Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jonny
I shouldn’t have been clock watching, looking up every two seconds from my coffee to see if Devon had arrived yet, my foot bouncing on the floor under the table and my stomach rumbling because I didn’t want to get breakfast without him. The canteen was filling up as the minutes ticked past and the clock on the wall crept towards five past eight.
I was starting to get worried.
Devon was always here at bang on half seven and I’d never known him to be more than five or ten minutes late at most. The fact he still wasn’t here and that he hadn’t messaged me wasn’t a good sign.
My fingers flexed as I tried to resist the temptation to drum them against the tabletop. I was two minutes away from leaving and driving to Devon’s flat to find him, and if he wasn’t there, I’d be driving around Lincoln until I did.
I’d promised myself late last night when I’d been lying in bed, staring at the empty darkness above me, that I wouldn’t make a big deal about Devon’s date with Peaches. I’d even try and be supportive given how I’d been read the riot act in the changing room by both him and Matty. But if his date was the reason he was late… if he was hurt… then I’d never forgive anyone, especially not myself.
Asking him to share his location with me had always felt unnecessary, but after today, maybe it would be the best option. Who cared if it was overbearing as long as I knew he was safe.
I chugged the last of my coffee, shuddering as the dregs clumped on my tongue, and grabbed my phone, preparing to head out into the corridor and call him until he picked up. And if he didn’t answer by quarter past eight, I was going to leave. Clive wouldn’t mind.
“Sorry I’m late.” The chair opposite me scraped on the floor as it was pulled out and a breathless Devon flopped into it. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked fucking exhausted as well as dishevelled as fuck. His clothes looked rumpled, like he’d grabbed them off the floor, and his hoodie had a small stain on his chest from where he’d spilt tomato sauce on it yesterday. “I overslept.”
I grunted, relaxing slightly but not enough to feel at ease. “Where’ve you been? I was getting worried.”
“Sorry,” he repeated with a sheepish smile. He burped and I wrinkled my nose at the smell of stale alcohol on his breath.
“Are you drunk?”
“No? At least, I don’t think so.” He thought for a second, then shook his head. “Nope, not anymore.”
“Anymore?” I asked in a low, rumbling growl. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dev, are you hungover?”
“Maybe? Just a little bit.” He grinned again like it was no big fucking deal to rock up late and hungover to training the day before a match. “Do you know if they’ve got sausages this morning? I really want sausages.”
“No idea.”
“You haven’t eaten?” He looked surprised. “Why not?”
“Because I was waiting for you,” I said quietly. It sounded ridiculous now I was saying it out loud, but I couldn’t take it back and I wasn’t going to lie to him. “We always have breakfast together.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” The easy grin had been replaced by guilt hanging heavy on his handsome features. It made my stomach bubble uneasily. I didn’t want Devon to feel guilty, but I didn’t know how to undo it. “I should have gotten up when the alarm went off. I remember swiping my phone but then I rolled over and next thing I knew…” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Today is going to be hell. And I deserve it.”
“What the fuck did you do?” I asked as twin emotions flared in my chest. I wanted to be annoyed at him, and I still was, but I also hated seeing him suffering and I wanted to feed him sausages, strong tea, and paracetamol until he felt better. I’d never been the world’s best nurse when people were sick, but hungover was different. I didn’t necessarily need to be sympathetic.
“Nothing!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, you got hungover from drinking water and having an early night. Fuck’s sake, Devon, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m assuming it was from your date with Peaches?”
“It wasn’t a date,” he said. “Not really.”
Another flare in my chest. I’d promised myself I was going to be supportive, but now the moment was here, I was struggling. “Did you have fun at least?”
“Yeah, it was good.” He sounded surprised, but I didn’t know why. Had he not been expecting it to go well? If so, why had he gone at all? Had he only been telling me it was a date because it was easier than telling me it was a hook-up? But we’d always been open with each other about that shit, so why would Devon stop now?
My head was reeling as much as my stomach and nothing seemed to make sense. I knew there was a logical answer here, but for some reason I was struggling to find it through the haze of my emotions.
“Where did you go?”
“Bisou,” Devon said as his eyes drifted over to the serving counter. I could practically see him drooling onto the table. “It’s just at the bottom of Steep Hill… Do you want to get some food? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, sure.” I couldn’t tell him no even if the churning in my stomach had slightly dulled my hunger. But I was enough of a professional athlete to know I needed to eat even if I wasn’t feeling it, especially the day before a match when I needed to preload.
Rugby union was a physically brutal sport where we’d all be putting our bodies through the wringer for up to eighty minutes. And I respected my body, which meant giving it what it needed and taking care of myself. At the end of the day, this was my job and my body was my equipment, and run-down equipment meant I ran the risk of doing a shit job. And I owed my team better than that.
We played together, we won together, we lost together, simple as. Which meant I had to do everything in my power to make sure it was the former, not the latter.
“Make sure you have water as well as coffee,” I added as we stood. “And plenty of carbs. Get some fruit too. That’ll be good for you.”
Devon’s cheeky grin returned and he fucking winked at me. “Yes, sir.”
He walked away leaving me standing in the middle of the dining room with my mouth half-open. What the fuck had gotten into him? First, he was late and hungover, then he was acting giddy as fuck, then he’d been vague, and now he was winking at me.
Shit. Did this mean he and Peaches had fucked?
Was this some sort of morning-after high?
I hadn’t been around Devon post hook-up for a while and I couldn’t remember what he was usually like. I knew I had seen him the morning after before, but the memories refused to come to me, like my brain had forgotten where it had put them or the drawer they were in was rusted shut. It seemed like the most logical explanation, though: they’d gone out, gotten drunk, had sex, and then Devon had gone home to pass out, waking up late, hungover… and happy.
When was the last time he’d been this happy?
My brain stalled, glitching and spluttering like an old van engine coughing out grey smoke as I tried turning it over again and again. Devon being happy was everything to me, so why did I hate the idea of someone else making him feel that way? He might have been my best friend, but I’d never been against him having relationships in the past.
What was it about the idea of him being with Peaches that made me want to break something?
“You all right, Jonny?” West asked, appearing beside me with a tray heaving with food, including a huge bowl of porridge, a filled omelette, and a stack of thick-cut French toast covered in syrup and blueberries. Nobody calorie loaded like the front row, whose entire job was being big as brick shithouses, strong enough to lift a cart horse, and fit enough to keep going for an entire match without stopping.
“Yeah,” I said with a swallow, trying to ignore how dry my throat was. “Why?”
“You’re stood in the middle of the dining room staring into space with your mouth open.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “Didn’t think you were considering a career change to flytrap.”
That made me laugh and I chuckled. “Shut up.”
“Eh, you laughed. You eaten yet?”
“No, I was just going to get something.”
“Can I join you?” He hefted the tray. “I could do with some company while I make my way through all this.”
“Sure, Devon and I are just at the back there.” I gestured in the direction of our regular table. Usually I preferred it if Devon and I were alone, but with the way I was feeling, I needed a distraction.
“Cool, see you in a minute,” he said, shooting me a warm smile before he walked towards our table near the window. I turned and headed towards the serving counter where Devon had already finished loading his tray up with a mountain of carbs and half a dozen Lincolnshire sausages. But I did see he’d slotted a small bowl of fruit salad onto the corner, and I smiled.
“See,” he said when he spotted me, lifting the tray under my nose with a sweet expression that made the bottom drop out of my stomach. “I got some fruit.”
Gods above, he shouldn’t look so endearing like this. Like he wanted my approval. It made me feel like I’d stepped off one of those fairground rides that spun you around so fast the force pinned you to the sides—nauseous but pumped full of adrenaline. I didn’t want the feeling to fade, but I didn’t know how to keep it going either.
“Well done,” I said with a nod. “Not sure it’s enough with all the rest of it.”
“Oh please, I’ll be fine.”
“You already said today was gonna be hell.”
“Yeah, it will be but at least I’ve got sausages.” He smiled and pain shot through my chest. I wanted him to be happy, more than anything in the fucking world. But the thought of not being the one making him smile was agonising.
I couldn’t make him happy, though, could I? I wasn’t what he needed.
Devon frowned. “You okay?”
“Yeah just… now I’ve stood up I’ve realised how hungry I am.”
“Get something to eat then,” he said fondly, nudging me with his elbow. “Did I see West’s joining us?”
“Yeah… wants some company while he fills up. He’s gotta eat about three breakfasts.”
“Cool! Sounds good.” He walked away and I had to physically wrench my gaze away to stop myself from staring at him. I felt utterly miserable as I grabbed a tray and a plate and began to help myself to food, barely glancing at what I was picking up.
I knew it was all going to taste the same anyway, so why bother putting any effort into choosing?
By the time I got back to the table, West and Devon were already chatting away as West polished off his bowl of porridge. I assumed he’d eaten it first because cold porridge was rank and it was only then I realised I’d picked some up too and drenched it with golden syrup, bits of strawberry studding the surface.
I grabbed my spoon and swirled it around, the steam flooding my senses with sweetness, which just about covered the overwhelming smell of ketchup and brown sauce from beside me where Devon had covered his sausages and potato, chorizo, and spinach hash in enough of the stuff to float a small dinghy. He’d already eaten his fruit, but any thoughts I had of mentioning it evaporated when I realised what the two of them were talking about.
“Oh, I know where you mean,” West said. “Rory and I had our first date there.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” I muttered under my breath, because I distinctly remembered West going out for a drink and bringing Rory back to our house and railing him very loudly while Mason, our ex-housemate Guy, and I played Call of Duty .
West flushed slightly. “We had a drink first.”
“The cocktails are good,” Devon said, either not noticing West’s embarrassment or giving him a way out. “They were doing a two-for-one deal. That’s probably what caused it.” He scrubbed his face again and I realised his olive skin had a sickly, pale tint to it. “They were better than the wine at least.”
“Sounds like you had fun,” West said as he reached for his omelette, a little smile playing across his lips that I didn’t like the look of. “Peaches is great, right?”
“Yeah,” Devon said with a nod as he looked down at his plate, lost in thought. “I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere, but we had fun. I’m paying for it now, though.”
“Did you kiss him?” I asked, growling out the question like I’d been chewing gravel. It sounded like I was interrogating him, but all I could think about was Peaches’s mouth on Devon’s, kissing him deeply. I really wanted it to have been bad. Like kissing a wet fish. But I’d seen Peaches and he looked like the sort of man who kissed like a fucking god.
Devon’s head snapped towards me, his smile evaporating and a deep frown of annoyance settling onto his features. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t. You can shag whoever you want.”
“Then why are you asking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to kill someone.”
I stabbed my spoon into my bowl with such force it made an audible thunk. “That’s bollocks.”
“Yeah? Well, tell your face that.” He jabbed me sharply with a finger. “You promised not to be a dickhead, remember?”
“I’m not.”
We both knew it was a lie and I couldn’t bring myself to meet Devon’s eyes, the tension between us so thick and cloying it threatened to suffocate me. I could feel West staring at us and I wondered if he’d intervene or just let us get on with it.
I didn’t know what “it” was, though.
Devon was slipping away from me and all I did was push him further every time I opened my damn mouth.
My hand curled into a fist and I felt the spoon bending in my grasp.
But it was better to break the spoon than someone’s face.