Lucky

by Garrett Leigh

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.” He turned away.

  I caught his arm. “I don’t. Yeah, I’ve known who you are for a while now but I haven’t said anything. I’m a street urchin when my own bed scares the crap out of me. I’m not a fucking rat.”

  Rage finally filled me as I realised exactly what he was accusing me of, and my voice matched his in volume by the time I was done.

  Breathing hard, I glowered at him, and he glared right back until something seemed to hit him and he flinched, a shaky hand coming up to rub his eyes.

  I took a chance and released my grip on him to slide my arm around him. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on in your life right now, but you’re sick as a dog, so let’s just get you inside okay? So you can shout your bullshit at me from your gold-plated couch, or whatever.”

  Dom’s dead-eyed stare was lethal, but he didn’t protest as I led him to the door of his building, or when I stepped into the lift with him. At his front door, he surrendered his keys, and I let us inside, and he didn’t say anything as I steered him over the threshold.

  I held his keys out, prepared to leave if he asked, but he shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

  “I don’t have a gold-plated couch, you stupid arse.”

  A hysterical giggle escaped me. “I know. Sorry. I get rowdy when I’m confused.”

  “What are you confused about?”

  “What do you think? You just ripped me a new one for selling you out to the tabloids when you scraped me off the street less than twenty-four hours ago. Dom…do I look like someone who just made bank from a Premiership footballer?”

  “You could’ve spent it on drugs.”

  “Only if they paid me twenty quid and a bag of weed. I told you—I’m not an addict. Just a loser with bad habits.”

  The fight seemed to drain from Dom as abruptly as it had arrived. His shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with his hand. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.”

  I pried his hand away and forced him to look at me. “Neither do I, but I can’t figure it out if you yell at me. Come and lie down, and you can tell me all about it while I take care of you, okay?”

  Dom’s story made little sense to me. I already knew about his friend—who I now knew was his agent—hiding the fact that he’d known Dom was gay for years, but the tabloid dude threatening to expose him? That was next-level bullshit. “What a cunt.”

  Faint amusement flickered in Dom’s tired eyes. He was curled on his side in bed, his head pillowed on his arm, and hadn’t showed any sign of moving since he’d laid down an hour ago. “That’s about where I am on it. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into it, though. I honestly thought if I ever got caught out, it would be instant, you know? One strike and I’d be fucked.”

  I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be Dom. “Don’t apologise to me, I’m just glad you don’t really think I was in on it.”

  Guilt darkened Dom’s already fever-flushed cheeks. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I pretty much want to die over that. It’s just I-I don’t know. I’ve run out of people to trust, I guess. I’ve come round to the idea that Isha really was trying to protect me—and himself—but I don’t have anyone else in my corner.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Dom sighed. “I don’t know. Isha wants me to pay them off.”

  “But you don’t want to?”

  “It’s tempting,” Dom admitted. “But it wouldn’t solve anything. Isha reckons he’s got enough evidence to hard ball this dude right back if he resorted to full-on extortion, but I don’t want to be mixed up in crap like this. I—” He stopped, like he had many times while we’d been talking, and swallowed thickly, clearly warding off nausea. “I’m of half a mind to fuck it all to hell.”

  “Call his bluff?”

  “Whatever. I don’t care much anymore.”

  I sat back on my heels and exhaled a long, slow breath. What Dom was implying was huge. Footballers rarely came out, and the ones who did, did so at the expense of their career. “Would your club support you?”

  “Doubt it. My contract’s up at the end of the season anyway.”

  “They’d drop you for being gay?”

  Dom cracked a heavy eye open. “Not overtly, but they’d find a reason to let me go.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  He shrugged. “I’m trying really hard to feel anything.”

  It probably wasn’t the best time to force the issue, but I couldn’t seem to make myself let him be. “What about other clubs? Would they sign you?”

  Another shrug. “I told you. I don’t care. I’ve been over football a long time, I’m tired, and all the bullshit that comes with it means nothing to me.”

  “What would you do for money?”

  “What do you do for money?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t have any.”

  “Got a job, though, right? Don’t you think it’s time you told me what it is?”

  “Um—” I cringed. “I’m an apprentice mechanic at Premier Autos in Tottenham.”

  Dom’s bloodshot eyes widened. “The one behind the old-school record shop?”

  “Yup. You found me there once, remember?”

  “On the bench. Fuck. I took my car there.”

  “I know. I serviced it, though I didn’t know it was yours until today, so don’t go off on me again.”

  Dom didn’t look like he had the energy to do much more than blink and mutter to himself, and I finally found the decorum to rein myself in.

  I lay down beside him and stroked his face.

  He moaned softly and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired, Lucky.”

  “I know, baby. I’m gonna let you sleep now.”

  His eyes flew open. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m not gonna,” I said. “Just rest, Dom. I got you.”

  He didn’t believe me. I could tell by how long it took him to get his exhausted self to sleep, but he couldn’t fight it indefinitely, and when he was finally knocked out, I tucked him up and slipped away to the kitchen with the iPad that apparently came with the apartment.

  Dom had given me access to some posh online grocery service. I ordered Frosted Shreddies, eggs, milk, bread, baked beans, and two packs of Birds Eye Chicken Dippers. Inexplicably, the delivery ETA was an hour. Do people really live like this?

  It was more than I could deal with, so I retreated to the bathroom to take a soak in Dom’s tub, which I’d actually remembered, though it didn’t feel quite right without him hovering in the doorway, or sitting on the closed toilet like an anxious monk.

  Still, the relief at finally coming clean about what I knew was undeniable. Until I’d confessed, I hadn’t realised how much it had weighed me down. I couldn’t imagine how it had been for Dom this whole time—fuck, his whole damn life. A few months of secrets and I was a mess. I knew without doubt that I wouldn’t have survived what Dom had been through. The fact that my life hadn’t been a walk in the park either didn’t seem to matter.

  Restless, I abandoned the bath mid-wallow and crept back into the bedroom. Dom was awake and talking into the phone. “Listen,” he said. “I need a couple of days to sort some personal shit. Can you do me a solid and swing it for me? I’d really fucking appreciate it.”

  He nodded as whoever he was talking to replied and obvious relief passed through him. “Thanks, Oli.”

  I tried not to be nosey as I slid onto the bed behind him, but glanced at his phone screen anyway. Whoever he’d been talking to wasn’t listed as a contact and I held out for all of six seconds. “Who was that?”

  “Team medic. She looked after me yesterday and she’s pretty cool.”

  “Does she know?”

  Dom scoffed. “Of course not. I’ve told you a million times, only Isha, you, and this hack twat know my business.”

  For now.

  He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. I was used to the world tipping me u
pside down and dangling me over the edge, but even without being ill, it was clear how rattled Dom was. How his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on his knee, and his gaze zoned out every couple of seconds. I wanted to—

  A knock at the door startled us both until I remembered the grocery shopping. “Um, I suppose I shouldn’t answer the door?”

  Dom sat up with a heavy sigh. “Probably not.”

  He got up and left the room. I waited until I heard the front door open and close, and then joined him in the kitchen, where I found him bemusedly studying my beloved Chicken Dippers.

  I snatched them from him. “Don’t start. It’s not my fault you live on macros and kale.”

  Dom started to roll his eyes, and then seemed to think better of it. “Do you think I even know what a macro is? I’m not a nutritionist. I eat what they put in front of me.”

  “That makes you sound like some kind of robot.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  I hopped up onto the counter and used my legs to draw Dom closer. “You don’t have to be.”

  “I know. I’m working on it.”

  Dom buried his face in my neck and stayed there a while, rocking us slightly while he took deep and even breaths. The sensation was hypnotic, and I could’ve stayed that way for the rest of my life, but my stomach interrupted the bliss with a loud growl.

  A chuckle rumbled out of Dom. He raised his head. “Hungry?”

  “Are you?”

  He blanched. “Not really.”

  “You should probably eat something, though.” I slid off the counter, missing his touch already, and studied the gleaming built-in oven. “How about I cook some shit and you try?”

  “What are you gonna cook?”

  “Dippers, toast, and beans. Can’t beat it, mate.”

  Dom relented and showed me how to use his gadget-rich kitchen. I cooked all the Dippers and ate about thirty to the five I managed to persuade him to eat.

  I had more luck with the toast, though, and he seemed vaguely more human by the time we were done.

  “Leave the washing up,” he said. “I’ll do them later.”

  “You don’t have a housekeeper who does that stuff for you?”

  “I have a housekeeper most days, but I don’t expect her to do the dishes any more than I expect her to wash my clothes. What kind of arsehole do you think I am?”

  “I don’t think you’re an arsehole. I just don’t know much about how your life works.” I pushed him away from the sink and turned the tap on. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I do these, then we can chill, okay?”

  Dom left the kitchen, and I buried my hands in warm soapy water and scrubbed the minimal dishes we’d used to eat. It was after midnight by the time I was done and I realised with a jolt that I had to be at work in the morning, a journey that would take me an hour on the tube.

  The prospect of crawling out of Dom’s bed when it was still dark depressed me. Then I pictured where I’d woken up for the last twenty-five years and gave myself a proverbial kick in the nuts. Even if I never made it into his bed again, I was already fucking blessed.

  Dom was drying off when I drifted into the bedroom. I stared. He caught me looking and flushed, and I belatedly remembered that being naked around men who weren’t die-hard hetero football players didn’t come naturally to him.

  To even the playing field, I stripped my clothes and folded them into an orderly pile to avoid stressing him out any more, then crossed the room and swiped his towel to finish blotting the water from his gorgeous skin. There was a fresh boot mark I hadn’t noticed bruising his hip. I traced it with my fingertip. “Does that hurt?”

  He shivered. “Nothing hurts when you do that.”

  God, he was fucking perfect, and the urge to push him onto the bed and recall what had drawn us together in the first place was so strong I nearly did it—nearly shoved him down and climbed all over him, taking what I wanted before I considered his needs.

  Which was what people had been doing to him his whole life.

  I took his hand and twined our fingers together. The simple gesture had always grounded me when his very presence set me on fire. “Can we get in your bed and watch TV?”

  “Naked?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dom squeezed my hand. “Of course.”

  Since we’d met, we’d spent most of our time together in bed in one way or another—eating, dozing, fucking—but right now, all I wanted was to be with him. To lay with him. To touch him. To feel his skin against mine and to know that he was real.

  To show him I was real too.

  We slid under the covers. Dom clicked the TV on, but neither of us glanced at the screen. I rolled onto my side, and he mirrored me, his arm tucked beneath his cheek. He still looked tired—and harassed by whatever was going on in his beautiful head—but the grey tinge had started to ease from his complexion.

  I brushed light fingers along his jawline. “Do you feel better?”

  “Actually, yeah. Maybe your chicken-butt nuggets did the trick.”

  “You can say what you want about them; you’ll never put me off.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not trying to. I’m hooked on the little smile you get when you’re eating them.”

  “If that’s the only part of me you’re hooked on—”

  “It’s not.”

  Dom leaned in for a kiss, and our lips met for the first time in—shit, I couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to remember, because it didn’t fucking matter. All that mattered was the sensation of his kiss caressing me, and his tongue sweeping sweetly over my lips, gone before I could grant him entrance to my mouth.

  He’d always been able to leave me breathless with a two-second embrace. It was like he tapped into a part of me I couldn’t control and stole my ability to fill my lungs. Panting, I fell onto my back, kind of hoping he’d chase me down, but conversely relieved when he didn’t.

  When I’d composed myself, I faced him again to find him watching me, a tiny smile breathing life into his drawn features. “What?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I’d just forgotten how animated you are.”

  “Animated? Like a cartoon or some shit?”

  “No, mate. Just alive. I feel lazy sometimes watching you.”

  “You’re the athlete. I don’t even run for the bus.”

  “Bet you could, though. You’re strong, I can tell.” It was his turn to trace my body with his fingers, ghosting down my face, along my arms, and across my chest. “And your job is pretty hardcore, right? Lots of lifting and stuff?”

  “It has its moments, but health and safety have us using machines for most things these days. It’s not like my grandpa taught me with his old Avenger.”

  “Were you close?”

  “To my grandpa? Yeah, but he died when I was ten, so I didn’t get much time with him.”

  Dom nodded, offering nothing in return as always, a habit I wanted him to break now there wasn’t much left to hide—perhaps wasn’t anything, apart from the fact that I was possibly—definitely—in love with him.

  “What about your family?” I said. “You’ve told me some vague stuff before, but I don’t really know anything about you.”

  “What do you want to know? It would probably be quicker to google me.”

  I flicked his bicep. “Don’t be a dick.”

  “Sorry. It’s a habit.”

  “It’s a defence mechanism, and you don’t need it with me.”

  Dom sighed. “I know. It’s hard when I’ve spent all this time telling half-truths and defecting attention. Even with you, it still feels wrong.”

  “How about I ask you questions? You can answer the ones you want and ignore the ones you don’t.”

  “Are you interviewing me?”

  “Nah, I’m just nosey as fuck.”

  “Noted.” Dom grinned a little more. “And I guess it’s my turn to share, though I’m really not that interesting.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Thetford.”r />
  “Where the fuck’s that?”

  “Norfolk. It’s where all the Portuguese settle. My grandparents came over in the sixties.”

  “Whose parents were they?”

  “My dad’s, but he was born here, so he was as English as I am.”

  Was. I couldn’t remember if he’d told me before that his father was dead, but Dom seemed to have a similar apathy for his family as I did mine, so I left it alone. “What would you have done if football hadn’t worked out for you?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Come on. There must’ve been other things you liked.”

  “I didn’t have much time for anything that wasn’t football. I’ve been playing full-time since I was sixteen.”

  “You never did anything else? Wow. That’s sad.”

  Dom laughed. “It was what I wanted at the time. Football was a good escape for me, an outlet, especially when the position I play gave me plenty of opportunities to clobber people when I was in a bad mood.”

  “I read that about you.”

  “Yeah? What else did you read?”

  “Not much, apart from that article about you snogging that model last month…the one with the pictures.”

  Dom cringed, and I regretted bringing it up. I already knew that Isha had planted stories about Dom with women to cover his tracks, but the pictures…he had kissed her. Or she’d kissed him. Whatever. I’d seen it, damn it.

  Not that Dom owed me an explanation. I just wanted one, because I was a selfish fuck who didn’t want anyone’s lips on him but mine.

  Like he’d read my mind, Dom kissed me again, light and sweet, before he pulled away with a sigh. “I met her in Manchester. I’ve been working up there a few days a week for the last couple of months. A friend dragged me out that night because I was moping around, missing you, though he didn’t know that. We went to a bar where there were loads of wannabe WAGs. She came onto me, I told her I was gay, she kissed me anyway.”