by Jay Hogan
“Later.” Cam removed his hand and zipped me up with a grin. But when I pulled the curtain back to face my brother, he grabbed my chin and planted a heated kiss on my lips in full view of Craig. “Don’t you dare apologise,” he said, nuzzling close.
“Never crossed my mind,” I reassured him.
He eyeballed Craig. “And as for you. You’d better start getting down with all this gay shit, and fast, and that’s the last comment I want to hear from your lips on the subject, ever.” He headed out the door.
“Hey,” I called after him. “I thought you said we’re leaving?”
He turned with a wicked grin. “Sweetheart, if I’m about to face a shitload of cameras, I’m gonna need a makeup fix and a change of clothes. Ain’t no one getting a closeup of this much gorgeousness without some serious repair work first. I’ve got a gym bag stashed under my desk with my ‘unexpectedly going out for drinks after work’ gear.” He blew me a kiss and sashayed off.
Holy shit. I could only imagine what was in that damn bag. The media had no idea what they were in for. I would’ve laughed to all hell if I wasn’t so fucking terrified.
Cam
THE MEDIA scrum was the predicted nightmare even though we’d avoided the actual main entrance, but we made it to my car relatively unmolested with the help of hospital security. The bigger miracle was Reuben’s firm grasp of my hand the whole fucking way. My soppy heart would need a month or two to land after that gobsmacking public display of affection. Thankfully the staff car park was secure and we were able to leave with minimal interference. The same couldn’t be said for Reuben’s apartment, however.
“Fuck.” I slammed the steering wheel with the flat of my hand, staring at the mayhem ahead of us in utter disbelief. We’d pulled into the curb about a hundred metres from the garage and so far, no one had clocked my car, yet. Matt Brown, the ABs’ media guy, had warned us when Reuben called from the hospital that it might be better to avoid his apartment and go straight to them for a meeting, but we desperately needed to collect some of Cory’s stuff to make Georgie’s life easier. Neither of us, however, were prepared for this level of fucked-up.
The garage was invisible behind a horde of media vans and milling reporters. Hell, they’d spilled out over half the damn lane, forcing traffic to drive around them. A police officer was trying to round them up onto the pavement without much luck, and it was clear things were going to go to shit shortly.
I had no words. We’d known we’d be big news, sure, but we’d significantly underestimated the ridiculous level of interest Reuben’s outing actually commanded. Anyone would think we’d singlehandedly solved world hunger or been found responsible for mass genocide.
Thank God Georgie was keeping Cory at hers for a couple of days. When we’d called in to check on them both on the way to the apartment, they were doing just fine. Cory was engrossed in his favourite movie and Georgie was keeping a brave face on. The woman was a saint. She apparently had a backlog of sick days she had owing, and I saw the relief wash off Reuben in waves.
Though he hated not having Cory in his sights, Reuben knew Cory was better off away from the unwanted attention right now. And looking at the mass of reporters and cameras salivating in front of us, it was the best decision we’d made so far. I made a mental note to go above and beyond in a thank-you gift for Georgie when this was all over. Though when that would be? Who the fuck knew?
Reuben slid his hand over mine and squeezed. “It appears you’ve made quite an impression, Mr Wano.” He sounded far too calm for what the situation called for.
My head whipped around. “Are you on drugs or something?” I gave him the once–over, then snorted loud enough I had to whip my eyes up to check the reporters hadn’t heard me down the road. “Because of course it’s me they’re all looking for, not the fucking ‘gay as an Easter parade’ All Black, you idiot.”
He simply smiled, cupped my face, and ran his thumb over my lip. “Gorgeous always draws a crowd. And you, Cameron Wano, are one hundred percent gorgeous and one hundred percent mine, and I am such a lucky fucking bastard to even get a piece of you let alone to love you.”
Holy ever-loving crap. And wasn’t that just the most amazing thing ever said in the history of the fucking universe. And could I come up with a single coherent reply? Not on your fucking nelly.
His finger tipped up my chin to close my gaping mouth, and he chuckled. “I think the hinges on this need resetting. It keeps falling open.”
I pulled away and drilled him with a glare. “You say that shit on purpose just to fluster me.”
He grinned. “I say that shit because it’s true.”
I swallowed hard to stop from blubbering all over his chest, followed by climbing into his lap and demanding he fuck the shit out of me. “Look, you’ve made my eyes water, you sappy shit. If a single camera catches me like this, you’re in big trouble, mister. My damn eyeliner’s gonna look like the Incredible Hulk applied it.”
Reuben’s sliver eyes flared. “You promise? About the trouble part? We’ve been apart a bit, so I figure there must be all kinds of shit that needs punishing, right?”
And my dick perked right on up like it was spring-loaded. Ugh. The man was gonna kill me. “Careful what you wish for, handsome,” I warned in a sultry tone.
“Bring it on.”
The blistering look we shared could’ve peeled paint at fifty paces, and it was all I could do not to take the man at his word but, yeah, later. I nodded to the clutch of media down the road. “Hold that thought.”
Reuben beamed a smile my way. “Good point. Let’s call Matt and get outta here. Cory’s gonna have to deal without his favourite toys. Fuck, it was coming one day anyway.”
TWO HOURS later and we were parked around a conference table at Eden Park, flanked by a who’s who of New Zealand—not to mention world—rugby. Both the AB and Blues management were represented, with their captains front and centre. The venue was chosen for its ample security options, and I might have been impressed if I wasn’t so damn dog-tired, not to mention pissed off. It appeared we were having that all-important meeting about the how and when of Reuben’s coming out regardless of the fact that it had little relevance anymore, since it appeared the whole world and their fucking dog knew.
I felt like I’d stepped through the looking glass into the Mad Hatter’s tea party, and glancing at Reuben, I was pretty sure he felt the same. And though he might have been tagged for the Cheshire cat, by the ridiculous grin he’d been sporting ever since I’d told him I loved him, by God I had dibs on Alice. That girl was fierce.
Everyone in the room was doing their best to be supportive, which was kind of nice, not to mention a relief, although there’d been more than a few anxious glances thrown my direction when I’d first walked in. It might have been the sparkling green eyeliner, or the fuck-me black jeans that hugged my arse, or the half-dozen jangling silver bracelets I’d thrown on at the last minute from my go-to bag. But personally, I thought the black leather choker was the decider. Still, fuck ’em. Better they know now what they were getting into.
I grinned to myself. When I’d appeared in Craig’s hospital room like this, Reuben might have choked on his tongue, but he said nothing, bless his heart. He’d just grabbed my hand, smooched me roughly on the neck—making me growl loud enough for Craig to moan in protest—and pulled me out the door.
In the elevator he’d cocked an eyebrow and peeled down the waistband of my jeans for a peek. Busted. Black, lacy, and French is all I’m gonna say. Something rumbled deep in his throat, and I may have even blushed. Thank God we hit the ground floor before I forgot where we were and jumped him.
An hour into the round-table discussion and Matt Brown was still looking particularly chipper, goddamn him. If you’d wrapped Reuben up in a bow and handed him to Matt along with a winning Lotto ticket, the man couldn’t have looked more excited. As for what he thought of me? I’m not sure he knew what to think, but his welcoming smile never faltered, and that m
eant a lot. Reuben looked plain exhausted, and I wanted to shove everyone else out of the room, wrap him in cotton wool, and stand guard till he got a solid ten hours sleep. Never. Gonna. Happen.
“So.” Matt Brown faced Reuben and me. “You guys ready for this? If you thought this morning was a shitshow, after tonight, the next few weeks will be bedlam. Just saying.”
The rugby powers-that-be had agreed the best option was a press conference this evening, catch things before speculation got further out of hand and the media started pushing the privacy limits to get any information they could. Give them the distilled version and quell the hunger for a bit, that was the hope. It was an effort to take the wind from everyone’s sails.
Reuben caught my eye and raised a questioning brow.
I slid my hand into his and squeezed, batting my lashes shamelessly. “Your call, sweetheart,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear, raising a couple of brows I’m sure.
He shook his head in that “you’re positively wicked” kind of way and grinned, returning the squeeze. Then he looked back at the men gathered round the table. “We’re ready.”
WE SPENT the next hour running through questions and best responses and what information to give and how to handle what we didn’t want to answer, while Matt Brown rounded up the invited media and gave them the call. So, when we finally walked into the media centre several hours later, I felt somewhat prepared at least.
I’d been told I wasn’t to front any cameras or questions myself, something I’d initially been suspicious of, thinking they were worried about the effect my fabulous gay arse might have on the proceedings, but which I was now extremely grateful for. And although I could have safely waited in an anteroom, I was choosing to stand off to the side so I could be there for Reuben. We were in this together, and if he was gonna catch any shit, I was damn well gonna be there to take names.
The media were handpicked and had been told I was off limits for both cameras and sound bites, but none of that staved off the calculating stares that were constantly sweeping over me as the media conference went on, and on, and fucking on. But I’d been judged all my damn life, and I was wicked skilled at ignoring shit. I kept a cute smile plastered on my face, and my eyes on my boyfriend—who seemed remarkably and annoyingly calm about the whole damn thing. In fact, watching him now, I struggled to reconcile what I was seeing with the frantic closeted panic he’d sported only a few weeks before at the mere thought of coming out. Tonight he wore an adorable secret smile throughout the whole process, as if he were just signing fucking autographs, and I was so damned proud of him.
Lots of questions circled around our relationship, no surprise there, and it was clear by the sheer number of frowns and curious stares that the journalists really didn’t know what to make of me. All bar one, who had just sent me a cheeky wink and a thumbs-up as he sidled alongside.
“Gotta say, I’m fucking proud of the both of you,” he whispered and held out his card.
I accepted it readily. If he wasn’t gay, I’d eat my fucking hat, and you never knew when we might need an ally. Then I went back to watching my man.
Matt Brown had reassured Reuben he’d step in if things got uncomfortable, but Reuben was handling it all remarkably well. He rebuffed a couple of questions that were clearly slanted at my “appearance” and our respective “roles” in the relationship. I couldn’t help but smirk. If only they knew their beefed-up, strapping All Black fullback was more often than not face down, arse up for me and begging for more.
Official confirmation of Reuben’s “gayness,” as one journalist had put it, still took some digesting, apparently, and I reminded myself the circus had only just begun. International media were already jetting in from all over, or so we’d been told. Every rugby-playing nation was gonna have something to say about it.
The repercussions of the first out-and-proud All Black, especially one at the very beginning of his career, in a country where the game was virtually a religion and where our national team were world champs, couldn’t be ignored. I was staring the proof of that in the face at this very moment. Reuben and I, for that matter, would be dealing with the public’s ongoing craving for details of our personal life his entire career and probably longer.
It finally hit me that I’d never fully understood the enormous implications of Reuben’s coming out beyond the stuff that directly affected his family concerns, not really. I knew the rugby world would be interested, of course, but I hadn’t factored in just how interested.
His life—our lives—were never going to be our own, not for a long, long time. Even my role as Reuben’s potential partner felt suddenly overwhelming. Our relationship would be under constant international scrutiny. We wouldn’t be able to even break up without a commentary in six different languages. And didn’t that just add a whole fuck ton of pressure to getting things right between us. To being a “good” gay example, whatever the fuck that meant. If I let it, the panic could easily become crippling, and we’d be over before we even started.
Love is never just all you need, no matter what the sappy songs said. You need to work damn hard at that relationship shit, and Reuben and I were gonna have to work harder than most. I sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to quell my growing nerves as I glanced around the room, its occupants laser focussed on some answer Reuben was giving to another inane question. Jesus Christ. No hetero professional sports player ever had to front this shit. Still, it was a bit late to bail, not that I wanted to.
I blew out a sigh and watched as Reuben smoothly handled the frenzy of media questions with a sharp eye for their bullshit. That was until his eyes suddenly landed on mine, at which point he went noticeably quiet and the whole room turned my way. Ignoring the tabled question for a moment, he held my gaze and smiled that secret smile of his, just for me. Then he opened his mouth and… just wow.
“I think what everyone really wants to know is why I’ve chosen now to come out?” he said.
And the room went deathly silent.
“Well, the answer to that as you might have guessed is a person. I met an incredible man. A man who’s shown me how important it is to be true to who I am, to live life boldly, and honestly, regardless of what others may think. Not unlike playing rugby, to be honest. You don’t run through a wall of muscle and hope to score a try if you’re worried about all the what-ifs. You can’t play a game like that. You can’t live a life like that.
“What Cam has taught me, and what you in the press may have noticed lately, is that when you begin to live your life fully, when you’re happy, and supported, and loved, then all kinds of good stuff starts to happen. To the rugby fanatics out there, for you it meant my game improved, but for me it’s meant a great deal more than that. He’s given me the type of solid foundation in my life that I’ve never had, and for which I’m incredibly thankful. And he’s offered me unwavering support through all the highs and lows, even when I didn’t deserve it…”
He glanced over and held my gaze.
“…and I am so very, very, thankful for that and for him. I’m a lucky guy, the luckiest.”
Holy shit.
Four things happened at once.
My heart exploded into my throat, my eyes sprung a leak, a blush hit my damn hairline, and the press room exploded.
Goddamn that boy. I never cried, and by his smirk, Reuben knew exactly what he’d done. Bastard. I was going to wreck his arse when we were alone. The direction my mind went must have shown on my face because he briefly blanched and then quickly returned to the avalanche of questions now being thrown his way.
Yeah, you do that, sunshine, still not gonna save you. But any concerns about the two of us now? Gone. Hell yeah, we’d have our struggles, but we were going to ace that shit, no worries.
TEN O’CLOCK that night found us bug-eyed, staring at each other in the hallway mirror of a downtown hotel suite the All Blacks’ manager had booked for us in an effort to avoid the media. It was the first time we’d really been alone s
ince we’d called a stop to things two weeks before. Sure, we’d talked a little, shared a couple of car trips and a few stolen moments, but so much had changed that had yet to even be acknowledged. Everything, in fact, and that was without adding in the whole Cory, Craig, and Taylor Senior debacle.
We both looked like we’d been hit by a freight train, although I suspect that might have been a step up from how we actually felt. I could barely stand upright, my legs hanging from exhaustion, so I couldn’t begin to imagine how Reuben felt. It had been the most intense twenty-four hours of my life and that was saying something.
The press conference had gone better than expected, and there was much nodding of heads and pleased smiles from rugby management, though no one was fooled by any of that, least of all Reuben and me. Those had been cherry-picked journalists with a vested interest in keeping on the good side of the rugby powerhouses. The trolls, gossip rags, and public bigots would be waiting in droves to have their say as soon as the coast was clear. Not to mention a few of Reuben’s own teammates, who’d already made their opinions clear simply by their lack of contact.
Still, 80 percent of both teams had sent supportive texts, the first from Mathew, and of those who hadn’t been in contact, few were of any surprise. Time would tell whether they would be able to keep their thoughts to themselves, but at least management had made the repercussions clear. NZ Rugby made it clear they wouldn’t tolerate any homophobic behaviour from its players, coaches, management staff, or match-attending supporters. Reuben and I shared a mutual eye roll at that one, but we guessed it had to be said.
Still, we’d survived.
I eyed Reuben in the mirror, my gaze travelling that gorgeous body from tip to toe, feeling the threads of want that he always drew from me so damn easily woven and knitted into a kind of desperate desire that wasn’t going to be denied, regardless of how tired we both were. I had a thirst for him that needed quenching in the worst possible way, not to mention right the fuck now.
