it had suddenly occurred to him that Clint must have slept somewhere. “Sorry, go on.”

  Clint cleared his voice. “Right. Well. Like I was saying, I didn’t handle things the right away. I’m sorry, truly sorry about what I did. I was completely wrong. There are no excuses. I should have called. I should have come met you. I was a bad boyfriend.”

  Sean jerked. Clint noticed and flushed. “Sorry. I don’t know what else to call you. So I used to call you my boyfriend in my head. Is-is that okay?”

  Sean nodded, tongue-tied. Boyfriend. The thought had never even occurred to him and here Clint had secretly been thinking that way about him all this time.

  But if he’d been thinking of Sean as his boyfriend and he’d still not even bothered to contact him-well, that just made things so much worse.

  Sean felt his chest tighten and tried to concentrate on the conversation.

  “I want a second chance. Please. Please, Sean. I’ll do anything.” Clint’s face was earnest and he was leaning forward, eyes warm.

  Sean shook his head. “I don’t know, Clint…”

  “Can you just do one thing for me? Can I just take you on a date?”

  Sean’s cheeks reddened and his only solace was that Clint looked pretty embarrassed too. “What?”

  “Like a proper date. Dressed up. Dinner and a movie. Or whatever you want. We can do anything.”

  Sean looked at Clint wonderingly. Of course he’d dreamed of a date with Clint. But Clint was so uninterested in romantic gestures, so into living simply that Sean had thought Clint would never ever want to go on a real date with him.

  Not without being coerced, of course.