by C F White
“I’ve had quite a few one-night stands in my time,” Rich said then pointed the bottle at Seb. “But you, by far, are the most amusing.”
“How fucking so?”
“Cause you have everything, Seb. Everything. A fantastic career. Hundreds of thousands of adoring fans. A hot fucking boyfriend—fiancé—by your side who happens to be one of the greatest footballers in England today, and you’re getting pissed off by a bloke you once fell into bed with because you were so miserable without him. I should be the injured party here. And I’m not even sure why you hate me.”
“Because you’re an arsehole. And Jay doesn’t need my past shoved down his throat during his down time. Don’t you think we get enough crap from the media?”
“I’m not here to shove anything down anyone’s throat. I was here for Tom. Let’s not forget that my boyfriend and your fiancé have a past as well and it’s not affecting their night—” Rich glanced to his side. “Hang on, where is he?”
“What the…” Seb stood, peering around the bar. They wouldn’t. Not Jay and Tom. They wouldn’t sneak off to the bathroom. Together? Or even leave. Together? Seb’s temple throbbed, his blood draining cold, until his gaze fell on Tom and Jay sat opposite each other on a table in the corner.
Seb watched for a while. They were engaged in conversation. There was nothing more about it, just two old friends catching up with a breezy air around them both.
“Huh.” Seb dropped back in the leather sofa. “They only kissed.”
“Apparently.” Rich shrugged. “I don’t care. Because I’m a grown fucking adult.”
That hit Seb more than it should have. Why was he acting like a child here? Past is past, and whilst it was a complete headfuck to have Rich turn up, there were no other hidden feelings for the man. He’d not thought about that night, or that man, in…well, ever. Seb had had an abundance of one nighters before Jay came into his life and many of them had sold sordid stories to the British tabloids in order to earn few quid. Jay had read many of them.
But Rich…Rich was the one who’d made Seb realise how much of a mess he was, and would be, without Jay.
That hit him like a sledgehammer, and he stood, scooting out from the table and made his way over to Jay’s. He lingered for a moment, listening to Jay’s easy chatter and carefree laughter. Then Jay peered up, steel blue eyes meeting his.
“Sorry.” Seb inhaled sharply. “I ruined that.” He glanced to Tom. “To you too. It was unexpected and I acted like a baby.”
Tom offered a vacant smile and Jay nodded in agreement. “Sit,” Jay said, tapping the seat beside him.
Seb did and as Rich did his own apologies to Tom, Seb leaned into Jay’s ear. “I really am sorry.”
Jay twisted. After a moment, he kissed him. On the mouth. Quite possessively. Then he trailed those greedy lips to Seb’s ear and rumbled a deep and guttural, “Kinda like that he knows what I get at home.”
Seb pulled away and cocked his head. “Really?”
Jay shrugged. “Cause you’re all mine now.”
He then tuned back into the conversation opposite that was as mundane as the weather report. But he kept his arm around Seb, hand settling on the low waistband of his jeans and thumb ghosting up inside Seb’s shirt to stroke his skin. Seb smiled, and engaged in the tête-à-tête, adding his own inflections every now and then, settling into double dating like a dutiful boyfriend.
Fiancé.
He jiggled his knee under the table impatiently though, because he couldn’t wait to get Jay home to give him that taste of what he got there.
Chapter five
Hairdryer Treatment
Jay couldn’t find any words to say on the way home.
The cat had well and truly got his tongue.
The fat cat that was. The ones that sat up in their football ivory towers.
Not that he could’ve got a word in anyway. Seb was rabbiting on as they rode home in the back of the private cab. Jay knew he was gobbling all the air so as they didn’t have to address the absolute mindfuck they’d had to endure that evening. What were the odds on that? Tom—Jay’s first proper crush from back at school—now dating Rich—the man Seb had had a one-night stand with in New York during their brief separation.
It was a small world.
A small, hostile world. Apparently.
The two of them did seem a great fit though. And very much smitten with each other. The way they were reminded Jay of the first few years of his relationship with Seb. Whether it would last was anyone’s guess. Tom had asked him what the secret was to a lasting partnership, especially one so high profile and Jay had answered with one word—honesty. And that single piece of advice had tightened the clamp around his chest. Now was the time to showcase that honesty. He had to tell Seb the news. He had to do it…any moment now…
When he could pluck up the courage to crush Seb’s heart, that was.
Which he really did not want to do.
So, to drag the inevitable out, he slid his arm along the back leather seats, his fingertips brushing Seb’s neck, and listened to his boyfriend prattling on about how he’d nearly had to play the lead in his own musical.
“And the worst thing about it all, is that he’s not even that fucking good!” Seb heaved in a deep breath. “I auditioned a fuck ton of great actors but none of them fit, y’know? I got told not to use an amateur, now I know why. None of the professionals screamed me though.”
Jay smiled. Seb’s animated ranting warmed his heart whilst also clamping that grip around his chest at knowing he was going to have to cut him off at some point to deliver the bad news. How could he do it? How could he tell Seb that they weren’t able to have the wedding they’d been fighting for over six years to have?
Maybe Tony was right. Maybe Seb would understand. He was just as career driven. Listen to him now—the musical he’d written on a whim was making its way for a West End debut! He’d headlined most of the festivals on the summer circuit. He had bestselling album after bestselling album under his belt. He was riding the wave of international superstardom—a dream he’d had since his fingers had first brushed the strings on a guitar. Like Jay’s dream, everything was attainable at a sacrifice.
Maybe Seb would take this for what it was—a shitty compromise so as not to rock international politics.
“That’s cause you’re a rare breed.” Jay ruffled his fingers into the hairs on the nape of Seb’s neck. Flattery might work. Seb was already inebriated. A few sweet nothings into his ear, and Seb would merge into the puppy dog he became behind closed doors when he didn’t have to keep up his rock aggression.
“True.” Seb relaxed into Jay’s hand. “He was also the only one to have any sort of chemistry with Max.”
“Who’s Max?”
“The bloke playing you.”
Jay winced. “Still can’t get my nut around that.”
Seb chuckled, then leaned across the seats. “Save your nuts for me.” He kissed him, then against his lips, he said, “He’s good. He’ll do you justice. Fuck, even I fancy him.”
Jay snorted. Having Seb so close flooded him with the usual warmth. A few years ago, Jay would have wriggled away and stuck to the no PDA rule. But it had gotten easier over time to let himself go. Or more that it came natural to him. Even in the back of a taxi with the driver glancing in the mirror to watch and no doubt chalk it up to that time he had the high-profile celeb couple in his cab.
Jay had lost count how many times he’d seen blurred pictures of him and Seb plastered over the internet.
This would be the perfect time to tell Seb. He was snuggled into him. He was all gooey eyed and relaxed. Jay took a deep breath.
“Seb—”
“You are still coming, right?” Seb launched up as though only just remembering to ask and slid back to his side of the taxi. “Tomorrow night? Saved you a seat along with the others.”
“Others?”
“Ann, Leah, my mother.” Seb tutted at the last one. “Martin a
nd Noah are helping me to glad hand. Do a few interviews and press shots. Can’t believe it’s all coming together.”
“Everything you want usually does…” Jay trailed off, biting his lip. He was about to rubbish that theory.
“True.” Seb peered out of the window as the taxi pulled up to their Greenwich detached house in the suburbs. “From one song I wrote when we were holed up in the Riviera during monsoon season, it’s not panned out too badly.” He shouldered open the door, then said the rest to the cab driver, “On the Ruttman Records account, right?”
The driver nodded, tapping details on his device, then handed over a receipt. Seb took it with a wink at Jay over the car, “VAT off that baby.”
“The things your old man taught you.”
“He had to teach me something.” Seb pocketed the receipt as they made their way up to the front door.
Jay couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to find words. Even if they were harsh, horrid, treacherous words. Nerves crept up on him. He doubted he’d shake like this tomorrow morning when he attended his first national squad training session. Proving his worth to the most talented and strongest lads currently playing topflight in England today in no way compared to the reaction he knew he was about to get from his boyfriend at crushing his day, his night, his dreams.
So he approached it like a penalty kick. He had to see the goal in his mind’s eye first. Seb would understand. “Seb?”
“Mmmm?” Seb let them into the house, closing the door behind and rattling off the alarm. He shrugged off his jacket, eyes wide and welcoming at Jay.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Sure. But first…” Seb threw his coat onto the hooks and practically bounced to the kitchen with a beckoning of his hand and a salacious shake of his hips.
Jay followed, his steps lead-laden rather than Seb’s bouncy springs. He stopped short of the island when Seb produced the magnum bottle of Moet from their fridge.
“Celebrations!” Seb waggled the bottle. “I know we were saving this for week twelve, but we can get another one. This isn’t bad luck.” He unwrapped the foil and twisted the wiring. “Actually. Is it?” He wrinkled his brow, frowning at the bottle as though it would decide their entire future.
The bottle wouldn’t. What Jay had to say next would.
“Babe, wait.” Jay rushed forward, sliding the bottle away from Seb’s hands. “I need to talk to you first. Then you can decide if you still want to risk opening it.”
“Oh, fuck.” Seb stepped back, hands on his hips. “This does not sound good.”
“No.” Jay plonked the bottle on the island and heaved in a deep breath. “You might wanna park your arse.”
Seb pulled out a stool, lowering himself into it as he narrowed his eyes at Jay. “You’ve not cheated on me, have you?”
“What? No.” Jay shook his head, concerned that had been the first thing to fall from Seb’s lips. “What would make you think that?”
“I don’t know!” Seb’s voice was a high pitched shrill. “You’re being weird. And you were way too okay about that exchange back at the Connaught.”
“Because I’m secure in our relationship. That was past. For fuck’s sake, Seb, we’ve been trying to have a baby for years, why would I cheat on you?”
Seb hung his head, picking at his nails. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the pressure of it all. We’ve had a shit run of it. Failed attempts. You didn’t want to adopt—”
“I ain’t said I don’t want to adopt. We both wanted to try this way first. If it don’t happen this time, then we can look into it. Christ.” Jay stroked his hands through his hair, ruffling away the spray that had kept it styled. “I ain’t cheated on you.”
There was an awkward silence, before Seb filled it with a mumbled, “Sorry.” He rolled his shoulders. “It’s just you have that look. Like you’re about to deliver bad news. And that’s the worst thing I could think of you telling me.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Of course.” Seb cocked his head. “Why? Is there something worse than that?” His voice hit new heights even for Seb. He could probably go up an octave on his compositions now. “Are you dying?”
“No.” Jay slipped into the stool beside Seb, twisting to face him. “I ain’t dying and I’ve not cheated on you. I never would. You know that.”
“Good. Cause I’d murder you myself if you do either.”
“You’d murder me if I died on you?”
“Yes!”
Jay breathed through a laugh although his amusement felt jaded. He hated that he had to do this. Hated that he clearly looked like a man about to end things. He despised it, in fact. After everything they’d been through together, to get to this moment—marriage, a child—it was nothing short of cruel that he had to be the one to pop a hole in the bubble they’d been living inside for six years.
He wondered then, for a moment of staring deep into doe-eyed chocolate brown, if he’d made the wrong decision. If he should have turned down England instead of the man in front of him. The man who had been, and still was, his everything. The man who had built him up. The man who had made him who he was today. The man he’d asked to marry him and had been trying to start a family with.
To hell with football…
Except…he’d be committing player treason if he did. There weren’t many players who’d come out unscathed after turning down an England cap. Even their club careers deteriorated after such a bolshy snub.
And, well, there was also his undeniable, niggling desperation to prove to the country, and to the world, that he could make it on an international stage. Not just make it, but shake it. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops that he belonged there. He’d been told that it wouldn’t happen, that it couldn’t happen, that he was too much of a liability. Now he’d been given a chance.
And the only way that he could prove he deserved that chance was to upset one man.
“Champ.” Seb’s voice was tight and his touch even lighter as he cupped Jay’s chin and forced him to acknowledge the present. “You better start talking, or I’ll form my own ideas and, right now, you don’t want to know what they are.”
“They gave me an ultimatum.”
“Who did?”
“The FA. Via Tony. And, not so much an ultimatum, more a suggestion. A coercive suggestion.”
“Which is?” Seb’s jaw clenched. Jay could see the tendons tightening.
He winced, bracing himself. “To play for England, I should postpone any wedding I might have been planning.”
Seb drew in a breath, sliding away on the stool. He shook his head, in disbelief perhaps. “Shall I assume that by any wedding, you mean our wedding. Your marriage to me. A man?”
“Yeah.” Jay held his breath, watching the hysteria of conflicting emotions play out over Seb’s face. He was quiet for a while, chewing on the information as he stared vacantly at Jay. Not quite at Jay. More through him.
Then, “The reason for this?” Seb arched an eyebrow. “Other than blatant homophobia and obvious discrimination?”
“If any lad was planning a wedding during international season, I’m sure they’d suggest the same.”
Jay wasn’t sure why he was defending the decision, but he had to. This was his career. He’d been supported and treated fairly every step of it so far. It hadn’t been easy since he’d come out but with the FA’s backing and the support from his club, and the fans, it had been easier than he’d ever imagined. The English Premier League might have accepted him, but they couldn’t guarantee the entire world would.
And hearing Seb brandish accusations, however well founded, stabbed him in the gut.
“Really?” Seb folded his arms.
“It just ain’t the right time right now. I’ve been picked for England. Something I never thought would happen. Something I’d ruled out since coming out. But they want me, babe. They want me. And I’ve wanted this my whole fucking life.”
“But they’ve told you not to marry me?�
�� Seb was seething.
Jay understood. He did. If roles were reversed, he would be too. And he had been once. Seven years ago, when Seb had chosen his career over him.
He wouldn’t mention that. They had a lot of water under their bridge since then. And a proposal on it.
Fuck, I’m an arsehole.
“Jay?”
Jay snapped to. “Not exactly,” he said. “They’ve asked that I hold off any wedding until after the qualifiers. Maybe after the World Cup. If I prove my worth in qualifiers, then I’m good to go to Brazil twenty-fourteen and that means more training, more commitment.”
Seb chewed the inside of his cheek. “So it’s a time issue thing? They don’t want you distracted?”
“Yeah,” Jay lied. “Kinda.”
“Kinda?” Seb cocked his head. “You might want to explain the kinda.”
“Some of the qualifiers are in hostile nations. While the FA are all right with taking an out gay player to countries who are vocal about their disagreement of LGBT rights, FIFA can’t guarantee there won’t be outcry from other nations. A gay wedding splashed all over the papers, all over the world, just before we play in one of those nations might have repercussions…could cause unnecessary unrest.”
“Unnecessary unrest?” Seb scoffed. “Can you hear yourself?”
“Babe, don’t—”
“Your wedding…your marriage to the man you love, who you asked to marry six years ago whilst on the sodding Millennium Bridge for fuck’s sake, is an unnecessary unrest? Unnecessary?”
“It could cause unnecessary unrest. Among supporters. Among crowds.” Jay scraped his fingers across his brow. “We ain’t got the greatest track record of fans abroad. Imagine ones that are targeted ‘cause they’re supporting me?”
“Christ.” Seb glanced away, refusing to look Jay in the eye.
“Please, babe, you gotta know how fucking hard this is for me right now?” He rested a hand on Seb’s knee and squeezed. “You think I wanna be the cause of a fucking street riot?”
Seb drew in a breath, his chest rising. “Did you even consider saying no?”
