Tigers on the Way

by Sean Kennedy

  And it still made me break into a cold sweat.

  Chapter Three

  “I STILL think you’re making a huge mistake,” I told Declan.

  Four days after our wank-bank experience, we were standing in the change rooms below the stadium at Ikon Park, who had donated their facilities for the GetOut charity match. Dec and I had found a quiet corner while his team were warming up. Will had just been in grabbing numbers and warning me Heyward was on his way over.

  “It would be a bit strange if I didn’t play,” he replied, “seeing as how I was one of the organisers and my name is on the program.”

  “What about your bung knee?” I watched the other players stretching and talking amongst themselves. Still no sign of Heyward. “Or there could be someone who holds a grudge against you.”

  “Gee, I wonder who you’re talking about.” I think he was rapidly becoming tired of my angst.

  “I’m pretty sure I saw Valkyries and Dementors gathering above the goalposts earlier.”

  Dec laughed. “If only. It’d be a spectacle.” He pulled his arm over his chest to stretch it.

  “It’s going to be enough of a spectacle,” I grumbled. “Half of the crowd are hoping for fists to fly now that you’re not bound by the rules of the AFL anymore.”

  “I heard Sportsbet have put odds on it.”

  “It isn’t funny.” Man, how this sexy bastard, back in his footy shorts and guernsey, showcasing his svelte legs and absolute guns for arms, could infuriate me.

  But I was also worried about his knobbly, scarred knees that looked easily prone to reinjury.

  “It is, a little.” He began stretching his legs, bending over before me, and the material across his arse curved even more to his cheeks.

  He was doing it deliberately.

  “If you end up having an operation again, don’t expect me to Florence Nightingale you with chicken soup.”

  He stood up and looked disappointed. I wasn’t sure whether it was due to the threat of refusing to nurse him, or that his sexy tactics weren’t working on me for once. “You wouldn’t do that for me?”

  Of course I would, but I wasn’t going to make the possibility of doing his knee in an attractive one. “No. I’d go down south and book into some nice hotel on the coast while leaving you in the care of a ruthless Soviet-era private nurse.”

  “A guy?” Dec asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Damn. Not even that? You’re tough.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He uncapped his water bottle and chugged down the energy drink it contained. “I won’t.”

  And then he appeared. An old nemesis who had seemingly calmed down the past few years but whose visage still made me want to punch it. A lot.

  Greg Heyward.

  Declan’s ex-boyfriend, my predecessor, and the guy who had tried to rip us apart with a book of lies.

  His hair now had a smattering of grey around the temples, but he looked exactly the same. Like Dec, he was still in great shape—not having gone to seed like some football players did after retirement—but unlike Dec, he revelled in it. A show pony who had chosen a show pony partner, they had rapidly become staples on the celebrity circuit and appeared regularly in showbiz columns, where their relationship was both feted and torn apart for any hints at a crack within it. Yay for progress, I guess?

  “Hey, Declan,” he said by way of greeting. Then he briefly glanced my way. “Simon.” His attention returned to Declan.

  “Hello, Greg,” Dec said politely.

  “You,” I said, in a monotone.

  Greg ignored me. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” Declan replied as I said, “If only it had been longer.”

  Greg finally gave me his full attention. “Come on, Simon. You still holding a grudge?”

  “To tell you the truth, I never really thought about you again until today,” I lied, and we all knew it. “But grudges can be healthy.”

  “Isn’t it time to let bygones be bygones?”

  I almost laughed. Jasper Brunswick had managed to worm his way into my life through Coby, but I wasn’t going to give another enemy of the state a pass. “Maybe bygones would be bygones if, I don’t know, you had ever made some kind of statement about how your book was the biggest piece of fiction since the Bible—”

  I heard Dec groan.

  “—but seeing as you never did, nor did you even reach out to Dec privately in order to apologise, I think you know where you can shove your bygones.”

  Greg looked at Dec again. “Good to see some things never change.”

  “Looking in the mirror, are we?” I asked. Oh man, I had pushed it too far and sounded petty instead of super cool and collected.

  Heyward shook his head and walked off.

  “Are you done?” Dec asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Do you feel better?”

  I shrugged again.

  “It has been five years,” Dec suggested gently. “You’re never going to get the response out of him you want. For your own mental health, maybe just let it go.”

  “How come you’ve managed to shake it off?” I asked.

  Dec shrugged. “I haven’t. I’m just not going to let him see that.”

  You would have thought after all these years, Dec and his calm ways would have rubbed off on me a little bit more. And maybe he had, to some extent, but it seemed I couldn’t let the past be the past when Greg Heyward was involved.

  “If you’re going to go out there,” I told him, “take him out.”

  Dec clasped a hand on my shoulder. “That’s exactly what the spirit of this game is meant to be about.”

  “Fine. Seeing as this is meant to be about antibullying and all.” I looked over to where Heyward was starting to change. “But just don’t let him do it to you.”

  IT WAS the best advice I could have possibly given, but it backfired, as Dec ended up doing the most un-Dec-like thing possible. Seven minutes into the game, he slammed into Heyward with full force, sending them both sprawling with the ball flying out of Heyward’s hand and being relegated to a kick-in by the umpire.

  And it was seen by everybody sitting in my row. Roger, Fran, Lisa, Will, and Micah were all open-mouthed.

  “Wow, that was really aggressive for Dec,” Fran said finally.

  “Seeing who he’s playing against, we know why,” Lisa observed.

  Abe approached Dec on the field, and Dec shrugged him off. Lisa sighed heavily as she watched her husband, probably glad that at least he wasn’t taking his issues out on the field. And maybe thinking that Dec would be the least likely to do so, as he was usually the one pulling Abe off other players during their career.

  It was strange for the opposing captain to rush to his enemy’s aid after an altercation, even in a match for charity, but that was where Abe’s loyalties lay. Dec didn’t give him any thanks for it.

  I was seething. Really, after all Dec had said to me about the past being the past! I should have known he would find another outlet to vent. I tended to confront people; he repressed his anger until he exploded. He used to run away, but I had—almost—cured him of that in our time together. Now he went to the gym, or body-slammed his nemeses in charity football matches.

  Roger, however was laughing. He sat next to me on my other side, munching away happily on hot chips with occasional mouthfuls of beer to wash them down. “Go, Dec!” he yelled.

  Fran reached across me to slap him on the arm.

  “Hey!” Roger cried. “You’ll spill my beer!”

  “Pull your head on,” Fran hissed.

  No wonder he had made me sit as a barrier between them. I received most of Fran’s force, but she muttered an apology to me.

  “No more beers for him,” she added, as if I were his guardian.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Roger.

  He shrugged and shook his food in my direction. “Chip?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Chips alway
s tasted better on footy days in freezing-cold winds. They warmed you up and didn’t make you go to the toilet constantly during a game, unlike beer. Roger had already been twice since we sat down.

  Although some form of alcohol would have been good right now, as Heyward grabbed Dec by the shoulder and spun them both around on the oval. Dec managed to nimbly sprint aside and out of the spin, displaying the prowess and agility he was known for on the field. Most people were probably thinking if his knee hadn’t done him in, he could have played into his early forties like Dustin Fletcher or Brent “Boomer” Harvey.

  Heyward, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. He fell to his knees and went sprawling in the mud, face-first, before he could right himself. Dec was already off in the distance before Heyward got back to his feet, lifting his guernsey up to wipe at his face.

  “Suck it, Heyward!” Roger yelled, giving a voice to us all.

  This time I was laughing, and even Fran couldn’t whack me for that.

  “Somehow this isn’t coming off as very charitable,” Lisa said.

  “We’re going to have to find a way to spin this,” Will said, already imagining the interviews afterwards.

  “I wish I was out there to help him.” Micah wasn’t happy about the fact the Dockers had refused to clear him for the match. They didn’t want to run the risk of their recruit being injured on somebody else’s dime, which was actually for free.

  “That would look great, the two of you ganging up on poor Greg Heyward,” I told him. “He would love turning it into another story for his martyrdom. He would already be dreaming up a sequel to his book of lies.”

  “Maybe we could take one of them off the field,” Will suggested.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “If the media decides to run a story about this, it will give them so much attention, they’ll be staging a boxing match next to capitalise upon the publicity. And my stupid fiancé would probably agree to it.”

  Lisa still didn’t look very impressed about the whole situation. And I probably would have continued finding amusement in the whole thing if in the second quarter Heyward hadn’t tackled Dec violently and they both ended up face down this time.

  Heyward got to his feet, managing to have taken the ball off Dec.

  We started booing.

  Dec remained on the ground and didn’t get up.

  ABE WAS already crouched over him by the time I got to the gate and was trying to let myself in, arguing furiously with a security guard who was refusing entry. I don’t even know why I wasted my time, so I ran a couple of meters down and jumped over the stand and onto the oval. It was the most athletic thing I’d done in years, and Dec wasn’t even conscious to see it. The security guard yelled something unintelligible, but by the time I reached the concerned circle gathered around Dec, he seemed to have been told who I was. I guess most WAGs didn’t try this kind of stunt, although they had every fucking right to do so if their partner was struck down and looked unconscious. Fuck being the stoic bystander. We should all be Jackie Kennedy crawling down a car trunk to retrieve a piece of their husband’s skull.

  Besides, this wasn’t a professional game, so fuck them.

  I don’t even think a professional game would have stopped me.

  I know it wouldn’t have.

  To his credit, Heyward looked stricken. It let me know that no matter what shenanigans played out on the field—and believe me, I knew Dec wasn’t blameless—there wasn’t any true malice or intent to wound within them.

  Abe grabbed me by my arm as I dropped on my knees next to him and Dec. “He’ll be okay, Simon.”

  As he wasn’t a qualified doctor, I wasn’t going to take him at his word. And Dec was white and still, his jaw slack as it rested in the mud. Somebody had already cleared his airway but obviously didn’t want to move him too much until the paramedics assessed the situation. I didn’t want to cause any damage either, but I pressed my face down next to his and whispered, “I’m here.”

  I should have had my producer’s hat on. This would be great footage. But I totally forgot about everything except Dec. I would find out later that Coby had stopped shooting, as he was too scared he had caught a major injury on camera, and had instantly taken off his producer’s hat as well.

  People able to separate business from pleasure would have been beside themselves with joy at catching such a moment on film. I’d like to think that even if it wasn’t my partner who was immobile, I wouldn’t have been callous enough to disregard their pain and hope for great footage.

  The ambulance drove straight onto the pitch. The world swam around me, and Roger’s and Fran’s hands rested on my back. It grounded me and kept me from going psychotic. Heyward had disappeared, probably led off the field because somebody feared I might kill him.

  I slipped my hand into the mud to find Dec’s. It scared me how cold it was.

  FORTUNATELY DEC opened his eyes in the ambulance, and although he seemed to have trouble trying to speak, he recognised me and squeezed my hand when I said his name.

  He even smiled when I called him an idiot.

  That made me feel a hell of a lot better, as I knew he was hearing and processing what I said. His brain obviously wasn’t that scrambled.

  “Try and stay awake, Declan,” the paramedic said as she checked the cannula she had inserted into his arm.

  Dec reached his free hand out to my shoulder and pulled me down closer. He murmured something, but all I could make out was “Greg.”

  Of course Mr. Fucking Perfect Declan Tyler would be more worried for the other person before thinking about himself.

  “Don’t worry,” I snapped. “He’s fine.”

  Dec’s hand dropped down again, but he didn’t break eye contact.

  It was a good thing I was so fucking angry at him that I didn’t break down crying in relief.

  He was going to be fine. Until he got better, and I killed him.

  AS THE doctors were running some tests on Dec, I went to go and fill the others in, as they had now congregated in the emergency waiting area.

  “He’s conscious,” I told them, and the relief was palpable. “They’re just running more tests, but they don’t think it’s too serious.”

  I then saw Heyward standing behind Abe. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Abe spoke up. “Look, Simon, he was worried—”

  “I don’t give a toss,” I said. “I don’t want him here.”

  Everybody was a bit shocked by my vehemence, and to be honest, I was as well. But I felt like this was one time I could truly show Heyward how much he wasn’t wanted in our lives.

  “It’s just that when you’re involved in an accident like this, you have to be there, no matter what. It’s like an honour system.” Abe shrugged like this was some mystical footy thing the rest of us wouldn’t understand.

  And of course, I knew the code. I had heard Declan rabbit on about it most of the time I’d known him. You’d think they were the fucking Knights Templar, not men who kicked a bit of leather around on the weekend.

  Oh my god, listen to me. I hoped the Tigers could never read the thoughts of their most loyal fan (even if the bastards hadn’t given me the number-one membership. And if being shacked up with a football god wasn’t enough to get me that, I guess nothing ever would).

  I could see even Micah was nodding at Abe’s explanation. The kid had been playing AFL for all of one hot minute, so what the hell did he know about experience with the code?

  Micah caught my glare. “What? What did I do?”

  I turned back to Abe. “What, are you speaking for Heyward now? Are you his press agent?”

  “I can speak for myself.” Heyward glowered.

  “If I wanted your opinions, Heyward, I’d just wait for your next book. And not believe whatever the fuck’s written in it.”

  This brought out a titter from Roger, and even Fran smirked. I was starting to win the crowd back.

  “I can’t stand you at the best of times,” I continue
d, staring him down, “so what makes you think I’ll put up with you in the worst of them?”

  “There were two of us on that field,” he countered.

  “Believe me, I know. But I still don’t like you. And I’d never trust you. So do one.”

  Do one? Roger mouthed at me, and I gave a slight shake of my head.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of your sight,” Heyward said and moved off.

  “Simon.” Abe admonished me with only one word.

  “Give him a break,” Lisa said. At first I thought she was talking to me about Heyward, but she was actually looking at Abe. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Dec and I have been here, in this same situation,” Abe said. “When we’ve caused an accidental injury to another player. So I know what Greg’s thinking.”

  “No you don’t,” I said. “Because you and Dec are actually decent human beings. The jury’s still out on Heyward.”

  Abe gave a slight smile. “You said the jury’s out, not that they’ve returned a guilty verdict.”

  “Whatever,” I said, pissed at him for pointing out that slip of the tongue. “Anyway, he hasn’t listened to me.”

  I pointed over to where Heyward had disappeared, a small alcove from which his giant clodhoppers encased in specially made Nikes that bore his name shuffled about. Ugh, what a wanker.

  “I can still see you!” I yelled.

  His feet withdrew behind the wall. Technically I guess he had “done one,” as he was no longer in my sight.

  “Why don’t you go and sit with your buddy,” I told Abe. “Reminisce about the good times.”

  “Oh, do one, Simon,” Abe said with a smile. He steered me over to the chairs, even farther away from Heyward, and made me sit down.

  The match had continued without us. Coby had gone back to filming the game and said he would do the interviews later. He felt much more confident doing so once he heard Dec was conscious and seemed to be okay.