Chapter 21
AGGRO
HAMMER
Friday is weights day. Me, Tank and Kingy hit the club gym and smash chest. The boys head upstairs to do media with Tessa, so I grind out a few last sets on the bench press alone.
I’m about to hit my final set when a big tatted unit shuffles into the gym in his red Chicago Bulls tank: Brick.
I deliberately don’t make eye contact with him and when I glance sideways at him loading up the leg press, he’s deliberately not making eye contact with me either.
I don’t wanna be around the shit vibes of someone who hates me, but I refuse to be chased out of the gym. Gotta stay here and finish my set in defiance of him.
But when I lift the barbell above my chest, I think of him saying ‘choo choo, motherfucker’, and it throws me off – long enough for me to lose the balance of the barbell.
The plastic collar on the barbell slides clean off – one of the faulty ones that float around the gym – and the twenty-kilo plate slides off after it, crashing into a metal pole; it takes all my strength to stabilise the barbell on the other side to stop it crushing my rib cage.
I twist a weird way in doing so, and feel my back seize up again.
‘FUCK!’ I shout, doubling over at the end of the bench, head between my knees.
A voice calls over from the leg press. ‘You okay, bro?’
I can’t help myself. ‘As if you give a shit.’
‘Piss off with your pity-party bullshit,’ Brick’s voice snaps, suddenly right beside me.
I look up: he’s standing next to me, offering his hand.
‘Did you hurt your back?’ he asks, kicking the lopsided barbell to the side.
I hesitate. I want to grab him by the neck of his Chicago Bulls singlet and shout all my rage in his face, but my back is sore and he’s a physio.
I turn around, crouching over the bench and exposing both my spine and my arse to him. ‘Down here,’ I mutter, my fingers touching the painful spot.
‘Damn tight knot,’ Brick remarks.
He starts kneading my back and the tension eases at once. I haven’t badly injured myself. Phew. ‘Thanks,’ I concede.
‘It’s my job,’ Brick replies.
‘Yeah, but I know you can’t stand me, so, ya know, whatever. Good of ya.’
‘I mighta been a bit harsh on ya the other day,’ he says. ‘You hurt a lot of people. But I just got a taste of me own medicine. Not so nice when the shoe’s on the other foot.’
‘Huh?’
‘That Xander Sullivan prick had a go at me as president of Perth Centurions,’ Brick explains. ‘He reported me to the Eagles for allowing homophobic remarks to be made by my vice-president. I wasn’t out at work. I had to come out to save my prac placement.’
‘Yeah, not so fun when people accuse you of homophobia without really knowing who you are, is it?’ I blurt out.
I bite my own tongue, as in literally bite it. What the fuck was I thinking!
‘Wait – what are you saying?’ Brick asks, pulling away from rubbing my back.
I’m saved from answering him by a vibration from my phone; I quickly stand up. ‘I have to check this. It’s important.’
I grab my phone and walk clean out of the gym without re-racking my weights – a cardinal sin – but I need to get away from Brick before he catches on.
The phone message isn’t such a saviour in the end.
It’s the worst DM yet.
‘Open up!’ I shout, pounding on the wooden door. ‘Zeke! Open the fucken door!’
There are voices and the sounds of feet on wooden floorboards.
A voice says, ‘Hammer? He’s early …’
The door swings open.
Zeke’s standing in front of me in a singlet and footy shorts, chewing on some toast. There’s a big bloke behind him like a bodyguard, arms crossed, staunching me.
‘Kade, our beer is this arvo …’ Zeke says, trying to swallow. ‘It’s brekky time.’
‘It couldn’t wait,’ I cry, shoving my phone screen in Zeke’s face.
The big bloke’s arm intercepts me and grabs my wrist, thinking I was taking a swing at Zeke’s skull. He’s taller than me but I’ve outmuscled big full-backs before.
‘Leggo of my arm, cunt,’ I snap.
‘Calm ya tits, you aggro fuck,’ he snarks back.
‘Let him go, Rex, it’s okay,’ Zeke says, taking my phone and reading the DMs. ‘Oh, wow, this is full on. Blackmail.’ He hands me the phone back. ‘Uh, you wanna come in?’
‘Shoes off!’ a camp voice calls from another room.
Zeke tells me to take my sneakers off. I ignore him and follow him and Rex into the house.
There’s downbeat electronic music on in the background. The stack of hot buttered toast on the wooden dining table smells delicious.
There’s five guys around the table. A big Black dude who looks like a retired pro bodybuilder; a slim Arab-looking guy with shaped eyebrows; the big prick who grabbed my wrist, Rex; Zeke, who I came to see; and Charlie Roth, who I came to destroy.
‘Wow, Hammer is in our house,’ Charlie says, all sarcastic, spreading Vegemite on his toast as if he’s not guilty. ‘The boys back together again. Nice reunion, huh?’
I lunge at him and shove the phone screen in his face. ‘This isn’t funny anymore!’ I shout. ‘Stop sending me these messages!’ While Charlie’s looking at the DMs, I turn to Zeke. ‘Make him stop,’ I say. ‘It’s fucked up.’
Zeke looks between me and Charlie urgently. ‘Kade, Charlie didn’t send you this – what makes you think he did?’
‘You two are the only ones who know about me!’ I say, immediately regretting it, since there are three strangers at the table. ‘And it’s not you, is it?’
‘Of course not,’ Zeke says.
‘So it’s Charlie.’
‘He would never,’ Zeke tells me, as Charlie scrolls down the list of messages. ‘There has to be some other explanation.’
‘Oh, I dunno,’ Charlie says, handing my phone back and smirking with the same upstart grin he had at high school. ‘Maybe it was me.’
Heat fills my cheeks, balloons of blood and rage. ‘I knew it,’ I whisper.
‘Schoolyard bully got a taste of his own medicine, huh?’ Charlie says.
‘Remember how you reacted when you found out about me, Hammer?’ He pauses his Vegemite-spreading and glares at me.
‘Intimidating me in that locker room, shouting at me to admit it was a phase? No, you deserve every bit of this. Not nice being taunted without mercy, is it?’
The other three at the table share a look. The rumour is now dangling in open air. Kade Hammersmith is a poofter.
Zeke swivels to Charlie. ‘Wait – are you saying – did you send those messages, man?’
‘It’s not funny and I’ve learned my lesson, okay,’ I tell Charlie. ‘Don’t tell anyone on Sunday. Don’t do this.’
‘Really, Zeke?’ Charlie says, ignoring me. ‘You seriously think I’d send those? Fuck you, man.’
‘No, fuck YOU,’ I shout at Charlie, grabbing a slice of toast and whipping it at his face, pissed at him not even answering me.
‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’
The big bodybuilder at the head of the table is on his feet. His muscles are veiny and bulging under his white Gymroos stringer tank. He jabs his finger at me. ‘This is my house, and you’re a visitor, son,’ he barks. ‘Show some goddamn respect. Sit your ass down, or you’ll be out on your ass.’
I step forward. He’s sixty. I could take him.
But everyone at the table is looking at me with contempt, too. They all want me out.
‘Fine, I’ll go,’ I say. I point my finger at Charlie. ‘Cut it out and stop ruining my life.’
‘Kade, we can still get a beer this arvo to talk—’ Zeke says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t wanna talk. I’m out.’
I head to the front door, and leave.