Page 109 of Reckless Hearts

“They’re definitely fucking,” Scott, the team captain, says at the pub after practice one day. Tim and Jamie have stayed back at the ground to practice kicking some goals, which has given the rest of us an opportunity to speculate about exactly what is going on between them.

“How do you know?” Jared, another teammate, asks.

“Jamie turned me down when I propositioned him, which means he must be getting it elsewhere.” Scott shrugs as only an extremely good-looking, successful guy with oodles of self-confidence can shrug off a rejection.

When Tim and Jamie arrive, Jamie’s skin definitely looks like it may have been in contact with Tim’s beard quite recently, which definitely provides some evidence to support Scott’s theory.

Jamie flushes after being on the receiving end of Scott’s wide grin.

Smirks are exchanged around the table, but we let the conversation drift back to other topics to avoid embarrassing them.

But I can’t help my eyes drifting to Tim and Jamie, and jealousy pierces me.

It seems like such an innocent, pure relationship. Two nice guys who both work at the same school, who spend lots of time together, who make each other laugh.

I’m with one of the most beautiful men in the world. The manPeoplejust voted again as the sexiest man alive.

Yet I’m jealous of Tim and Jamie. The little glances they exchange, the fact they get to share the small moments of their day-to-day lives.

It contrasts so much with my experience of a relationship. This constant ache of wanting someone, missing someone.

Sometimes, I think I can feel every single molecule of water in the Pacific Ocean that separates Marcus and me. It’s a constant reminder of how far apart we are and how much of our lives we’re missing out on together.

Marcus’s schedule is impossible, with back-to-back filming commitments, endless promotional tours, and photo shoots that seem to span every time zone. It’s like he’s trying to cram a lifetime of work into every month.

But even his level of fame doesn’t seem to satisfy him. It’s never enough. Every time he misses out on a role, he takes it so hard.

It’s something about him that I don’t understand.

I’m thinking about Marcus as I head home from soccer practice. I’m driving cautiously as my ancient Toyota Corolla, which has more rust than paint, is starting to make a concerning rattle every time I hit fifty km/h.

I’m just exiting the motorway when my phone starts to chime.

It’s Saskia.

“Hey, sis, what’s up?” I say brightly. I’ve found myself doing this with Saskia recently, overcompensating because I feel bad I’m such a shitty brother for keeping an important part of my life from her.

“It’s Dad,” she says, and my whole body goes cold like I’ve been dunked in icy water.

Because I’ve known Saskia my entire life, and I’ve never heard her voice sound like this before. Hollowed out.

My whole body shaking, I pull off to the side of the road.

“What happened?” I ask, and I can barely get the words out past the lump in my throat.

“He’s had a heart attack. He’s been rushed to hospital now.”

“Which hospital?” I manage to ask through numb lips.

“Auckland City.”

“I’m heading right there now.”

“I’ll see you there.”

My foot feels like lead on the accelerator, and I have to force myself to ease up.

This can’t be happening. My father has always been a permanent, unmovable fixture in my life, as reliable as the tides.