Micah cringed. “At the gym. My leg cramped in the pool and I couldn’t walk. Freddie scooped me up and dragged me to some quack in Liverpool Street. They gave me some shots that knocked me out. By the time I woke up, it was late. I came to find you as soon as I was properly conscious, but—”
“But I ripped your head off.”
“A bit.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me I was being a prick?”
Micah shifted on the bed. Warm fingers wrapped around my wrists and tugged my hands away. “Because you weren’t being a prick. You were judging me by everything I’ve done in the past, and I deserved that.”
“No, you didn’t!” My voice rose loud enough that my mum would definitely hear me if I couldn’t keep a lid on it. “You’ve never done anything to me. What right did I have to say such vile things to you based on some bullshit I’d seen inThe Sun?”
“Every right. People should’ve said that shit to me years ago. Maybe if they had, I might’ve got through that time in my life without making such a fucking mess.”
“Micah, you were in an impossible situation. There are no openly queer players in the Premier League. Not one. There never has been. And look what happened to Dominic Ramos when he came out? He had to retire, like, in the same breath. I know you didn’t want to do that.”
“Had to anyway, though, didn’t I? Cos I fucked it up. And, if I hadn’t been such a basket case in the first place, I’d never have got caught.”
“So you would’ve lived in the closet forever?”
Micah hissed through his teeth the way he so often did when he was frustrated. “I don’t know, man. Maybe. Or maybe I could’ve waited until I was done playing. Cos I wasn’t done. Nowhere fucking near.”
Sadness eclipsed the shame building in my blood. “I’m sorry you lost your dream.”
“’S not your fault.”
“But this is.” I gestured between us. “God, I’m such an arsehole.”
Micah rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. How can that be even remotely true when I had every opportunity to set you straight? It’s not like I gave you a chance, is it? I let you think whatever came into your mind when you looked at me.”
“Why?”
“Because it suited me better than admitting I can’t swim up and down some dinky hipster pool without losing my shit. For real, Freddie had to dress me at the side of the pool like a fucking baby.”
“You’re lucky he was there.”
“I am. I need you to stop giving him such a hard time. I know he acts like a goon when he’s out, but he’s not like that, really. He’s never touched drugs in his life. Or cheated on his girlfriends. He’s a good bloke.”
After the tale Micah had told me tonight, I was starting to believe it, but Freddie was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was the fact that Micah had been in so much pain he’d needed a doctor, and my only response had been to tear him apart. “I’m sorry I’m such a shit friend.”
“Fuck off, mate.”
“It’s true,” I protested.
“No, it’s not. I didn’t tell you the truth, and I know you only reacted that way because you care. The only question for me is why.”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care so much about me? I’m a fuckwit, Sam. Always have been, even without football culture.”
“You’re not a fuckwit.”
“I am. I’m caught up in my own head all the time, and I don’t think the way I should. Freddie sent you that message of his own accord. I forgot all about my phone until he told me.”
And I forgot about you. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. “You were in a lot of pain, and by the sound of it, off your nut on whatever drugs they gave you. It’s understandable that an omelette date with me wasn’t your first priority.”
“But—”
“Just stop, okay? It’s fine. I was a prick to you, and I’m so fucking sorry. I let—” Fuck. Was I really going to do this? “I let my feelings for you get in the way of being your friend.”
