by Sean Kennedy
“What do you want?” Deanes spat.
“I’m Micah—”
“I know who you are. I’m asking you what the hell you want?”
“No need to introduce myself, then,” Emma said, sotto voice.
“We’re here about Will.”
“What about him?”
“Well, he’s currently lying in a hospital bed with a broken back. I don’t know if you heard.” Micah’s last sentence was practically dripping with venom.
“I’ve heard.” And he looked like he didn’t care.
“Why haven’t you been to see him?” Emma asked. She must have thought the time for diplomacy was past. It hadn’t been a long wait.
“He made it clear he didn’t want to see me anymore when he left home.”
“Don’t you mean when you chucked him out?” Micah asked.
Deanes’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him. “He made his choice.”
“He probably wasn’t given much of one.”
“Are you his”—Deanes grimaced—“boyfriend?”
“No. I’m his friend.”
“You weren’t last year when he punched you out.”
“Things change.”
“I know that. My son changed.”
“He didn’t change,” Emma said. “He was just honest with you.”
“Well, he should have kept his mouth shut.”
“Would you rather he died in that crash?” Micah asked in disgust.
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
Emma grabbed Micah by the arm. “I told you this was useless.”
Micah shrugged. “I guess I thought he would man up and go and be a proper father.”
Deanes lunged for him, and had Micah up against the wall of the house before he could fight back. “Don’t you tell me how to man up. You wouldn’t know the first fucking thing.”
Even though he felt physically threatened, the toxic and oh-so-predictable response from Will’s father only made him laugh.
This infuriated Deanes even more.
“Your son is more of a man than you,” Micah said, pushing him away with ease. He really had filled out in the past couple of months. “Because he still cares about you, and after everything you’ve done he would probably still try to make a relationship work with you. And you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him.” He looked at Emma. “We’re done.”
Deanes remained at his front door, watching them get into the car.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked as they buckled in.
“I’m fine. Just can’t fucking believe him. You think things are getting better, but there are still people out there like that.”
“They are getting better, Micah.”
“You really believe that?”
“I have to believe that.” She started the car, and they let Will’s father fade away in the rearview mirror.
He understood her. The alternative was too awful to bear thinking about.
BUT IT didn’t lighten his mood any, and he entered the bowels of Etihad Stadium tense and snappish. In the change rooms he kept to himself, and resorted to putting on his iPod to drown out the hubbub of his teammates as they prepared for the game. The music didn’t soothe the savage beast within him, however, and by the time they took to the field Micah was baying for blood.
It was Will’s father he tackled in his first contact on the field, and he brought the opposing player down harder than he should have. He didn’t care. And it was stupid of him, because he wasn’t thinking about the game, he wasn’t thinking about his team, he was thinking about revenge by proxy.
So much so that at the end of the first quarter the captain and the coach took him aside and told him to pull his head in or else he was going to end up on a report.
After this, Micah sobered up a little. It was the one thing he could be sensible about. The rest of the world might feel like it was coming apart, but he had to hold on to his career. Without it, there was nothing.
For the remainder of the game he was the epitome of gracious sportsmanship. It didn’t do the team any good, though, as they lost by twenty-four points and fell farther down the ladder. Their chances of making any kind of preliminary final was escaping them.
“WHAT WAS wrong with you out there?” Daril demanded when they were back in the change rooms.
“Daril, leave it.” It was Sam, of course. It was always Sam to the rescue.
Daril huffed, but left them to it.
“Thanks,” Micah said. “Probably a lot of the guys are feeling that way.”
“They noticed something was… wrong when you started playing. But they know what’s going on with Will, and how it’s affected you.”
“It’s no excuse, though.”
“We’ve all had days like these on the field, Micah. The good thing was when you were told to stop it, you did.”
“So I’m not completely brain-dead,” Micah said.
Sam grinned. “Not yet, anyway. Although there was a moment when I thought you were actively seeking a brain injury trying to tackle Adams. He’s got half a foot on you.”
“I got away in time.”
“Barely!”
“And I handballed straightaway to Matthews, who then kicked a goal.”
“One of our few,” Sam said, darkly.
Micah tried to be philosophical. “They were better than us on the day. We’ll be better next week.”
“Like we were the last few games? In case you haven’t noticed it, we’re on a losing streak, mate.”
Like he didn’t know.
“Anyway,” Sam said. “We’re meeting at Sherlock’s for drinks at eight.”
“Sherlock’s?” Micah asked. It wasn’t the team’s usual Melbourne hangout.
“What, we can’t be classy and old time?”
“Whatever you say. I’ll bring my deerstalker hat, shall I?”
JUST AS he was getting out of the car and heading into his parents’ home, Micah’s mobile rang.
Henry’s name was on the screen. Micah answered it immediately, his heart thudding. “Henry? Is Will okay?”
“He’s the same,” Henry said. “But I’ve had a call from—”
“Oh.” Micah could already tell who he’d spoken to.
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ He was going feral at me, accusing me of sending you and Emma around to harass him. You can imagine my surprise at supposedly engineering something I’d never heard of until then.”
“Does Will know?”
“No. I took the phone out to the corridor. He didn’t need to hear that.”
“So he’s not seeing the light and deciding to treat his son like his son?” Micah’s voice rose a little in anger, but he curbed it. Henry didn’t need somebody else unloading their shit upon him.
“Did you honestly think he would?”
“I just wanted to try.”
“I know, and it’s good of you, Micah. But Scott’s not your usual guy. He sees himself as the victim under attack. His son’s turned against him by not being the son he wanted, and what’s worse, refusing to stop being who he is. Scott would love it if they could just pretend the gay away and never speak of it again.”
“Will can’t live like that.”
“And that’s why he left.”
“We only did it because we know he wants to see his dad.”
“I know. But only Scott is going to be able to come to the party on that front. And right now he’s not.”
“I’m sorry.”
Henry sounded kind. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just letting both you and Emma know so you don’t go over there again. More for your safety—well, not safety, because I don’t think he would do anything—”
Micah decided not to let him know about being thrown up against the wall.
“—But more for your own state of mind than anything. Just let Will know you’re there for him. That’s what he really needs.”
“Okay. I’ll be in tomorrow. And then I’ll be back off to Perth, but I’ll keep in
touch.”
“See you tomorrow, Micah.”
When the call disconnected, Micah continued standing in the front yard. Fuck, he didn’t even feel rock bottom. He was miles below rock bottom, swimming in molten lava within the earth’s core, his skin stripped to the bone.
He needed to let off steam. He needed a drink.
Chapter 13
EXCEPT HE didn’t head to Sherlock’s to meet up with the boys, like he had expected. He sent Sam a text saying he was having a quiet night in with the olds and headed straight to the tram to take him into Fitzroy. Destination: the Sircuit on Smith Street.
The last time he’d been in Fitzroy was with Kyle. What an abomination of an outing that had turned out to be. Micah was determined tonight wouldn’t turn out the same. Instead of being nervous about venturing out on his own, he found it liberating. Like the old song, nothing was gonna break his stride.
That being said, he was glad his tram actually took him down Gertrude rather than Brunswick Street so he wouldn’t have to go past the actual parking space where he had run out on Kyle. That would just be a slap in the face he didn’t need right now.
No, what he needed was a distraction. Anything to take his mind off the shiftiness circling him at the moment. Or was it shiftlessness? Anyway, it was something bad that seemed to be sitting in the centre of his chest, a knot that couldn’t be massaged out.
Once he was inside the club he immediately downed a few drinks. With a nice alcoholic buzz going on, he hit the dance floor. He danced with abandon, attracting a fair number of partners. He was friendly, he flirted, he bought drinks, and he accepted drinks. By now his dance moves were less smooth and he tended to stumble more than anything. There were pashes exchanged with a bunch of different guys who all blurred into one another. Micah didn’t care. It felt good to be wanted, to be lusted after, just to be held to the beat of the music.
Until he felt a touch on his arm and looked up to see Kyle.
Hoping it was a hallucination caused by delirium tremens, he shrugged Kyle off and stumbled away, heading for the courtyard where he could get some fresh air and find a dark corner to hide.
But Kyle was right behind him. “Micah, are you okay?”
“Fuck off,” he slurred. “Don’t need your concern.”
“Well, you have it,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. “You’re maggoted.”
“So? I’m just having a bit of fun. What, I guess you think I’m being a slut?”
“Yeah, I’m renowned for slut shaming. Are you here with anyone?”
By now Micah had found his corner and perched upon a small limestone wall that surrounded a few threadbare plants. He was leaning precariously against a shrub that threatened to break under his weight. “What do you care if I’m here with anyone?”
“Because they should be looking after you.”
“I can look after myself.”
“Yeah. You’re doing a great job.” Kyle was shifting in and out of focus before him.
“Are you here with anyone?” Micah asked, dreading the answer. Why had he even asked it?
The three Kyles in front of him all looked uncomfortable. “Yeah.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Did you just do air quotes around ‘boyfriend’?” Kyle asked.
“Did I?” Micah asked, looking at his hands. “I was thinking about doing it, but thought it would be rude. Oh well.”
“Yes, I’m here with Dick.”
“Dick!” Micah snorted. “You’ve got to be shitting me! That’s really his name?”
Kyle didn’t look that happy. “It’s short for Richard. Like your dad.”
“Yeah, but my dad’s not a Dick.” Even plastered, Micah found the double entendre hilarious.
“Maybe not, but you’re acting like one.”
Ignoring what Kyle had just said, Micah bobbed up like a meerkat on the plain as he scanned the crowd. “Dick! Dick! I’m looking for dick!”
The guys around him cheered and raised their glasses.
Micah tottered, and almost fell into the garden. But Kyle, good old reliable Kyle—unless of course you were his ex and wanted to get back with him—held him steady. “So where is he? Doesn’t he think it’s strange you’re here with your ex?”
“I’m not here with you,” Kyle said, and Micah felt the burn. “He thought you looked worse for wear too.”
“How nice of him. He must be a really nice guy.”
“He is. Micah, you can act like a prick, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to call you a taxi.”
“Nope, I’m staying here.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my boyfriend anymore.”
Instead of looking angry, Kyle now looked bemused. “I couldn’t even tell you what to do when I was.”
“Damn straight,” Micah said. “Or, should I say, damn fag. Speaking of fags, I think I’d like a cigarette.”
“Your coach would love that.”
“What he doesn’t know….” Micah couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Kyle crouched down before him, and Micah almost wanted to cry at the look of concern on his face. Either that or hit him. “Micah, everybody here knows who you are. Do you really want all this over the web? Do you want to become the gay Brendan Fevola, having a great footy career wrecked by being a mess off the field?”
“I don’t need your analysis, Dr. Kyle.”
“You either get in the taxi or I call Declan.”
Even in his drunken state, Micah recognised the threat for what it was. Kyle knew him that well. He knew Dec would be the one thing to make Micah see sense. He couldn’t handle the thought of Dec being dragged out of bed to come and rescue his sorry arse again.
“Okay,” he told Kyle. “Okay. Get the taxi.”
Kyle gave him a long hard look, then nodded. “Stay here.”
“I’m staying here,” Micah nodded.
As soon as Kyle melted away in the crowd, Micah got to his feet and ran through the back exit onto the street. He was humiliated and heartsore. Kyle had seen him in this state, and felt sorry for him. He probably finally saw Micah for the pathetic tool he was—
“Hey, are you okay?”
It was a guy standing beside his car, just about to get into it. He looked normal enough, but what was normal?
“Who are you?” Micah asked.
“Paul.”
“Are you a Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul?”
The guy looked confused.
“Jeffrey Dahmer, the gay serial killer who fucked and then ate his one night stands.”
“That’s not a question I get asked that often. But I’m not a serial killer.”
“Good,” Micah said. “Then you can give me a ride.”
THEY CRASHED through the front door of Paul’s house, leaning up against the wall as they continued to kiss, Micah’s hands already unbuckling Paul’s belt.
“Wait,” Paul breathed, “let’s just calm down a minute.”
“I thought you wanted this.” Micah’s hands were so tantalisingly close to the goal of the evening, and by the state of Paul’s pants he could tell he was ready.
“I do, let’s just have a drink first.”
“So you are going to fuck me and eat me, Mr. Dahmer?”
Paul grinned. “I’m going to eat you out and then fuck you.”
“Then forget about the drink.” Micah heard himself saying these things, and it wasn’t even registering with him properly. It was like he was some kind of acting robot with a porny artificial intelligence adhering to some pre-prepared script he had watched play across his laptop screen a hundred times.
The thought of another drink actually made Micah feel ill. He was already woozy and pretty uncoordinated on his feet. As Paul busied himself in the kitchen Micah sank onto the couch in relief. Sweat was running down his back, so he pulled his shirt off and let the cool of the leather soothe his skin.
“You’re eager,” Paul said as he threw ice
into the blender.
“Maybe you should start stripping off too.”
Paul hesitated, then shrugged and pulled off his shirt as well. Micah liked what he saw.
“You approve?” Paul asked.
“Fuck yeah.”
Paul poured a healthy amount of vodka over the ice. “You know I know who you are, don’t you?”
“Who am I?” Micah asked, still trying to sound flirty.
“Micah Johnson, the only gay football player in Australia.”
“The only one you know of,” Micah reminded him.
Paul grinned. “True. Any hot change room moments you want to share?”
“Unfortunately I’ve never found another gay in one of my change rooms,” Micah said. “Well… in high school, yeah. But finding one got me moved to another school, and the other one punched me out.” Thinking of Will made tears rise, and Micah blinked them away.
“Hot,” Paul said.
“Yeah, sex and violence. Turns you on, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, so what footy player do you find hot?”
“Besides you?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, good one.”
“Well, your teammate Sam is pretty fucking hot.”
“Too much like a brother to me.”
“Okay, so who do you find hot?”
He really didn’t want to name anyone he played with or against. He didn’t know who Paul was, and didn’t want anything happening to get back to another player or an Internet forum. So he went for the obvious. “David Beckham.”
“He plays soccer!” Paul yelled over the noise of the blender. “And such a clichéd choice!”
“Come on, have you seen him in his jocks?” Micah yelled back.
Paul stopped pulsing the drinks, and lifted the lid off the blender. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”
“Even straight men would fuck Beckham,” Micah said as Paul came back over to him and handed him a drink.
