I don’t know how to handle this. I’m not a hugger or a comforter. He’s bigger than me. And he’s the top. What gives?
I put my arms around him, sure they must seem thin compared to his. Mason latches onto me and sobs his guts out.
I pat his back until he calms down.
‘What’s brought this on?’ I ask. ‘You okay?’
Mason puts his head on my bony rib cage – no cushiony comfort to be found there – and tells me what’s up. At his footy trip, he told his teammates about his best mate from high school, Jared, who died on their leavers trip, which kicked up old traumatic memories.
‘Then today, my mate Nick invited me to his birthday,’ Mason tells me. ‘Nick was on that trip, too. Brings it all back up. Some days it’s so far in the past I don’t think about it. And days like this, it’s like it just happened. Do you get what I mean?’
I can’t help it. My whole body freezes into an iceberg.
More than you know, Firetruck.
I pat Mason’s back, my stomach a cave of stalactites. I’m thinking of a bouquet of weeds and wildflowers and the bucktoothed farm boy who never got to hear me tell him I loved him.
‘Charlie, um,’ Mason says. ‘You haven’t said anything. Areyouokay?’
I stare at his ceiling fan, slowly hypnotised by it. My fuses are blown. Mason’s grief has rattled the bars of the cage where I keepmy own pain. I can’t lose it again, not after our first date. He’ll think I’m an unstable lunatic. And he might not be that wrong.
‘Charlie, you okay?’ Mason asks. ‘I was crying, man. You can just say something nice and give me a cuddle … no need to go cold on me.’
‘I’m not going cold,’ I say, in a treacherously frigid voice. For my own survival. ‘I – um – I’m sorry, Mason, I can’t handle this right now …’
‘Handle what?’
‘This type of rel—Uh, I thought you just wanted to hook up – I didn’t know we were diving right into being boyfriends … I dunno if I’m ready for that commitment …’
‘What commitment?’ Mason asks, sitting up sharply. ‘Charlie, what are you on about? You’re being so distant. Did I say something wrong?’
I hold up my hands in surrender. I am such a coward. ‘This is too much for me,’ I say. ‘All of it. Sorry. I don’t think I’m ready for something this serious. I’m really sorry, okay?’
I stand up and pull my jeans back on.
‘Wait, are you – you’re not seriously – are youdumpingme?’ Mason cries. ‘Because I cried in front of you? Are youfor real? What the fuck, man?’
I can barely see Mason’s heartbroken face through a shimmer of memory. Matt’s face is grinning back at me as he fries kangaroo sausages and opens the windows for more ventilation. Why couldn’t he tell me he was sad? Why couldn’t he cry in front of me? I would have held him. I would have saved him if he’d let me in.
How dare Mason be more emotionally available than Matt?
I know I’m the dickhead here, but it’s not enough to stop me bailing from Mason’s house and leaving him high and dry.
18
EDGING
HAMMER
On Tuesday, we have our last open training session of the season.
Now the Pride Game is over, I’m hoping everyone can forget about it, but something’s off from the start. Roo and Mosey welcome me back, but they’re cold, bearing a grudge. The trainers and runners and Sniper and Oshy and everyone else is the same too. Everyone’s kicking the footy to me, but the moment we pause for a drink, I’m a leper.
I’m surrounded by my teammates, but I might as well be alone.
Worse: when we run a match sim at the end, I hear a loud swell of ‘Booooo’ from the stands as I mark the footy. At first, I glance at the other boys, assuming someone did something dodgy. Then I realise it’sme. I’m the one our own fans are booing. I refused to wear the Pride Jumper and now the fans hate me.
I line up and take my shot at goal. I shank the kick and it doesn’t even go through for a behind. Out of bounds on the full.
