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After a while, Scotty dropped down on the couch next to him, stretching one arm behind him, spilling the bourbon and coke in his other hand.
“Joqqy!” he said.
“Scotty,” Joq replied.
“Your boy looks good, eh?”
Joq snorted. Scotty always did like to press the gay joke angle on their friendship. If only he knew.
“Ya know, I always reckoned he had a bit of a thing for you,” Scotty took a loud slurp of his drink. “Not anymore!” he laughed and Joq followed his gaze to George and Finn playing darts.
There was so much to unpack there, Joq wasn’t sure where to start.
“A thing for me? C’mon, man,” Joq shook his head. “Enough with the gay jokes, eh? You know I am.”
Scotty squinted at him. “Yeah, course I know that,” he jerked his chin at George. “So’s George, but like, you know that.” His eyes widened. “You know that, right?”
“How do you know that?”
Scotty looked at him like he was fucking stupid. “You reckon I don’t know my best mate?”
“No, that’s not…” Joq shook his head. “He told you?” George never told him that.
They turned as one when there was a crashing sound followed by glass smashing, Finn’s laughter and George’s “Shit, rook.”
George’s framed jersey from his rookie year was a shattered mess on the floor. George was giggling and looking from Finn to the mess.
Joq didn’t want to know. And he was pretending he didn’t live here, so, he wasn’t cleaning that up.
“He told you?” he asked Scotty again.
“What?” Scotty tilted his head, his out of control black hair all over the place. “Oh, nah. I figured it out.” He shrugged, gulped down his drink.
“How?”
“Well,” Scotty gave him a sly smile. “He was always checking you out when we were rookies.”
Joq felt himself blush, which was stupid. Of course George checked him out—they were fucking whenever George could get past his irrational fear of being discovered in Joq’s shitty share-house in Brunswick.
“And then there was that rumour plus all the gay porn in his apartment,” Scotty laughed. “Always thought you guys would hook up.”
Joq shrugged. What else could he do? He and George had lived together for ten fucking years, but George still made sure they kept it on the down-low by only allowing “couple shit” upstairs and in their bedroom. Joq knew the deal going in, he still knew the deal. He didn’t love it, but he did love George.
“Guess not,” Scotty drained his drink as he nodded at George and Finn. They were crouched down over the mess, picking up the glass and snickering like idiots.
Scotty was getting up to get himself another drink, the couch dipping awkwardly as his bulk left it—he’d packed it on since he retired, not fat, but certainly one big, beast of a man now, the ruckman height and build lending itself to the ‘farmer’s build’ as he liked to call it. Joq wasn’t even sure what he was farming up there. Marijuana probably. But not a salient point right now.
George’s crush on Finn, and Finn’s hard on for George was so obvious, even Scotty assumed they were together?
Joq stood up. No one seemed to notice. He went up the steps into the main house. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He could still hear them—their voices loud over the Top 40 shit Finn put on when he arrived, George and Scotty ribbing him mercilessly with matching grins.
Joq shook his head. He went and sat on the couch, clicked on the TV.
The glow from the TV was still on, the volume low, when he woke to the sound of someone opening the door outside the games room, coming through the door. He heard voices. Joq was barely awake, but he woke up fast with tension ricocheting through his body—surely they wouldn’t, not here, not in their home!
“Just a few more steps,” Scotty said.
Joq sighed inwardly, the relief so profound he felt like he actually deflated.
