Chapter 23
“Why are we doing this, again?” Sally asked for the fifth time, crunching on a carrot stick. They stood on the balcony of Caleb and Jamie’s flat, enjoying the first afternoon all week that it hadn’t been pissing down rain.
Caleb swiped at his forehead with the back of his wrist. He felt a clump of soil catch on his skin.
“Because I do this for him every year.”
Sally eyed the neat row of terracotta pots lined along the railing. Empty seed packets were scattered in a pile by his sneakers while he carefully pressed seeds into the soil. So far, he’d planted thyme, sage, and oregano. Basil would have to wait until May.
“Not to stereotype,” she said, pointing the carrot at him, “but I feel like Jamie should be the one doing this.”
Caleb snorted. “Why? You don’t think I can plant some herbs?”
“No, because he’s the one who bangs on about the environment all day, every day.”
She wasn’t wrong. Jamie had always wanted an herb garden on their balcony. That was why Caleb had started doing this for him every spring in the first place.
“Yeah, well,” Caleb said, nudging the pots into a tidy line. “The problem is, Jamie kills everything he touches. He desperately wants a green thumb, but his gardening skills are fucking terrible.”
Sally laughed between crunches, her freckled face scrunching up with delight. “It’s nice to see you like this, Caleb. You look happy.”
Without looking up, he smiled. “I am, Sal.” The week had been incredible, in fact. Spending time with Jamie, sleeping with him tucked into his chest again, had Caleb feeling lighter than he had in months.
He grabbed the dustpan and swept stray soil from the concrete. “Alright. I’m almost done.”
“Brilliant. I’m nicking the loo before we go.
” She popped the rest of the carrot into her mouth and disappeared inside.
Caleb watched her red hair disappear into the apartment and smiled to himself.
He took one last look at the little urban garden he’d built, letting himself feel proud of the work he’d done.
Standing and dusting his hands on his jeans, he glanced up at the grey London sky to send a quiet thank you to his mom for teaching him how to garden. An alert was set on his phone to let him know if frost was in the forecast. He’d have to bring the pots inside if that happened…
“Okay, ready!” Sally announced from behind him.
They drove to the stadium, and, per usual, Sally talked nonstop about how she was feeling about the match.
“Arsenal’s defense is brutal, but if Dillion can get a few in early, I think we can hold the lead.
Smithy’s not Angie, obviously, but she’s solid.
What do you think? Angie’ll be back for Everton? ”
“It’s hard to tell. Maybe.” Angie’s ankle had been off and on all season, and now that it was already March, she was at risk of being benched until next year. It was killing her. Caleb reminded her daily that she was young and had plenty of game left in her, but it still sucked.
“Oh… and are you going to Ellie’s thing?” Sally pivoted to the next random thought on her mind. “Her birthday’s next week, and she says she’s got this friend. Apparently, she’s fit and wants to set me up…”
Caleb smiled as he turned into the stadium lot, letting Sally burn off her pre-game nerves. It had become a bit of a ritual. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard Sally make a fake-barfing noise.
“Ugh, Holcombe. What a wanker,” Sally muttered as they pulled into their usual spot. The head coach pulled in beside them. The tall man stepped out, slinging a briefcase over his shoulder. Was his expression permanently sour?
“Sal, come on. Be nice. He’s your coach.” Even if Sally was one of his closest friends, he couldn’t openly trash the man to the players. It wasn’t professional, and Caleb needed to work with the guy for the kids’ summer camps coming up.
“Yeah, well, he’s still an arse,” she shot back. “He told Angie she was getting”—she raised air quotes—“‘thick’ and that she should go on a diet. And I heard him tell his son not to ‘act gay’ when he was talking about his mates.”
Caleb flinched. What a prick.
Before he could reply, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and immediately smiled.
Jamie
Did you do this?
A photo of the herb garden on the balcony followed, with the addition of Jamie’s finger pointing to the pots.
Nope. Someone must’ve broken in.
Jamie
Caleb!!
Lol it was me. Do you like it?
Jamie
I love it!!!
He started typing again when the messages disappeared, and a call came through. He almost declined automatically, assuming it was his dad. He’d called Caleb three times now.
“Fuck,” he muttered, staring at the screen. Sally turned and leaned over his shoulder.
“What? Who is it?”
“My sister.”
Sally frowned at the screen and said, “I thought your sister’s name was Tay.”
Caleb sighed. “My other sister, Bri.”
He hit ignore and quickly typed:
Hey Bri. At a game right now. What’s up?
A typing bubble appeared almost instantly. Caleb scrolled up and realized he hadn’t spoken to her in over six months.
Bri
Call Dad back. It’s important.
Caleb typed back a quick Okay and shoved the phone into his pocket. After the game, he’d deal with whatever the fuck that was about.
The game flew by in a whirlwind of insane goals, amazing defense, and not a single injury for Chelsea. Basically, the best game Caleb had been on the sidelines for in a while.
“FUCK YEAH, BITCHES!” Dillion yelled from where she stood on top of the bench in the locker room. She had already stripped off her shirt, six pack proudly on display, and was swinging it around in the air. “Smithy! You”—she pointed at their newest starter—“kicked so much arse I could fucking weep.”
The young blonde blushed and ducked her head. She had played incredibly, helping Chelsea claw back from a 2-0 deficit in the first half.
Standing up and stretching his back, Caleb walked over to Angie. Her long caramel hair had fallen forward, shielding her face. “You alright, Ang?”
Sad eyes turned on him. “I’m so proud of the team. They did amazing. But…” She glanced down at her foot. Caleb had examined it yesterday, and… yeah, it wasn’t looking good. “Just wanna play, is all.”
“I know.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll get you there.”
Even if the injury wasn’t his fault, it still felt like he was failing her somehow. “Why don’t we meet here tomorrow morning?” he said. “We’ll run some controlled drills. Just you and me.”
She blinked hard and nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”
“Bring Freya, okay? And you’re still coming to Game Night this weekend, right?”
Her lips curved into a small, slightly forced smile. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Ladies, calm down. Oi!” Halcombe stormed to the center of the room, glaring at Dillion. “Sit, Hawthorne. Now.”
With a petty smirk, Dillion hopped off the bench and settled in between Sally and Drea. As the coach launched into his post-game analysis, Caleb slipped out the door to clean up his training gear. The faster he got it all into his bag, the sooner he’d be home to Jamie.
Checking his phone, he saw a few texts from Jamie, a message from Maggie asking him how he was doing, and another missed call from Dad.
Like the shitty son he was, he didn’t call his dad back on the drive home and instead called Tay. He rolled down the window and smoked a cigarette. Nicotine was the only way to make thoughts of the old fuck fade away.
“Chéri, you are glowing.” JB lounged at the high-top table, a glass of white wine cupped in his slim hand.
Jamie pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. “Glowing? What do you mean?”
JB’s dark eyes drifted slowly from Jamie’s face down to his throat, lingering there. “You made love,” he announced with a wicked smirk.
“What?” Jamie spluttered. “Caleb’s been at the Chelsea game all day!”
“No, I mean this week. You’ve been making love.”
Heat flooded Jamie’s cheeks, and he snatched up the menu, holding it in front of his face. “Christ’s sake, Jean-Baptiste…”
Slim fingers plucked it straight out of his hands.
“Oi!” Jamie protested just as the waiter appeared. JB didn’t miss a beat.
“This one will have your fanciest mocktail,” he said, gesturing lazily toward Jamie.
The poor server flushed—as people tended to do when JB focused on them—and hurried off. JB slapped the menu back onto the table. “Now,” he said brightly, leaning forward, “tell me everything.”
“About… Caleb?”
“About your lovemaking.”
Jamie nearly swallowed his tongue. “Jesus Christ, I… I don’t—” He cleared his throat, trying to regain control of this conversation. “What, exactly, do you want to know?”
JB propped his chin on his fists, eyes gleaming. Jamie should have known that agreeing to drinks was a mistake.
“Was it amazing? Are you back to being tragically in love?” The server returned with Jamie’s mocktail, which he grabbed immediately. JB continued, “When is the wedding?”
Jamie choked. “Slow down.” His cheeks were blazing now. “I’ll tell you—just… give me a moment.”
JB gave a delicate, satisfied shrug and leaned back, crossing his arms.
Naturally, he was wearing a perfectly tailored green suit that made him look like he belonged in a romantic comedy. Meanwhile, Jamie had spent the entire afternoon stressing about his library exhibit and had thoroughly destroyed his curls by dragging his hands through them for three straight hours.
“Things have been… good,” he said, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.
JB arched a skeptical brow. “Good?”
“Fine. Amazing. We’ve been…” Jamie sighed, realizing there was no escaping this conversation. “We’ve been sleeping together.”
JB leaned forward, mouth already opening, but Jamie pointed a warning finger at him. “Let me finish.”
The Frenchman snapped his mouth shut, settling back with a grin.
“It’s been nice,” Jamie went on, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sleeping in the same bed still feels new to me. So, erm… yes, the other stuff has been excellent as well.” His voice climbed higher as an unhelpful image of Caleb pinning him to the kitchen counter that morning flashed through his mind.
“You deviant,” JB said, taking a delicate sip of wine. “I am so proud.” Jamie dropped his face into his hands with a groan.
“So, how’s the sex?”
Jamie peeked through his fingers. “Really, erm… fantastic, actually.”
A genuine smile spread on JB’s handsome face. “Alright, alright, chéri. Enough torture. I will stop interrogating you about your sexy American. How is your head?”
“My head?”
“Yes. The headaches. You were having them before, no?”
“Yeah. Those have mostly gone away.” Jamie frowned down into his drink. “I do have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, though. I’m hoping she says I can bike again.”
JB ducked his head slightly, catching Jamie’s eye. “Do you want company? I can come with you.”
Jamie smiled and shook his head. JB was a menace, but also a really great friend. “No, thank you. Caleb’s coming.”
“Ah.” JB crossed his arms. “You have your sexy American. You do not need this old French arse.”
Jamie choked on his drink for the second time.