Lucky

by Garrett Leigh

  “So am I.”

  “You don’t have a Jamila in your life?”

  Dom snorted. “Hardly. My job is basically my life, and I hate ninety per cent of the people in my industry, so I’m a grumpy loner.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being alone if you like it that way.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So…are you? Alone, I mean. I know the profile you used to meet me on Grindr is gone, unless you’ve blocked me, but—”

  Dom laid a gentle hand over my mouth. “I’m not doing anything with anyone. Before you, I hadn’t hooked up in months, and before that, it was even longer. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not very good at this.”

  “At what? Spending time with people, or making them come?”

  Dom reddened adorably. “I don’t know.”

  “What did you do with the last person you hooked up with?”

  “Paid them to blow me.”

  “And before that?”

  “The same.”

  “You didn’t fuck them?”

  “No.” Dom drew a pattern on my forearm. “I haven’t fucked anyone in years…since I—uh—worked—up north, and even then it was sticking my dick in a glory hole. I’ve never fucked anyone I care about.”

  “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nah. I don’t swing both ways.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “That’s true of lots of things, mate.”

  The sadness in his low voice broke my heart enough to let him be, but there was one last thing I wanted to know. “Have you ever bottomed?”

  I expected him to flush some more and shake his head. The heated glint in his gaze surprised me.

  “Not for a long time, but yeah, I have…and I loved it.”

  Dom

  My car smelled like Lucky. It was fucking impossible, but I swore his scent was wafting out of the heat vents.

  You’re fucking insane.

  Yup. I was starting to believe it.

  I pulled into the player’s car park and fished my phone out of my bag.

  Perignon55: morning

  Lucky: sure is x

  Perignon55: u good?

  Lucky: u tell me

  Perignon55: brat

  Lucky: ;)

  I grinned and turned my phone off, locking it in my glovebox, as had become my habit since Lucky and I had started texting regularly. At first, I’d deleted his messages seconds after reading them, but I couldn’t bear it now. It had been ten days since I’d last seen him, and I was missing him hard. He was my damn Patronus; I was sure of that shit too.

  Training passed in a haze of drills and cardio work, and when the team was done, I moved to the onsite gym to blow off some steam—another habit that added to my rep as a bad ass defender.

  The place was deserted, but I left my headphones off, and kept my guard up. Isha had snuck up on me a few times this week, and I wasn’t in the mood to evade him.

  Half an hour into my favourite resistance circuit, footsteps sounded behind me. I glanced at the mirror, fully prepared to smash someone’s face with a kettlebell, but it wasn’t Isha or anyone else I could sack off. It was Coach Fernando.

  “Come and see me when you’re done.”

  He walked away without another word, leaving me the option of working out until he’d gone home, or cutting my routine short so I didn’t have time to angst myself into a motherfucking stroke.

  Had Isha ratted on me?

  The possibility wasn’t as alarming as it might’ve been a couple of weeks ago. Somewhere along the line of my newfound Lucky obsession, and my dwindling passion for the beautiful game, my apathy for the rest of the world was growing impossibly stronger.

  Not quite strong enough for me to style out Fernando, though.

  I called it quits in the gym, showered, and approached his office with dread lacing every step. His door was open, and he wasn’t alone. His assistant coaches were in there too.

  Fuck.

  I still had time to run, but even as I thought about it, Fernando glanced up and caught me loitering.

  “Come in, Dom.”

  I edged into the office and took a seat in the circle. “What’s up? Something going on?”

  “We’re talking with Madrid about a potential player swap. You’ve opted out of international duty, correct?”

  I nodded. I had the option of playing for England or Portugal, thanks to my father, but I wasn’t first choice for either team, and making myself available for campaigns I rarely contributed to was a pain in my arse. And…I hated flying, but no one knew that about me either.

  “How would you feel about heading up to Manchester for some European training? I’d need you back for match days and pregame training, but you’re so well drilled I think I can spare you a couple of days a week.”

  “A couple?”

  “Three,” Fernando said. “It would mean cutting your rest time, but I think you can handle it more than anyone else.”

  “That’s why you’re sending me? Because I won’t pussy out?”

  “No, apart from the fact that you have no woman and kids who need you here, I’m sending you because you’re the most intuitive defender in the Premiership, and I believe you’ll get more out of training with the Spanish than anyone else, which is important if we make Europe this year.”

  Like I gave a fuck, but I nodded again like the puppet I was, and agreed to spend three days a week two-hundred miles further away from Lucky than I could bear to be.

  Once more in the back: you’re fucking insane.

  Twelve

  Lucky

  “Oi, mate. It’s kick-out time.”

  I glanced up irritably from the coursework I’d been trying to complete in a rowdy pub. “Already?”

  The barman jerked his head at the clock. “See for yourself.”

  I didn’t bother looking. When I’d had nothing and no one to look forward to, days had stretched into weeks, and then I’d check the time and see only minutes had passed. These days the hours flew by. All I knew for certain was that it had been twelve long nights since I’d last seen Dom, and the craving for another hit of him was just about killing me. That I’d managed not to substitute it with anything more than weed and cheap vodka was a fucking miracle.

  I tucked my work carefully into my bag and left the pub on my way to nowhere. Jamila’s mum had the flu, so I was sleeping out for the third time that week. It was a mild night—thank god—but it would still be a while before the streets were quiet enough to bed down on.

  Habit took me to the Dalston end of Kingsland Road, and I shuffled into Tottenham an hour or so later. An alley caught my eye, but someone was getting blown at the end, and the nicer doorways were all taken.

  I claimed a space outside a betting shop, far enough from the pubs so I wouldn’t get pissed on, but close enough to the taxi rank that I wouldn’t get murdered without someone noticing. It was still dodgy as fuck, but short of trying to get myself locked in at work, I was fresh out of options.

  My bag was my pillow, and Jamila had loaned me her warmest blanket. With scavenged cardboard beneath me, it wasn’t so bad. I dug my phone out of my pocket and messaged Dom on WhatsApp, even though I’d learned by now that he went to bed early when he wasn’t with me.

  Lucky: goodnite xx

  There was no reply, and I was about to tuck my phone out of sight when it vibrated with an alert I hadn’t seen since my last jobseeker’s allowance payment yonks ago. It was from my bank: money had been deposited in my bank account.

  Damn. For a long moment, I feared it was some kind of hack, or that I was tripping my nuts off from the tiny spliff I’d rolled to get me to sleep, but fuck me if the notification wasn’t real.

  Head spinning, I swiped it and opened my banking app, guessing at security details until they somehow worked. My bank account filled the screen and my balance was a figure that sent me right back to ass
uming I was hallucinating. Jesus. Six-hundred quid, my apprentice wages for three weeks of solid work. Fuck all for most people, but for me it was everything. Food, credit for my phone, and combined with the money—Dom’s money—I had stashed beneath Jamila’s bed, I had enough for a month’s rent at the halfway house…the hellhole I’d sworn never to go back to before I’d spent night after night shivering behind a skip.

  I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Relief warred with horror and settled in a kind of flat place that made me want a hit of bubble even more than being homeless did. I rolled another spliff and took a swig from my vodka bottle. It would be nice to sleep in a bed without burdening Jamila, have a place to store my stuff when I could afford a shit-hot padlock, but the hostel up the road was fucking terrifying. Fights, robberies, mashed-up idiots setting fire to things and nearly burning the place down. Was it worth it for somewhere to store my three pairs of jeans and two T-shirts?

  Probably not.

  I’d changed my mind by morning. It had rained overnight, soaking me to the skin, and even a scalding hot shower at work couldn’t seem to warm my bones.

  And Dom hadn’t replied to my goodnight message either, so by the time my co-workers started filtering in for the day, I was in a shit mood.

  Someone brought me tea. I ignored them and the person who came after to tell me the boss wanted to see me. It was only when Jim himself came to find me that I looked up from the SUV I was working on.

  “I asked Tony to come and find you.”

  “He found me.”

  Jim eyed me like a man who knew he had to bollock someone but couldn’t decide who. Tony was a bit of a twat, liked to tug on my hair and call me Lucy, so I considered fucking him over, but my old nan had been obsessed with karma and I’d never forgotten her favourite gin-laced mantra: “The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.”

  “Sorry.” I straightened up and wiped my hands on my overalls. “I wanted to get these screens installed before lunch.”

  “Lad, I ain’t got no complaints about your work rate.”

  “No?”

  Jim smiled in his gentle way—I’d learned early on that he was a mild-mannered man, never shouted, and rarely swore. “You taking the mick? If I had five of you instead of ten of those plonkers out there I’d be a millionaire.”

  “Looks like you do all right.”

  “I get by, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Okay.” Wariness laced my tone before I caught myself. Jim had been good to me, but he had that look about him—that earnest frown my teachers used to get when I came to school with bad haircuts and handprints on my face.

  “It’s all right, kid. You ain’t getting sacked.”

  I sniggered nervously and followed Jim through the garage, keeping my head down, though I’d been around long enough by now that the other mechanics had stopped openly wondering if I was Jim’s idea of an off-season April Fool.

  In his office, he sat me down and plied me with more tea. I accepted his packet of ginger nuts and eyed him over the rim of my chipped mug. He was definitely about to parent me.

  “So…” he began, looking everywhere but at me. “I was checking the CCTV this morning and noticed you’ve been here at the crack of dawn every day since you started.”

  “I like to be early.”

  “Two hours early?”

  “There’s always stuff to do.”

  “True, but you ain’t clocking on till eight, so anything you do before then is unpaid.”

  “I know.”

  Jim scrubbed a grubby hand over his balding head. “Listen, son. I get Gill in that time to open up, do whatever claptrap she does on the computers, and take deliveries. There’s no need for you to be here too, especially looking like you ain’t slept in a week. She reckons you’re a right fright when you rock up with the sun.”

  “Look all right by the time you get here, don’t I?”

  “I don’t pay much attention, truth be told.”

  “So what are we talking about exactly?”

  Jim sighed. “We just talking, I suppose. You’re a bit older than most apprentices we’ve taken in the last few years, but we still have a duty of care towards you. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk to me about?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. We’ve got a link going with The Prince’s Trust and whatnot. I’m sure there’s something they can do if you need help with anything.”

  “I don’t.” I finished my tea and stood. “But thanks for checking in. Can I go now?”

  Jim waved me away, and I considered the conversation over, but when I went to my locker that night, a bag of clean towels was attached to the lock.

  It was worse than I remembered, and it had only been four months since I’d last been in this shithole. Don’t be so fucking dramatic. But damn, it was hard. Thanks to my apprenticeship, I was eligible for—and could afford—a room at the halfway house, but the whole place still scared the shit out of me, and I pretty much wanted to die instead of trudge up the steps to the entrance.

  A support worker showed me to my room. “There’s a canteen downstairs where you can get breakfast and dinner, and an employment centre open Monday to Friday.”

  “I’m all right, thanks, mate. I’ve got a job.”

  “It’s still a useful place to go if you have some free time.”

  I ignored him and wandered to the single window in the small, cell-like room. It had a red frame and seemed out of place in the otherwise grey room. The view was shit too…there wasn’t even a McDonald’s.

  As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and it was torture to wait until the support worker—Mike—finally let me be.

  When he was gone, I put the chain on the door behind him, and sat on my unmade bed, blocking out the stained mattress and squeaky frame.

  Perignon55: what are u up to?

  Lucky: moving house

  It was kind of true.

  Lucky: u?

  Perignon55: driving home

  Lucky: from where?

  Perignon55: manchester

  Lucky: why have u been there? work?

  Perignon55: yeah. crazy few weeks.

  I wondered if he’d ever send me a message longer than five words.

  Lucky: when can I see you?

  It was the first time I’d asked him directly, and I waited on his response as I pined for the weed I’d stashed behind a Biffa bin back in Dalston. Despite the fuckton of drugs already floating around the hostel, I hadn’t had the balls to bring it with me. Getting kicked out would be end game, which meant I’d have to find a new way of getting to sleep from now on.

  Perignon55: tomorrow?

  My heart jumped.

  Lucky: serious?

  Perignon55: as a heart attack

  Perignon55: if ure free?

  Of course I was fucking free. I’d been waiting on this for two weeks.

  Thirteen

  Dom

  “You brought pizza?”

  Lucky lowered the stack of boxes so I could finally see his face. “Yeah. Figured it was my turn to provide, and we don’t want to go out, right?”

  “Right.” I loved that he laid that on both of us. “You know you really are gonna give me a heart attack with all this junk food, though, don’t you? I haven’t eaten shit like this in years.”

  Lucky rolled his eyes. “You’re obsessed with heart attacks. Get some new lines. Besides, you’re clearly some kind of gym rat, unless you were born with those killer abs, so I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Gym rat?”

  “Yeah.” Lucky stopped waving his precious pizza at me, set them on the desk, and came close enough that I could almost touch him. “You have an amazing body. Don’t act like that’s news.”

  My body was a machine that didn’t belong to me. I worked it hard so it stood a fighting chance of supporting the bones and cartilage that got clattered by rival players twice a week. If it looked good, it wasn’t by de
sign, but I didn’t know how to say so without sounding like a privileged prick. “What kind of pizza did you get?”

  “Meat feast. And a spicy one. Ooh, and chicken strips.”

  “More nuggets?”

  “For real.”

  I was too pleased to see him to complain. I was fucking starving too. My only rest day of the week had turned into a mad rush to get my shit in order. Truth be told, I didn’t have time to hang out in a hotel room with Lucky, but I was fresh out of fucks.

  “Dom?” Lucky clicked his fingers in front of my face. “You in there?”

  I blinked. “Sorry. Miles away.”

  “Nah. You’re right here. And so am I.”

  Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering if these sporadic encounters meant as much to Lucky as they did to me. Sometimes I even thought I knew the answer, but when his gaze was as heated as it was now, I didn’t have a fucking clue. Does he look at everyone like that?

  I had no right, but I really hoped he didn’t.

  Lucky gave up on rousing me and took the pizza boxes to the bed where he’d already laid out a towel. “I used the bath again. This room’s gotta bigger one.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You being sarky?”

  “No.”

  Lucky narrowed his eyes. “You’d better not be.”

  “Or what?”

  “Dunno yet.”

  There was something refreshing about his puerile humour. I took my jacket off and followed him to the bed, hesitating only a moment before claiming the space next to him.

  He knocked my shoulder with his and held up a slice of pizza. Orange grease dripped from the spicy meat onto his fingers. I wanted to suck them clean, but settled for accepting the slice, and taking a huge bite.

  And revelling in his answering smile. If me eating filthy junk food made him happy, I’d do it all day long.

  The realisation jolted me.

  Perhaps visibly, as Lucky seemed to feel it too. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sure about that? You look like someone just came at you with a cattle prod.”