Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Sprained my ankle, at least ten days of rest.
I am GUTTED.
But I will also be the loudest of all voices cheering on the team––even if it’s from the sidelines.
It was Lee’s turn at the daily press conference later that afternoon.
Sat between Oliver and Kieran, he strove for an upbeat air as he dealt with the questions directed right at him, starting with one about his chances of taking home the Golden Boot, followed by another about the loss of one third of the Lee-Alex-Jeff triangle that had proven so effective in previous matches.
“Alex is a brilliant player, and it’s just terrible timing, honestly. He’s pretty bummed about it.” Could Lee say “bummed” in a press conference? Too late. “But as a team, we have to be stronger than just one player. There are great guys waiting to step up.”
“It will require a slight adjustment of our strategy,” Kieran jumped in. “We may need to adapt the team in a small number of other positions to account for the change.”
Lee sat back as Kieran expanded on the qualities of several players, most notably Alfie who’d almost certainly fill Alex’s position.
Alfie was good, really very good, or he wouldn’t be here—but his first instinct was to defend.
That worked well for his home club, but England’s success so far had been founded on a strong attack.
With only two days left until they were up against Brazil, it wasn’t enough to overhaul a system they’d spent weeks perfecting.
That time machine would come in really bloody handy right now. Where was Doctor Who when you needed them?
Lee got back just before dinner and helped Alex hobble down to the restaurant terrace.
It hurt to see Alex quietly devastated, tension in his shoulders and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Show must go on, right?” he told everyone who came up to him.
“With or without me on the field—we’ll bloody win that trophy. ”
If it had been Lee with a sprained ankle, he’d have tried to hide his frustration too, tuck it out of sight so it wouldn’t affect the rest of the team. And yet he hated watching Alex put himself through it.
“It’s not so bad,” Alex claimed when Lee brought it up, back in their room.
At Lee’s silent, pointed look, Alex shifted on the bed before he hung his head and shoved a hand through his hair.
His voice dropped. “Okay, it is bad. Like, I kind of want to cry, and I kind of want to hit something, and I’m so fucking mad at myself for twisting my ankle, and—”
Lee caught him in a hug, half on top of him, careful not to jostle his ankle. “I’m so fucking sorry, babe.”
Alex stayed silent but for a hiccupping breath, face against Lee’s neck. They sat like that for a few moments, the enormous fan above their heads whirring softly, daylight fading by the second.
“Do you want to scream into a pillow?” Lee asked eventually. “Or we go down to the gym, lock the door, and you take it out on a punching bag.”
Alex’s laugh was watery. “Tempting.”
“Or I could stomp the hell out of the patch of grass that tripped you up.”
“Not sure it has the intellectual capacity to grasp the error of its ways.”
Lee was about to reply when Alex’s phone started buzzing. When Lee tried to move away so Alex could more easily dig it out of his pocket, he slung an arm around Lee’s back to keep him close. He managed to retrieve the phone with his other hand, then stilled, staring at the display.
“What is it?” Lee asked after a beat.
Alex drew a breath. “My dad.”
Ignore him.
Lee didn’t say it but God, he wanted to—as far as he could tell, nothing good had ever come of Alex speaking to his dad, at least not in those weeks they’d spent together. The last thing Alex needed right now was a kick while he was down. It was his call, though. Literally.
Waiting, Lee rubbed his thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of Alex’s elbow, back and forth, back and forth.
“Maybe,” Alex said in a tiny voice, “he heard about my ankle? And he’s actually calling to see how I’m doing?”
“Yeah.” Lee wanted to grab the bloody phone and throw it out the window. “I guess it’s possible.”
“Yeah.” Alex didn’t sound like he really believed it himself, but he moved to accept the call—only he put it on speaker, holding Lee’s gaze. “Hello, Dad.”
“Good evening, son.” Crisp pronunciation and an authoritative air—nothing in Charles Beaufort’s voice suggested that the man was facing allegations that could land him in prison. “I heard about your accident.”
“You did?” Alex cleared his throat. “The timing is terrible, of course.” It was fascinating, the way his words gained definition in what seemed like an automatic reaction triggered by hearing his father.
“Of course.” Beaufort didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Now, since there is no reason for you to remain in Spain, I assume you will be flying home tomorrow?”
Alex’s brows drew together. “I’m part of the team, Dad. Even if I’m not playing, I’m still part of the team.”
“You’re needed at home.”
“I’m staying.”
“You have obligations, Alexander. It’s time you start taking them seriously.”
Alex exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. “You didn’t even bother to ask how I am.”
“A sprained ankle is hardly a matter of grave concern.” Beaufort’s tone was brisk bordering on impatient, and he didn’t get it.
He just honestly didn’t get it, did he—his world view distorted by either aristocratic grandiosity passed down through generations or a narcissistic personality.
The latter would, in fact, explain a lot.
“It only costs me my dream,” Alex said flatly, a painful twist to his mouth that made Lee want to end the call right there and then. “But no big deal, I guess.”
“No need for melodramatics,” his father chided, and really, that was the final fucking straw.
“Are you actively trying to be a prick,” Lee jumped in, “or does it just come naturally? Fucking hell, man. You’ve got a brilliant son, and you should be so fucking proud of him. But seems like you have no idea because you can’t get out of your own bloody way.”
It was quiet for a second.
“And who might you be?” Beaufort drawled, his tone implying that he was not impressed.
“I’m—”
“My boyfriend,” Alex cut into Lee’s response.
Holy shit.
Lee widened his eyes at Alex, and it wasn’t even that this was the first time either of them had said the word out loud—no, this was Alex, having just come out to his dad on an impulse. Fuck, what if he ended up regretting it?
“You are not gay.” Beaufort’s voice had dropped to a dangerously low level, and Lee sat frozen, waiting for Alex’s next move.
“No, I’m not.” Alex raised his chin, meeting Lee’s eyes as he continued. “As a matter of fact, I’m bisexual.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alexander.” Beaufort sounded long-suffering, and really, the bloody nerve of him. “I thought playing soccer was your form of teenage rebellion. Aren’t you getting a little old to play these games?”
“Teenage rebellion?” Alex repeated slowly.
He’d been tense before, but now he was positively thrumming with suppressed energy.
Lee placed a hand on his thigh in the hope that the contact would be grounding somehow.
“Soccer wasn’t a teenage rebellion, Dad.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself—the only time I didn’t just go along with whatever you asked of me.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to please you when I should know by now that it’s simply not possible. ”
Beaufort sighed. “Again with the melodramatics.”
Alex took a shaky breath, his eyes unfocused even as one of his hands settled low on Lee’s back. “Tell me, Dad…” Alex’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Can you remember a single moment when you were proud of me?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Can you, Dad?”
“I fail to see how this is relevant to the conversation we are presently having.”
“Can you?”
Maybe the gravity of the moment finally registered because for the first time, Beaufort sounded cautious when he replied. “Of course I’m proud of you, son.”
Huh. Lee had mistaken him for a better liar.
“Just give me a single moment,” Alex insisted, and Lee wanted to interfere because it seemed like Alex was determined to run straight towards the place where it hurt the most—but that was his right. It wasn’t Lee’s job to protect him, only to be there for what seemed like an inevitable fallout.
My boyfriend.
“There are plenty of moments,” Beaufort stalled.
“Just one will suffice.”
Brief silence, then Beaufort mumbled something about Alex doing well in his A levels. It drew a humorless chuckle from Alex.
“And yet you didn’t even make it to prize-giving. You couldn’t even sit through an hour while they said my name.”
“I’m a busy man,” Beaufort said.
“Well, so am I.” With that, Alex unceremoniously ended the call, then stared at his phone, shadows in his eyes.
Lee tipped his chin up with a finger. “Hey. Talk to me?”
Alex inhaled and held the air in his lungs for a few seconds before he released it in a whoosh. “Fuck.”
“That’s one way to summarize it, yeah.”
“Did I just—I just hung up on my dad. After coming out to him.” Alex’s eyes widened. “Shit, Lee, I didn’t think. I should have asked you first, but I was just so…” A sweeping gesture. “He doesn’t know it’s you, though. He’d have no way of knowing. So, you’re safe.”
“That is honestly the last thing on my mind right now.” Lee tipped their foreheads together and tried not to read the incoming darkness as some kind of omen. “God, Alex. Are you okay?”
“I’m…” Alex hesitated. “I am, actually.”
“Really?” Lee didn’t bother toning down the skepticism in his voice, surprised when Alex pressed a smiling kiss against his cheek.
“Yes, really,” Alex said. “I mean, yeah, that sucked—but it’s really nothing new, you know? It’s just the confirmation, in a way, of something I’ve known for a while. Kind of a relief to get it out in the open.”