Page 13 of The Try Line

I can’t decide if I’m glad he’s giving me the space to talk about this with Jase, or if I wish he’d join in on the conversation. This used to be our thing. Other than my immediate attraction to him, the game was what we bonded over. We didn’t have much else in common. Mik was a book nerd that enjoyed his solitude, while I was more social. He had a moody, almost emo boy attitude and musical taste to match. I liked to think of myself as easy going and liked to make people laugh, and I listened to whatever the popular rock station was playing.

Rugby was what brought us together. Rugby, and lust.

Without those things, we would have been nothing to each other. Because of them, we were everything.

CHAPTER 4

MIK

The bar is quiet when we arrive, but it’s quickly filled with old teammates and friends who have come to see Jason. Before long, the group is loudly chanting for Jason to “shoot the boot” and cheering when he drains a beer from his cleat. It’s hard not to smile at the way he makes a mess of himself, or the way he shakes his head like a dog, spraying beer everywhere.

He might as well be a pro football player the way the whole town treats him. His celebrity status in our small town is nothing compared to actually being famous somewhere else in the world. The way he talks about it, it's no big deal and he's barely ever recognized. But I've cyber-stalked him enough to know that's not true.

Playing rugby might not be the thing that shot him to superstardom, but his talent, paired with his open lifestyle, had him all over the tabloids in the UK for a while. I burned with jealousy at every photo, post, and article I came across. I read everything. Social media posts from fans and haters alike. Tabloids. National sports magazines. Lifestyle magazines. If his name was attached to it, I consumed it like I needed it to survive, all the while cursing him and every single person who got to touch him or so much as breathe in his generalvicinity.

The anger and helplessness I felt, watching from thousands of miles away as the man I loved slutted himself out for the entire world to see, comes back with every round of beer that gets passed among the group. I try to focus on anything else, like how proud I am of the way Jase played today, and how grown up he seems while hanging out with all my old teammates. Just like Jason, he's easy in a crowd, laughing and going on like it's no big deal. I'm still not great in social situations, except now I don't have the benefit of my best friend effortlessly guiding me through conversation. I find myself with my back to the bar, watching my son and trying like hell to avoid watching Jason.

I fail, of course. And what's worse is that he catches me watching him.

Keeping up with everyone as the drinks are passed around and shots are poured is a mistake. I rarely drink, so while Jason and the rest of the guys are getting pleasantly drunk, I'm well past hammered. That's how my son finds me, leaning against the bar, staring daggers at his uncle.

"Uncle Jay piss in your cornflakes this morning?"

"What?"

"Mom always said you don't get along with each other, but she’s never said why."

"That's because she doesn't know," I say. I’m drunk enough to be slurring a little, but still have enough control of my faculties that I probably won’t say anything too stupid. Hopefully.

Jase looks at me with those ridiculous blue eyes that are so like his uncle’s.

"I wish you could have inherited my eyes," I say. And then, as if needing to prove that I'm not as in control as I think I am, I follow it up with, "Sometimes you're hard to look at."

Thankfully, Jase doesn't take offense, only cocks his head and looks sad or concerned. Maybe both.

"I have mom's eyes," he says, and then looks over at Jason. His eyes move back to me, and there might be a flicker of understanding that will drive me crazy later. “And his.”

"He was my best friend," I retort, gesturing to Jason with the bottom of my beer bottle before draining it. We both watch as Jason laughs heartily at something one of our old friends is telling him. It booms out of him, his chest expanding, and head thrown back with the effort. My eyes prickle. "I loved him," I say, quietly enough that I don't think Jase even heard me.

I'm at least coherent enough to know that I need to get my shit together. Placing my empty bottle on the bar top, I pat Jase's back and let him know I'm going to take a piss. Then I head to the back, doing my best to walk a straight line and not stagger. In the bathroom, after doing my business, I splash cold water on my face and give myself an internal pep talk.

Pull your shit together. That was then. This is now. You’re not the same. He’s not the same. Life isn’t the same. He left, and this is your life now. You have a beautiful home and an amazing son. You should be having panic attacks about Jase moving out and going to college, not over unrequited feelings for your goddamned brother-in-law.

On my way out, I see something I wish I hadn't.

Jason and another guy are standing at the back of the hallway, almost completely shrouded in darkness. They're leaning close, and the other guy, who I think I recognize from high school but I'm not positive, puts his hand on Jason's hip. Nausea climbs up my throat and I push back through the bathroom door, barely making it into a stall before I'm emptying my stomach violently. When I'm finally done, I exit the stall only to find Jason leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his body. He looks pissed, as if I’ve done or said anything to him. I try to ignore him, bending over the sink onceagain to splash water on my face and rinse the taste of vomit from my mouth.

"What's your problem?" Jason growls, and I look up to meet his angry gaze through the mirror's reflection.

"I don't have a problem," I say, my voice rough.

Pushing away from the sink, I try to brush him off. I start walking towards the door, but Jason grabs my arm and pushes me against the wall, caging me in.

"Bullshit," he says, and the smell of whiskey on his breath makes my stomach roll. "You've been staring at me like that all fucking night, and I'm about done with it. I came here for Jase, not to deal with your moody ass."

I try to roll my eyes nonchalantly, but even that small act makes me dizzy. The combination of booze and the way he’s crowding me are conspiring to make me stupid. I need to get some space.Now.

Pull yourself together.

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