12. Tate
TATE
That date last night was... something else.
Since meeting Tom and Jules. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I haven't been able to get them—and Vince—out of my head. Thinking of how they started and what they became.
I've known for a while now that I like fooling around with Vince and feeling this chemistry with him.
But I'm still uncertain about what it is that he wants from me, and what exactly is going on between us.
It's easy to get caught up in the fantasy and the dream of what we are—we're putting it on for the media and pretending to be together, then behind closed doors we're fooling around and bringing each other pleasure.
Yet, we still retreat to our own beds at the end of the night. There's no cuddling or intimacy or… connection. Yeah, there's mateship, jokes, laughter and mucking around, but nothing that screams coupledom to me.
Not like Jules and Tom were last night.
It’s been playing in my head over and over. If this is just our circumstance, or if there is room for something more between us. And if that what I want out of it.
Something that I do know, though, is that I need to talk to my dad.
I don't know how he's going to handle this whole situation, but I need his advice.
I've never not gone to him when I need help, or I don’t know what to do.
And right now, right now I need him to help me muddle out the mess inside my head.
I walk into the kitchen to find Vince making coffees for us in the usual morning routine that we've sort of fallen into over the past few months.
“Morning,” I say, scratching the back of my head.
“Morning,” he says, handing me my coffee.
“I'm gonna go see Dad today,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. Brewed to perfection, as always. It’s such a small thing, but having Vince know how to make coffee the way I like it always hits me in the feels.
“You are?” he asks, his eyes wide with shock.
“Yeah,” I say, cleaning my throat and averting my eyes. “With training starting back up in a few days, I just need to go and see Dad, to have a chat with him and get everything ready for training camp.”
“You’re going home?” Vince asks, his face paling. I don't know what it is that I've said that's made him react like this.
“I’ll come back after,” I say. Honestly, I didn’t even consider not coming back here—I was just going to go talk to Dad for a bit then come home, because that’s what this place has become to me.
Somehow, in the last few weeks, even without officially moving in, this place—Vince—has become home to me.
And I really need to figure out what is going on inside of me with thoughts like that floating around the front of my mind.
“No, no, no, you should stay home,” Vince says.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep up with this conversation.
“Yeah, you're right,” he continues, clearing his throat. “You should go home—should have a few days with your dad and everything before we have to go away for training camp. Go home.”
“I wasn't going to stay there. I was gonna come back here,” I state.
I was going to come home to you.
Is what I don’t have the courage to say. Vince can be so hot and cold with me, and it’s times like this that I don’t know how to process what he is saying.
…I don’t know what it is that he wants from me.
“No, no, no, no, you're right,” he blurts out, starting to move around the kitchen in a nervous flutter. I have never seen him act this way. “We need—we need some space and distance to get our heads screwed on straight for training camp. I didn't realise it was so close.”
“Vince—,” I start, but he talks over me, paying me no mind as he continues to move about.
“Besides, there are things that I need to get ready for camp too. I have barely spent anytime preparing for the defence line. I’m going to have to spend the next few days going over all the footage from the premiership and figure out what we did well and see if there’s any room for improvement for the next season. ”
“Vince—,” I try again, but he still doesn’t look at me.
“Besides, we have those new drafts that we are joining the team, and I need to review the plays to see where they will fit in best.”
“VINCE—,” I yell, finally getting his attention.
I always feel better when I have his eyes on me.
“We’re okay, right? Like, you know, with everything going on, we can still do what we've been doing here, right?”
“I—I don't know, Tate,” he says with a sigh. “We kind of said that we'd reassess at the start of the season and with training camp starting, this was the time that we were going to kind of tell everyone that we were better off as coach and player, that was the plan, right?”
Fuck, that was the plan. I don't know where the last few months have gone.
Do I still want that?
I don't. Fuck. I so don’t.
“I don't know. Is that what you want the plan to be?” is what falls out of my mouth.
“Well, yeah, that's the plan. That's the plan that we had,” says Vince, saying so many words and nothing at the same time.
I try not to show the hurt on my face at his words. Maybe that was the plan, that doesn’t mean it can’t change… does it?
“Maybe we should take some time over the next few days before camp starts to really think about it and um, and we can go from there,” I offer.
I really wish I could say more, that I had the courage too or even to just understand what it is that I want. This is why I wanted to talk to Dad after all.
I was just trying to tell him I was going to go out for a few hours.
I wasn't telling him that I was leaving.
I wasn't moving out. Not that I’d ever really moved in.
Fuck. Is this him kicking me out?
“Oh. Okay,” I say, trying to just salvage this conversation. “I'll text you, right? We can still talk?
“Uh, yeah, yeah, okay, he says.
“And then I'll see you in a few days, um, when training starts?”
“Yep,” he says, that distant, aloof presence back in action.
I don't know what has happened here, it’s leaving me a bit dumbfounded because I thought that we were building…something here. This conversation has left me with endless questions, knowing now that this is how he feels.
I feel like he couldn't wait to get me out of his house, and all this talk about telling everyone we’re over, like we didn’t just have sex last night?
Well, not sex sex. But mutual orgasms are still sex in my book, there doesn’t have to be penetration for it to be counted—hell, even if I just got him off and didn’t cum myself, that would still be sex in my book.
All I can think of is how I don't want it to be over. Do I?
Heading back to what has been dubbed my room, I gather a few of my things, but leave the bulk of it behind. I'm adamant that I'm coming back. I'm not leaving. I'm not done. I may not know completely what is going on inside my head yet, but I know that much.
Next time I just hope that I might end up in Vince’s room, instead of this one.
With a final wave to Vince, I head to my car.
My eyes lingering in the rearview mirror, hoping for just a glimpse of him as I leave, but he’s not there.
The twist in my gut makes me want to turn back.
To run back to that house to be with him.
But even with that part inside of me, I know that I need this—that we need this.
Even if it’s the last thing in the world that I want right now.