Chapter 18
AJ
I’m on a coach with the England squad. Sorry, reigning European Champions, England.
I’m sitting at the back, with my headphones on, taking it all in.
I spot Kyle step on and sit at the front.
He is the only one with a compact disc player, like some unironic hipster.
He’s always liked his older media and not given a shit.
I like that about him. There’s a lot I like—yes, like—about him.
I thought about reaching out to him to congratulate him and us for achieving our dreams. Then the goal celebration swims into my mind.
Then the articles calling me all sorts of names.
I don’t want to think he was the source.
I don’t want to believe he was the one behind the scathing words, but when silence grows between two former friends, the only thing you can count on is the whispers.
I saw the way he looked at me. I heard the tone in his voice when I tried to help him.
I have come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want me in his life, and I get it, it’s virtually impossible for us in our position.
It’s going to be a long journey, and I need my rest, so I do what everyone else seems to be doing: I put my headphones in. load up Beyoncé’s country album, and watch the world go by through the window of the coach, rain streaking the windows—because this is England. At some point, I fall asleep.
“Wake up, AJ!” I look around, take my headphones off, and see Smith from my club gently rubbing my shoulder to rouse me. I’m glad for his friendly face. Unfortunately, as well as Kyle being here, homophobe Rockwell is here too.
I wipe some drool from my chin with the heel of my hand and sit up in my seat, thanking Smith. He nods and gets his stuff together.
Partly by being at the back, and partly due to my kindness, I’m last off the coach. By the time I get to the foyer, only the England Boss and…guess who…is at the front desk. Kyle looks as moody as ever, maybe even worse, and I can practically feel him vibrating from the doorway.
“Ahh, here he is. AJ, I’ve paired you up with Kyle, so you both have a familiar face.”
“Isn’t that great?” Kyle says with gritted teeth, literally, like he’s a movie villain.
I nod, because honestly, I feel the same way and don’t want to be a hypocrite.
“I’ll leave you both to it then. Club dinner is at 7:00 pm. Don’t be late, and dress in the Club suit.”
“Yes, Boss,” we both say in unison.
And then he leaves.
Leaving Kyle and me to, well, to stare at each other.
But not in that omg I want to take your clothes off right now and fuck you on the really expensive hardwood floor kind of way and more in the I want nothing to do with you or your forest green eyes that I could get lost in if I stare at them long enough way.
I attempt to make eye contact with him, but he’s switched his attention to his phone. Great.
My fingers reach out to touch his shoulder, but he looks up just before I make contact. I retract, like I’ve touched a hot stove and not a really hot guy. He stares a hole in me, and I, well, I die a little inside.
“Should we head to the room?” I ask, hating how my voice sounds desperate and needy. Hating more how he huffs at me, like I’m one big inconvenience.
I lead the way, and after one very long and very uncomfortable elevator ride, I press the keycard onto the card-reader thing and open the door.
Oh fuck.
In the room there is precisely one bed. It’s a double bed, not two singles pushed together, because this is a fancy hotel, and they won’t stand for those shenanigans.
“Are you kidding me?” Kyle says to the room.
“Want me to go to reception and see if we can change it?” I ask, hoping to smooth the situation.
“Can’t. Hotel is full. Wrestling event and a global pop star are on in a few days and people are making the most of the triple header.”
Firstly, I’m in utter shock at the amount of words Kyle has strung together and second. Fuck.
“Surely, they can accommodate us? We’re the national side for goodness’ sake.”
“Not the world’s biggest pop star, though, are we? Or a massively successful wrestling company. The world doesn’t revolve around football.” He tuts, and I swear he’s about to grunt too, but thinks better of it.
“So, we’re stuck in this room, together?” My voice raises an octave.
“Looks like it.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” I say, trying to be chivalrous.
“Ok.”
“What do you mean okay? Surely, you’re meant to say ‘oh, don’t do that, it’s all right. I’ll sleep on the floor’.” I drop my bag down by the window and sit on the end of the bed, like a cat claiming its territory.
“Then why did you say you would sleep on the floor?” he says, taking the other end of the bed, but spreading his smaller body so he takes up more room.
“I was being chivalrous.”
“You know, people who say they are being chivalrous are actually just being disingenuous.”
“Well,” I splutter, because I’m flustered and have no idea what else to say. I stare at him—okay, I stare into his eyes, and try not to get lost.
“You can sleep in it tonight. I’ll sleep in it tomorrow.”
“Thank you for being chivalrous,” I say, pulling away from his eyes.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, and pulls out his phone.
“I’m going to div—I mean, jump into the shower, do you mind?”
“Knock yourself out,” he says, and I actually think he means it.
I take my toiletries out of my bag and head into the shower, loading up a playlist on my phone and resisting the urge not to sing while in there.
When I get out of the shower, I can hear muffled voices.
Well, one voice, talking quietly on the phone.
I press my ear to the door like every amateur sleuth in every comedy spy movie.
And unsurprisingly, with my ear pressed to wood—door wood—and my wet hair clinging to my scalp, I can hear even less, so I stand up and push the door open gently.
Kyle whips his head around so fast; I could have sworn he was trying to reenact the scene from The Exorcist.
“…I gotta go. Yes, he’s back. No. No. Goodbye.” And with that he hangs up and once again we’re staring at each other, and I’m getting lost in his eyes.