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“He left last night,” George was toeing his shoes off, looking anywhere but at Joq. “Flew home.”
“Fuck,” Joq breathed out.
George didn’t reply. He kept his face averted and went upstairs. Joq heard the shower turn on. He sat back down and changed the channel. It was all anyone was talking about, so he switched to streaming and waited for George to come back down.
Eventually, Joq had to concede he wasn’t coming back, and he turned everything off and headed to bed.
George was there, in the dark, and very awake.
Joq’s eyes adjusted as he got in and saw George’s fixed on the ceiling.
“Freo tomorrow,” he said.
“Yep,” George replied and rolled over, giving Joq his back.
32
The Freo game was an embarrassing thrashing. Joq wanted to be able to tease George about it—see, I told you, play them in the dry and they’ll thump you—but they were absolutely not in that place.
And besides, the crushing defeat Freo handed them was as much on them losing as it was on Freo playing a blinder of a game. Jack Reaver was in form, and he and Hiller made highlight-reel play after play—getting it clean off the centre bounce, Hiller ran like he had his own personal wind at his back, made a no-look kick right into Jack’s chest, then kick, goal. Variation after variation between them; it was beautiful football. Or, it would’ve been, if Joq could get past the hollowness of his own team, the hole of defeat radiating from them from the first centre bounce.
It wasn’t just the loss of their star player. Joq knew they’d be calling bullshit on Finn’s reason. On the fact he just fled. Requested a trade. One day he’s messing around in the locker room and laughing and the next, he’s what, depressed and can’t play? Bullshit.
Joq wanted to feel bad about the whole thing, and he almost did, but when he got to work and met Alison’s knowing look, he felt guilty, yes, but he’d get over it. What else was he supposed to do?
After the game, he went down to the tunnel to catch up with Jack. He didn’t expect to see George any time soon; his stormy expression throughout the game actually made him hope he wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would be interested in grabbing a drink.
“Joq,” Jack smiled big and warm when he emerged from the visitor’s locker room. He looked great in his suit, his easy manner a breath of fresh air over Joq’s current reality.
“Hey, super star,” Joq smiled at him.
“Ah, shut it,” Jack smiled and came in for a hug. “How’s it goin’? Sorry about the game,” he made a genuine face of displeasure because if anyone was genuinely sorry to destroy the team you support even though it meant he’d just won, it was Jack.
“Nah, all good. You’re looking well,” Joq appraised him. He was. He’d filled out more since he left, was more of a man than the boy Joq had known.
“You too,” Jack nudged him, hoisted his duffel up his shoulder. “George good?”
“Yeah, he’s alright.”
“Cool, cool, it’s just. I know he was pissed about the trade, but I thought that was all done,” Jack looked away as he spoke, shook his head.
“It is? I mean, yeah, he’s always gonna carry a grudge about it, but it’s not like he doesn’t still love you, man.”
Jack looked at him. “He ignored me when I said hello, wouldn’t even look at me.”
Oh. Joq had been hoping to avoid mentioning Finn.
“Yeah, think with this new trade…”
“Oh, yeah, shit,” Jack got real animated. “What the fuck happened? I know Finn, that’s not like him.”
“You know Finn?”
“Yeah, course—
“Ah, here he is!” Sean Hiller shouted as he came out of the locker room, the door clanging shut behind him. Jack cut off at the sound of his voice, his whole body tensing.
Hiller came up beside him. His smile was huge, and a little bit mean. He glanced at Joq and extended his hand and his face transformed into the laconic, easy smile everyone knew well.
