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“ M edically retiring is on the table, yes,” their President, Murphy, was saying, he was flanked by their coach, Hurley, Doctor Harris, the head trainer, a representative from legal, and some lady taking the minutes for the meeting.

Sean had the Aboriginal Liaison Officer next to him, a bloke he’d met since coming back, but apparently had met two years before when he took over the position. Sean knew of him regardless; Warren was an ex-player, well before Sean’s time, from the Wadjarri people up near Geraldton. Two blackfellas sitting on one side of the old oak table facing off against a row of white men in suits and a white lady who kept sniffing as she typed.

“There’s nothing wrong with your brain,” Doctor Harris started and Sean tuned him out. He’d heard it all before. The appearance of legal told him everything he needed to know.

“Sean’s agent really needed to be called in for this,” Warren said reproachfully.

“Now, we’re not at that stage yet,” Murphy said, “we’re just talking options. Risks. Want to get everything on the table.”

“He’s still got two years on his contract,” Warren countered immediately, his tone severe under the deceptively soft voice. He knew what this meant, how getting tossed out before he was done wasn’t going to leave Sean with a lot of options, nor much time to plan for other options. Everyone wants to know a blackfella when he’s playing football. After? Not so much.

“And we’re willing to negotiate what that means,” the legal bloke said, sitting up, fiddling with the lapels of his suit. Sean heard the number of discussions they’d already had in his tone; it was prepared, it was ready.

“Sean?” Murphy asked, his voice was kind. He was a nice old bloke, had never been anything but kind to him. Sean didn’t want to believe that’d changed. “Where’s your head at in all this? Do you want to keep playing even if we don’t know if this could make things worse?”

He felt all eyes on him and sat back under the weight of it. His body felt great. Not perfect yet, but he knew he’d get there by next season. What weighed him down was the sense they’d already made their decision. Jack’s face flashed in his mind and he felt a pang at telling him.

“I’m feelin’ good,” he said, clasping his fingers together over his stomach so he wouldn’t fidget, but he knew it looked defensive. “Reckon I got another five, ten years in me.” He took a deep breath. “But I reckon it don’t matter what I’m thinkin’.”

“If you want to keep playing, it matters,” Murphy replied firmly.

The legal dude twitched next to him, eyes darting to Murphy’s profile before he looked down at his notes, head shaking slightly. Sean wanted to cajole him into saying what was on his mind—he’d rather get hit front-on than stabbed in the back.

God bless Warren, because he was leaning forward in his chair, brown eyes sharp on the lawyer’s face. “If you got somethin’ to say, come on out and say it, mate. We ain’t a fan of surprises.”

The lawyer looked up. They’d done introductions, Sean was pretty sure his name was Dennis. He looked too young to be a Dennis, but maybe he had traditional parents or something. He was around mid-thirties, brown hair cut neat, brown eyes flat yet shrewd.

“If you choose to keep playing, we’ll draw up a contract that you’ll need to sign before we allow you back on the field,” Dennis said, his tone as flat as his eyes. “You’ll waive your rights to sue the club and the league if anything happens.”

“That ain’t much of a deal,” Warren said immediately. “What if he gets a concussion, gets some troubles down the line. Ain’t no way you can say it’s related to his accident.”

“Doc,” Murphy cut in calmly.

And Harris was off on one of his long-winded explanations about risks and uncertainties.

They were outside, Warren striding beside him, clear of ear shot when he said, “That was fuckin’ bullshit.”

Sean huffed a laugh. “Yep.”

“Ain’t no way you’re signin’ that shit. I’ll talk to some people, got some sisters in Legal Aid. Lemme see what they think. But Sean,” he stopped before they went through the glass doors that’d lead them to Jack, waiting on the other side, looking up from his phone when he saw them.

“Don’t sign anythin’ just yet, we got some time. Your agent shoulda been there,” he shook his head. “This ain’t over yet.”

“Thanks,” Sean replied, gave him the familiar handshake.

“Don’t mention it, it’s my job. Ain’t no way these whitefellas gonna fuck ya over, okay?” Warren smiled, winked.

He pushed through the door, nodded at Jack, “Reaver,” he said and headed for his office.

“Warren,” Jack said before looking right at Sean. “Everything alright?”

“Eh,” Sean shrugged. “Not really.”

He gave Jack the rundown as they made their way to the car.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Jack said once they were heading out, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Sean wondered why he hadn’t yet insisted on driving. This was, apparently, his car. He focused on the houses whipping by and decided he kind of liked being the passenger, and Jack wasn’t the worst driver. Even when he was on a tirade like now, which he finished by telling Sean he’d talked to Annie. The lawyer sister, Sean remembered.

“Doesn’t she do criminal law?” Sean asked.

“Yeah, well, it’s all the law,” Jack replied and Sean laughed. Jack shot him a grin. It was a joke from a movie and obviously Jack wanted him to laugh.

That didn’t stop him from calling Annie as soon as they were home.

“She said she’s got a friend from law school, works in contract law. He’ll look at it,” Jack said as he walked back inside after talking to her for a while.

Sean rubbed his face. Maybe he should just retire.

“We’re going to be hiring him,” Jack went on.

Sean looked at him. “How much is that gonna cost?” He’d never worried about money since he’d started playing—he wasn’t as outlandish as his teammates, he had family he had to support, a future of savings he knew he was going to need, but he’d not had to worry since he made the league. Except now maybe he should start worrying.

“I dunno, probably not that much,” Jack said and mumbled about paying for it or going halves.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sean said. “Warren’s got some sisters in Legal Aid. They’ll look into it.”

“Legal Aid?” Jack said like he was referring to another planet. “We can afford a proper lawyer.”

“Pretty sure they’re proper lawyers,” Sean countered.

“No shit, but they’re pretty fucking busy,” Jack shot back. Sean didn’t think Jack knew anything about Legal Aid, neither did Sean, but it was a fair assumption.

“We can afford a good lawyer,” Jack said, quieter now.

“Easy for you to say,” Sean replied, ignoring the baffling ‘we’ in that sentence, “you’re not lookin’ at getting medically retired at twenty-seven. I’m gonna need that money.”

But Jack was already shaking his head. “I’ll pay for it, I’ve got the money from the car, another three years on my contract,” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

It was a pretty fucking big deal for Sean.

“You’re not payin’ for my fuckin’ lawyer, come on,” Sean said.

“I am,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “And you can’t stop me.”

It all felt quite childish, absurd.

“You said you wanna keep playing,” Jack went on. “And you deserve to have the same protection as the rest of us. I’m not going to argue about this.”

Sean could only blink up at him for a moment. They’d resumed their usual positions—Jack was standing up, Sean was sitting on the couch—and Jack once again looked unsure, but he was putting a good face on it with his posturing. Sean squeezed his eyes closed.

“I totalled the car,” he said. “If you got money for it, great, but I reckon I’m either gonna have to buy you a new one or you’re gonna have to use that cash to get yourself a new one.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Jack snapped. Sean’s eyes opened, widened.

“That fucking lunatic truck driver was amped up on dexies and lost control. He’s lucky all he got was a fucking suspended sentence,” Jack said angrily. “And the only reason I haven’t fucking sued him is ‘cos he’s got no money.”

Sean knew about the conviction. He didn’t know Jack had been thinking about suing him. It was the guy’s fault, sure, but the poor old bloke was under a lot of pressure; truckies had impossible deadlines, crossing from one side of the country to the other to meet them on no sleep, of course they took amphetamines. He said as much to Jack.

“You almost fucking died!” Jack exploded in response.

Sean’s mouth fell open. In all the years Sean had known Jack, the angriest he’d ever seen him was when he’d had him pinned against the lockers after the preliminary final. Aside from that, he’d taken Sean’s wrath with slumped shoulders, downcast eyes, and long-suffering sighing, with the exception of his few outbursts since they’d been living together. But nothing like this. Now he looked like he was about to punch the wall, chest heaving, eyes wild, his face red and furious.

Sean watched him take a deep breath. “I was going to,” Jack said quieter now. “I hired a lawyer, but she said I’d be spending a lot of money to get nothing in return. I could take on the company the guy worked for, but she said it’d be a long shot because they deferred all liability to the driver. It was a criminal case, they’d been absolved or some shit.”

“You did fuckin’ what now?” Sean asked, too disbelieving to muster up anger.

“I didn’t end up doing anything,” Jack replied, defeated.

“But you were going to, Jesus,” Sean said and rubbed his forehead. Jack was a lunatic. And this was a lot of commitment for fuck buddies.

“Of course I was, if I could’ve,” Jack replied softly. He sat down next to Sean, gripped his knee. “Just, promise me something.”

Sean looked at him. Jack was looking at his hand on Sean’s knee. Up close, Sean could smell the soap and shampoo of the training facility on his skin, the hint of deodorant he wore; it wasn’t the sport kind most of the guys wore, it was sharper and softer all at once. It smelled expensive and Jack always wore it lightly so you could still smell the hint of his sweat.

“I can’t promise anythin’ until I know what it is,” Sean said, because he wasn’t going to get trapped by some demented demand to drag the league through the courts—he wouldn’t put it past Jack based on this latest revelation.

Jack nodded, blonde hair falling in his face, his stubble glinting in the sunshine as he clenched his jaw.

“Promise you won’t just shoot through without talking to me if,” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the stretch of his throat prickly-looking with the hair coming through. “If they don’t let you play.”

“I reckon I’d need to pack up my shit, so it’s not like I could leave without you noticing,” Sean said.

“Don’t joke about it,” Jack squeezed his knee.

Sean placed his palm over Jack’s, slid their fingers together. “Alright,” he said, eyes on their hands. “Reckon I couldn’t just leave Lola like that anyway.”

Jack laughed, a brittle sound, and when Sean looked up, Jack was already watching him, a fond yet apologetic smile on his face. “She’d go with you.”

Sean frowned. “I’m not takin’ your dog.”

Jack tilted his head to the side, smile turning more fond, his eyes boring into Sean’s.

“She’s my dog,” Sean said.

“Yeah, Sean,” Jack said, his smile soft. “She’s yours.”

“Then why did you…”

“I dunno why I made you believe a lotta shit,” he replied and took his hand back as he stood. “I guess I didn’t want to see your face when you didn’t believe me. It’s a weak excuse,” he turned back and smiled apologetically, “but it’s all I got.”

Sean nodded, head brimming with questions, but not a single one vied for position more strongly than the obvious: are we together? And now he was scared of the answer too. Because if Jack didn’t want to tell him then that meant Jack didn’t think Sean would believe him. And maybe he wouldn’t have when he woke up, but now he would. And if anything could make Sean stay, it would be that. Jack must know that. So why wouldn’t he say it?