Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Devon
My ribs ached as I stretched but there was no sharp pain or anything to indicate they were anything more than bruised. That was something at least, because the last thing I wanted was another set of cracked ribs. And not just because it would stop me playing, but because it would definitely prevent Jonny from folding me in half and fucking my brains out later.
Which, if I was being honest, was the thing I’d be most upset about missing.
“Are you okay?” Jonny asked as he walked up to me with West alongside him. “How’re your ribs? Are they broken?”
“Sore but not broken, just bruised.” I took another swig of my bottle as I looked over his shoulder to where the Coventry players had finally finished arguing with the referee. “What happened there? I missed half of it.” I’d seen there was a bit of a punch-up, but I’d been too busy spitting out turf to see what started it. Although I had heard Jonny pulling someone off me and yelling at him.
I didn’t think he’d been binned again, though, so even if he’d started it, the fight had definitely escalated out of his control.
“Eh, they were being twats and didn’t like being called out on it,” Jonny said with a shrug. “Then one of them hit me around the back of the head.”
“Shit, you okay?”
“Yeah, he didn’t exactly hit hard.”
“Was that it then?” I asked, looking between the pair of them. I wasn’t completely convinced it was the whole truth, but since everyone was getting back into position to restart, I didn’t have time to press much further.
“Yeah, that was it,” West said with a furtive glance at Jonny, who said nothing and instead put his gumshield back in. There was something going on, but it would have to wait until later.
The match resumed at a fairly mundane pace, but with our opponents being a man down, it was easy to get the ball through their defences and across the try line. Charlie put it down in the middle too, right between the goal posts, which meant an easy kick to convert it for the extra two points. It was such an easy position to kick from, I could have done it in my sleep, but I still watched carefully to make sure the ball landed squarely between the posts and over the bar.
The last thing I wanted was for us to lose points due to my complacency.
When the final whistle sounded, the small group of our travelling fans burst into rapturous applause as we all grabbed each other in tight hugs as we celebrated. Not all games were such easy wins, and it was always nice to take away good points and a solid score difference. I almost felt bad for the home fans, although it looked like half of them had already left.
“Good job today,” Jonny said as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me in tight, squeezing me hard and patting my ass cheekily before he released me, because nobody ever batted an eyelid at an ass grab in rugby. “I can’t wait to celebrate later. As long as you’re not too sore.”
“I can’t wait,” I said quietly, grinning at him as we all went to shake the hands of the opposition players and the officials before trooping back to the changing room to cool down and shower. My kit was plastered to my skin with mud, the pale blue colour now virtually covered in brown, and I knew when I took it off the rest of me would be covered too. It was even in my ears.
Maybe it would be worth taking two showers before I let Jonny get his hands on me.
The mood in the away dressing room was a jubilant one, with singing and cheering as we all relaxed and stripped off. Sammy and Donna came in to help remove our sports tape, which supported various muscles and joints or in some cases gave people something to hold on to. It was why some of the forwards had bands of it around their thighs to provide extra leverage and grip in the scrum.
“Good job today, boys,” Clive said as he strolled in with Tommy and Gavin beside him. “Nice set of points and good movement of the ball. But—” There was a collected groan from all of us and a few muttered grumbles about having to do this now. “No, no, we’re doing this now. Does anyone want to tell me what the bloody hell went on in the middle of that half? Why the fuck were you fighting?”
He looked directly at Jonny, who was sat right beside me, and raised a grey eyebrow. “Wasn’t my fault,” Jonny said flatly. “They flattened Dev and wouldn’t get off him. And then they tried talking shit.”
“And they threw the first punch,” Mason said from Jonny’s other side as he sipped a can of beer. “Well, the only one that hit anything anyway.”
There was a round of chuckles and Clive sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. I could tell he was trying not to smile. “You used to do a lot worse,” Jonny added with a cheeky grin that I shouldn’t have found so damn hot. “And it’s not like we got in trouble. You have always told us to push people.”
Clive sighed again. “Cheeky wankers, the lot of you,” he said, but he was definitely smiling now. Beside him, Tommy was grinning but Gavin was bristling, which probably meant we were in for a world of pain when we went back to training next week. “Right, get yourselves cleaned up. We’re leaving in forty minutes. Jonny, Devon, I want a word before we get back on the bus.”
“What do you think that’s about?” I asked as the changing room returned to raucous levels of celebration.
Jonny shrugged as he peeled off his shirt, and I tried not to stare at the vast amount of chest and shoulder being exposed in front of me. Fuck, Jonny had nice arms. And shoulders too. Very muscular and strong… perfect for bending me over or pressing my thighs open or—
“If you keep staring, your face’ll stay like that,” he said teasingly.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Yeah, sure.” He grinned and stood up to yank his shorts down, and I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. “You should be getting changed. We need to shower.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I said as I pulled my own shirt over my head, wincing as it stretched my chest muscles. When I glanced down, I could see bruises starting to form on my ribs, mottling the skin with purple. I’d had worse, though, and bruises were such an everyday part of playing professional rugby that I barely registered them most of the time.
“I don’t know,” Jonny said as he rolled off his socks, chucking them on the floor next to his shorts. “Maybe something to do with today?” He glanced around. “Maybe something about the other night?”
“God, I hope not. I’ll fucking die if it is.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Die,” he said softly. “I’d miss you too much. And it took long enough for us to get here.”
His words caught me off guard with their sweetness and for a second I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at him with an open mouth. We’d still not really talked about what we were doing and what it meant—we’d simply carried on as we always had only with filthy, possessive sex thrown into the mix.
Maybe we should have that conversation, but I wasn’t in a rush. I was already getting everything I’d ever wanted, and asking for more felt selfish.
We stripped off and grabbed some towels, heading for the shower and narrowly avoiding Hunter and Bailey dicking around and trying to snap each other’s underwear like a pair of unsupervised teenagers. Even Matty, who was a constant, walking ball of stress, seemed to be in a good mood and when Danny grabbed control of a portable speaker and began playing ABBA, he started singing along.
By the time we’d scrubbed all the mud out of every orifice and found some clean, dry clothes, they’d all moved on to singing Dolly Parton and Cher.
Hearing a bunch of rugby players belting out “Believe” was something that had to be seen to be believed. In the new year, I was going to insist on a team night out to The Court’s karaoke night because I wanted to see the look on everyone’s face when half the team got up to sing a bunch of queer classics with completely straight faces. And maybe I wanted to watch them get roasted by some of the queens too.
Although they were more likely to get hit on based on what I’d experienced.
Jonny and I ducked out of the dressing room, our fingers brushing against each other. Clive was waiting outside chatting to Tommy, and he shook his head when the door swung behind us, the sound of singing filling the corridor.
“I’m not sure if you lot have shit taste in music, or amazing,” Clive said, clapping Tommy on the shoulder and sending him off down the corridor.
“Definitely amazing,” I said, trying not to laugh. “The singing, though…”
“Well, none of you will be winning any awards any time soon, that’s for sure.” He looked between the pair of us, eyes lingering on how close our hands were—touching but not holding. “So, you two.”
“What about us?” Jonny asked.
“You together then?” Clive said it so casually, like he was making an observation on the weather, and I was painfully aware we were having this conversation in the corridor where anyone could hear us.
If they could hear us.
Danny’s and Charlie’s rendition of “S Club Party” might be just the distraction we needed.
“Yeah,” I said, letting my fingers find Jonny’s, warmth running up my arm as they interlaced themselves. “We are.”
“Is that gonna be a problem?” Jonny asked. “Didn’t think there was anything in the club guidelines.”
“Probably because they didn’t think of it,” Clive said wryly.
“That’s what we said,” I said.
“How did you…” Jonny trailed off and shifted slightly from one foot to the other.
Clive shrugged. “It was bloody obvious. Spend as much time with you lot as I do, and it’s easy to figure things out.” He looked at us pointedly and waved a hand vaguely at me. “And Devon came in covered in bloody hickeys. Come on, boys, you weren’t exactly subtle.”
“It could have been someone else,” I stammered out, looking down at my trainers.
“With the way you’ve been mooning over him? Not fucking likely,” he said. “Now, I don’t have a problem with it, although I’d rather you’d have told me yourselves.”
“Sorry,” Jonny said. “We’re, er, still figuring things out. It’s all pretty new. For me at least.”
I looked up to see Clive nodding, a deeply thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s all right. I know now.” He looked straight at Jonny, with a gaze that demanded attention. “Is that why you lost your temper today? Because I’ve never seen you do anything like that before.”
“Er, maybe. I just didn’t like watching Dev get flattened like that.”
“You and I both know that excuse isn’t going to cut it,” Clive said. “Getting tackled is all part of the game, and as fly-half Devon is always going to be a target. And if you’re going to lose your fucking temper every time someone touches him, then we’re going to have a problem.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonny said quietly. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just… yeah, I’m sorry.”
“If you’re struggling and you need to talk about it, that’s fine,” Clive said, his voice calm and understanding but with a steel note underneath that reminded us he wasn’t going to take any shit. “We can do that. There’s always help available. Because you’ve got to get your shit together, Jonny.”
“I know.”
“You can’t let your feelings or your relationship get in the way of the team. You have to put the team first. And that means you can’t be making emotional decisions like that. You were lucky today, but last weekend was another matter and I don’t want us to be having this conversation again in two weeks because you couldn’t get your temper under control. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Jonny said with a nod, and I squeezed his hand tightly, wishing there was something I could say. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good,” Clive said. He shot the pair of us a smile. “Good job today, both of you. Go get your stuff and turf the knockoff Underground Dreaming out of the dressing room. We’ve got a bus to catch.”
He turned and walked down the corridor, leaving Jonny and me standing in awkward silence.