Chapter 35 #2
We head out to Navy Yard, where the match is to be held in two days’ time.
The rest of Jagger’s team, all of whom are veterans of the military, will be arriving later tonight, as well as England’s national amputee football team.
Emarvia doesn’t have a European federation team, but maybe this match will drum up enough attention that Jagger’s dream could become reality.
I’ve got a little pull with the Portyard owner and management team and convinced them to allow us the use of the stadium and staff for this event, as well as donating some of the proceeds from concessions.
I don’t remember the first time I set foot in this stadium because, as Mother tells it, Father brought me to a Portyard match for my first outing after coming home from hospital.
But I do have an entire cache of memories of this place.
And now, walking around like the director of operations, making last-minute tweaks and chatting with the men and women responsible for getting this event off without a hitch, I don’t think anything will ever top the experience of being on this side of the pitch.
I’m fielding frantic texts from Trixie, who is in charge of the after party, and trying to keep in contact with my remaining prospective wives, like I would in any normal dating scenario, and it should feel overwhelming, but it’s not.
It feels good to be in charge of something truly meaningful, to know that I took this whole thing from a wild idea Jagger and I had on a drunken late-night phone call to a full-blown event.
And not just any event, but one to honor and support men and women who had given so much for our country.
Even if we didn’t serve side by side, these are my brothers and sisters.
All day long, I keep thinking of how Aurelia would have loved this.
That woman can keep people on task and organize groups with the best of them.
I saw that firsthand on tour with her a few months ago.
She shares my love for football and was always so excited when I talked about this event.
As much as I try to force thoughts of her away as I work my ass off, she’s stuck in my mind like always. She should be here.
The reception when Jagger’s team arrives at the hotel that night is incredible.
People are lined up outside to snap selfies and shake hands as the players show up.
Hotel staff are on hand for each player and their families to assist with anything they need.
The hotel’s restaurant is booked for our use only, and we laugh and eat, share stories and toasts, drink and reminisce the night away.
I swell with pride, but also feel immensely humble the next day as I watch team training.
The outfielders are so fast on their crutches, chasing down balls and delivering beautiful crosses and controlling the ball with such finesse.
The smaller goal does nothing to lessen the impressive work the keepers do with only one hand.
I’m in awe of the resiliency and drive these people have.
And the strong bond of friendship they seem to share.
It makes me miss my days in the Royal Air Corps and my brothers and sisters in arms who never missed a chance to playfully rib one another, pull a mostly harmless prank, or rally around one another when one of our folks was in need.
“You’re romanticizing again.” Jagger groans as he falls into an overstuffed chair by the window.
We’re back in his hotel room after the match and all the surrounding events. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to explain how I’m feeling right now, but I couldn’t pass up one last opportunity to have a drink with my old flight partner. He leaves for Peru tomorrow to hike the Inca Trail.
“I’m not romanticizing,” I protest, plopping down on the floor between his legs with my back resting against the scratchy upholstery of the mass-produced hotel furniture.
His hand runs through my hair in that lazy way he used to when we had the rare time to lie around together after we enjoyed a few orgasms a piece.
“I’m just saying, I kind of miss that sense of freedom when the only worry is staying alive and making sure everyone else stays that way too. ”
He scoffs. “Stones, you have serious issues if you think that’s freedom.”
I twirl the gold ring engraved with a curly R on my left pinky. “It’s the most basic instinct, right? Stay alive. But being back home, there’s so much else to worry about. The political bullshit, keeping my nose clean in front of the paparazzi, this whole marriage dumbfuckery.”
He barks out a laugh that always made the rec room echo with warmth. “Dumbfuckery sounds like the right adjective for that. Marriage in general.”
“Ah, yes. If only we all could just travel the world without a care.”
He hands a glass of whiskey over my shoulder. “You could too if you wanted.”
I sip the over-priced scotch from the hotel bar. “Jag, you know I can’t.”
“Your Trixie says otherwise.”
I sigh. “What did she say?”
Jagger toys with a strand of my hair, sliding it back and forth between his fingers. “That you had tossed the big ‘A’ word around a couple times.”
I shrug, leaning my head back against his thigh in a way that’s comforting in its familiarity, but my body still doesn’t react to his proximity. “I think any royal would admit to thinking of abdication at some point in their lives. If they’re being completely honest, that is.”
“True. But she also says it wasn’t because you were concerned about the position you’ll inherit.”
“Fucking Christ,” I mutter. “Trixie and her big fucking mouth.”
“You forget, I’m the baby brother she never had,” he teases.
“Excuse you,” I scoff. “That title belongs to me.”
Jagger laughs. “Try again, brother.”
I huff and swirl my whiskey, watching the tears trickle down the glass.
“You know that he would never want that for you, right?” His voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks about the love that I’d tucked tightly away so many years ago.
Jagger had drawn the story out of me one night during survival training when we were in basic.
We’d laid out under the stars, our breaths making ghostly vapors in the winter air as we traded stories about growing up queer.
I crane my neck to look at him over my shoulder, but his head is tilted back over the low back of the chair, his own glass of whiskey dangling from the tips of his fingers.
“He knew what the deal was the first time you ever met, and he’s had years to come to grips with that.”
A hold wraps around my heart, one that I’m achingly familiar with but have grown so accustomed to that I rarely even notice it anymore.
“It’s not him.” My friend doesn’t say anything.
Maybe he doesn’t believe me. “It was a woman.” My voice is barely a whisper, as if speaking of it out loud will bring back all the hurt and joy and sorrow and love.
“A woman?” He says the word like it’s foreign to him.
I can only nod.
Jagger abruptly sits up in the chair, grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me around so I’m trapped in his hazel gaze. “That’s good, then, right? There’s nothing to hold you back there.”
If only that were so. “She’s a commoner.”
“Christ on a cracker. Are you all still on that made-up shit of common versus noble? Man, fuck that!”
I shove out of his hold, pushing roughly to my feet. “It’s not my fucking choice, is it?” Dragging my free hand through my beard, I pace the room, my pulse kicking up like it always does when I start thinking of Aurelia again.
“Your father is the king of the whole goddamn country. He may not hold all the power, but he has a lot of pull in legislation.”
“Jagger, it’s not that simple—”
“It is, though!” He snatches for my hand, pulling me back to him and onto my knees where he still sits. “Stones, if you love this woman, then you have to fight for her.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he silences me with a bruising kiss.
His tongue does battle with mine, wrestling and fighting as if he can subdue me with his mouth.
Fuck, and maybe he can. Because even as he pours all the passion and pent-up need that I know has been eating at him—because it should have been eating at me, too—I remember that while I love this man because of what we shared, I’m not in love with him.
I’ve only truly loved two people in my life, maybe three, and that kind of love is all-consuming.
It’s the fire that keeps me alive and destroys me at the same time.
That kind of love doesn’t develop over time; it doesn’t come with years of marriage or learning to make it happen.
The kind of love I feel for Aurelia is the kind that was tattooed on my soul the very moment I fell into those eyes like summer grass, the second I heard her sweet drawl while comforting little Darcy.
The instant I felt her skin on mine, she became a part of me.
And I let that kind of love go once before. I will not do that again.