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“Sean Hiller,” he said. Joq shook his hand.
“Joaquin Nord,” he replied and couldn’t help returning the smile. Hiller’s charm was infectious, more so in person. He was also one of the greatest players in the game today. Not one of the greatest Indigenous players, one of the greatest, period, and he wore that position with enviable ease.
He turned back to Jack, his smile turning indulgent. “Jack, Jack, Jackie, what’s the aim of the game, eh? Kick through the middle, the middle.”
Joq knew he was referring to the couple of points Jack had kicked from dead in front. Not that they’d mattered.
“Jesus, Hiller. Save it for video review,” Jack sounded tired.
Hiller clapped him on the back and Joq watched Jack shudder at the touch; his eyes slipped closed, his body went rigid. Hiller squeezed.
“Alright, we’ll watch it in slow mo., eh?” he laughed, squeezed again. “Are you coming to the bus or you gonna stay here tonight?”
“I’ll be there in a sec,” Jack replied, voice soft.
Hiller let go, his hand dragging down Jack’s back, his eyes on him, something inexplicably angry in his look.
But then he was turning to Joq like that hadn’t happened at all, all smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
And he was gone.
“What was that all about?”
“Don’t ask,” Jack rubbed his face. “I better go, but can you tell George I said hi? I don’t want bad blood between us.”
“Course, yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about it. You guys are cool.”
“Are you sure because—
“Jack, bus is leaving,” one of the trainers said as he walked past.
“Yep,” Jack hoisted his bag higher. “Come see me in Perth sometime.”
Joq snorted. “Okay, if I ever find myself in Perth…”
Jack laughed, leaned in to hug him again, slapped him on the back and jogged up the tunnel, his “Later, Joq,” carrying down the concrete walls.
Joq pulled out his phone and texted the uni friend group chat. He headed back up to the room, listened to his phone ping. Surely one of them would want to go out, save Joq from having to go home.
It was the early hours of the morning when he stumbled in after bar-hopping his way through Fitzroy. He expected George to be asleep. He was surprised to see him sitting out by the pool, still in his suit and big coat, empty beer bottles near his socked feet as he stared at the water, turning his phone over in his hands.
Joq got butterflies; George had waited up for him.
“Hey,” he said, slightly slurred as he went outside.
George startled, his eyes bleary. “Oh, Joq. Hey.”
“Havin’ a party?” Joq nodded at the bottles. He wanted to go over and sit next to him, but something was telling him through the alcohol he shouldn’t.
George ignored the remark.
“You went out?” he asked like he didn’t really care.
“Obviously,” Joq said. Getting rid of Finn was supposed to make it all better, but it felt all wrong. Give it time, he told himself. It’ll right itself.
“Sorry,” George shook his head and went back to turning his phone in his hands.
“You comin’ to bed?”
