Page 14

Chapter 14

Flickers

Brandon

Go to Summit, they said.

It’s the best training facility in the country , they said.

It’ll be a chance to reconnect with your best friend , they said. Okay, maybe I said that one.

To begin with, it felt easy. It’s not that hard to fit in, if you make it an art form. Take an interest in everyone. Let people blame you for your parent’s policies or performances. Don’t complain. Don’t explain. The same game I’ve been running since I was a kid.

But every day this week, I’ve been up at 5am. Cardio. Rest. Weights. Rest. Stretches. So many stretches. Ball control. Ball precision. Stretches. Drills. Then another rest. It’s exhausting how many rest breaks there are.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team are flying around Europe. It still stings that I’m not there with them. That should be me with the giant oversized Toblerone sticking out of my backpack, damn it.

I know that resting sounds easy, but it’s not.

When I rest, I have time to think. I’ve spent years cultivating a careful armour. Don’t let people get too close. If nobody gets in, then nobody gets hurt. It’s been working just fine, but then, just like that, Di Rossi tells me he wants to really know me, and everything unravels.

At least I get a break when I’m training. He’s not my coach. That honour is shared between Gretchen and Ivor, both of whom enjoy inflicting punishment in only the way ex-military Swedish Olympians can. But still, Di Rossi’s around. Checking people in. Collecting stray balls. Doing tours.

Distracting the hell out of me with how good he looks.

Summit is an incredible facility. But the food? Come on. I eat healthily. I’m not as dumb as I look. I know abs are built in the kitchen. But seriously, would a pack of chips derail a week’s worth of training?

Still, I guess you gotta have faith in the process. Every time it gets to me, I catch sight of a framed jersey on the wall. The gallery of successful players who graduated Summit after completing a program just like mine.

One day, my jersey will be hanging up there, too.

If I don’t die of starvation first.

“Gretchen”, I collapse into a sweaty heap on the grass as she clicks her stopwatch. “Please. You gotta help me out here. Would a twinkie really be too much to ask?”

“No sugar”. Gretchen shakes her head. “You want to heal ready for next season? We must remove all inflammation”.

“Message for you from the front desk”. Ivan hands me a slip of paper. Richard Crawley called. My heart skips a beat. What does he want? He doesn’t normally approach me directly.

I don’t have time to think about it because Gretchen makes me do another 3 laps, dribbling a ball the whole way. I don’t know what good she thinks this is doing my shoulder, but it’s shot my morale straight to hell.

I wish Freddie was here. I’ve never been a big cardio fan, but we used to tell each other dad jokes to lighten the mood. It’s weird to be laced up on the pitch without him.

I should just shoot him a text, but Coach’s words linger in my brain. Summit is a big deal. Maybe Freddie’s mad at me for getting this opportunity. Or he’s having the time of his life on tour, and he’s forgotten all about me.

Can anyone say insecure?

I’ve always suspected, deep down, that being one of the boys came with an expiration date. Once they settle down, guys like me become surplus to requirements. And Freddie’s on the fast track to a white picket fence life. Best if I leave him to it.

I’m still not over the last time I lost a good friend.

Gretchen finally remembers that she has a whistle, and I skid to a halt. She ignores my histrionics and tosses me a towel, returning her attention to her clipboard.

Across the field, Parker strolls towards me.

Holy smokes. He’s got that just-out-the-shower freshness about him, wearing a crisp navy Summit polo tucked into smart grey slacks and white leather sneakers. He removes his shades as he squats down next to me.

“There’s a vicious rumour that the new player is demanding a twink be delivered to him”. He isn’t even bothering to hide his amusement. “Now, we’re an open-minded community but this is a professional setting, Carter. You can cruise for dudes on your own time”.

He hands me an ice cold soda. There’s condensation on the can, and our fingers lightly touch as I take it from him. Jesus Christ.

“Twinkie. Noun. A tasty snack. Much like myself”. I take a swig. It’s cool and delicious. And also diet. For God’s sake. “Twink. Also a noun. A tasty, fresh-faced slender young homosexual. A little like myself”.

“Noted”.

“Tell me that you didn’t research gay subcategories on your work computer just so you could make fun of me”, I continue. “Because there’s a handy SBF Starter Pack that I’ve been working on solely for your benefit”.

“And SBF means?” Parker takes the drink back and has a sip. Not bothering to wipe the rim. And I don’t notice. Not one little bit.

“Straight Best Friend”.

“So that’s what I am. Reduced to just another label”.

“The objectification of the straight white male is criminally underdiscussed”, I agree solemnly. He laughs at that too.

“I’ll tell you what isn’t being underdiscussed”, he looks serious for a moment, “And that’s your loud, some might say incessant , complaining over the lack of junk food. Seriously. This is a health facility. Keyword, health. And you’re here to recover”.

“I’m not looking to hot wire an ice cream truck or anything”, I protest, “But a guy really can’t get a greasy ass slice of pizza as a reward for surviving Captain Gretchen’s dirty ass cardio drills?”

He rolls his eyes so far back in his head that it looks like he’s having some sort of seizure.

“You know I can’t function properly without my snack supply”, I remind him. Back in high school, our study group had two rules: There had to be snacks, and they all had to be for me.

The look on Di Rossi’s face tells me that he remembers the rule in painful detail.

He casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure Gretchen’s not within earshot and beckons me closer. “How about this”, he lowers his voice. “You stop being a little bitch”, I snort with laughter, “And finish training, and in return, I’ll shout you dinner at the trashiest, dirtiest, most unhealthy dive that this town has to offer”.

“How dirty?” I challenge.

“Health code violation dirty”.

“So, dinner at your place?” I deadpan.

“Just for that”, he swipes me with a good-natured cuff, “You can spring for your own dessert”. He hauls me to my feet before I can protest further. Grr. Fine.

I take a deep breath, stretch out, and return to the track. I feel the weight of his eyes on me for the next three laps. And they don’t let up.

Not once.

* * * *

I spend the rest of the afternoon under a long, cool shower. When it’s time to meet Parker, I change into chinos and a fitted black t-shirt. Last minute, I splash some aftershave too. Never hurts to make an effort.

Di Rossi meets me at the gate. He’s changed out of his uniform into jeans and a checked shirt, open at the collar. My heart skips a beat as he high-fives me in greeting.

Get it together, Brandon. I mean, this is ridiculous. I’m in the guy’s presence for five minutes and I practically revert to the same love-crushed teenager who used to blow off soccer practice just to cheer him on at his boxing matches.

You spent three years wanting your friend back. Now you got it.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” We passed personal that night on the beach. “Have you ever—I mean, after what you were saying the other night—tell me to mind my own business”.

“Get on with it, Di Rossi”.

“You made that comment about love not happening the same way for everyone”.

“I was kidding”, I say quickly.

“I figured. I mean, I was just wondering. Does that mean you’ve never been in love?”

Whoa. He almost knocks me off my feet with that one. My astonishment must be obvious, because he quickly follows up. “Sorry, it’s just…you told me you didn’t really do boyfriends”.

There’s only one honest answer to this, and to share it would torpedo this revitalised friendship before it even starts. Parker had unknowingly pushed my teenage self into confronting some pretty significant home truths. More than once. “Have you ?”

“I’m gonna call this out for the blatant Dodger-ing that it is, however”, Parker throws a sideways glance at me, “It’s only fair I answer too. Of course I have. Millie. Then my sophomore year girlfriend. We lasted about six months”.

“How did you know it was love?”

“With Millie?” He frowns, thinking back. “I remember feeling like I’d die if even a second between us was wasted. I used to bike all the way across town just to walk her five minutes home from her piano recitals and it’d be totally worth it to me. I wanted to see her, be with her, all the time”.

And you’d go miles out of your way just to spend time alone with him. You’d skip practice just to go to the mall and help him pick out a present for his girlfriend, because doing something with him that hurt was less painful than doing nothing with him at all. “And without her it felt like you couldn’t breathe properly?”

“Totally. And I’m sorry if this is a really personal topic. I just don’t want you to miss out”. Parker pauses, “My whole life only two people have ever really seen me”.

“Millie, and, what was your college girlfriend’s name?”

“Jenna. But I was talking about you”. Parker ruffles his short hair. “You always saw the best in me. You’re still doing it now. That’s why I spent the day fixing a rusty old sign on an entrance that nobody ever uses. Shit-list job number one all ticked off”.

There’s a thickness in my throat that I can’t dislodge. “Not that I’d flatter myself into thinking you ever had feelings for me”, he nudges me playfully. “As loveable as I am”.

The moment where I’m supposed to laugh comes and goes. We have to split sides of the street to let an elderly couple go by, and when we rejoin, I almost wilt under the sharpness of his gaze. “Carter?”

My mouth runs dry. This is it. The moment he runs away from me again. Check your watches, folks. “It was a long time ago”, I manage. “I’m over it. Obviously”.

“Wow”, he says softly. “Me?”

Of course you. It's always you.

I nod. “We don’t need to be weird about this”.

“Understood”. He nods, and the blood rushes back to my head. “But to be clear, I am nothing but a bajillion per cent flattered”.

“Really?” I risk a glance.

“Dude”. He reaches an arm across my shoulder and pulls me into a sideways hug. “It’s the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to me. Besides”. His lips twitch.

“Besides, what?”

“I mean, come on ”. He gestures at himself, “You’re only human”.

“Di Rossi!”

“I mean it. It would almost be weird if you didn’t develop feelings for me”.

“Trust you to ruin the moment”, I’m surprised by how easy it feels to smile. Like I’ve let go of something that’s been weighing me down without even realising it.

“If we had stayed friends, I guess we would have talked about this years ago”.

“We could enrol you in SBF101 and get you caught up in the ways of allyship and…”

“Don’t make me feel worse!”

“That’s not what I meant”, I throw him an easy smile, “It’s weird to talk about this stuff. I’m glad you asked, and thanks for being cool with my answer. A lot of guys wouldn’t be”. Even if it’s only a half truth. We round the corner, and I stop dead.

The sign for the diner reads ‘Mama Leonie’s Greasy Pizza’.

I’m drooling. Literally drooling. Right here on the street, like a raccoon. “Did I do good?” Parker grins.

“You nailed it. SBF101 though”, I say thoughtfully, “That’s not a bad idea”.

“For all us unenlightened dude-bros out there?”

“Just trying to find a class that you wouldn’t flunk, Di Rossi”, I dive out of the way of his playful punch. We can do this. We can be friends. “Ow! Violence!”

“Violence? I’m a lover, not a fighter”. Parker holds the door for me. “You know that”.