Page 7 of After the Siren
‘Car trouble,’ he told her.
‘Xenos said. You need to get checked out?’
‘Nah, it’s all good. He barely hit me.’
‘Last time you said that you had three broken ribs.’
Sometimes Kat liked to remind Jake that she’d been there when he first picked up an AFL ball. Sometimes Jake liked to remind her that she’d been his English teacher and coach when he was playing under-14s, so she was old now.
Kat had gone from teaching – where she’d met and hit it off with Jake’s mum – to the AFLW’s Hawthorn Harriers. The Falcons had poached her from her assistant coaching role there.
‘I was fifteen. I was an idiot.’
‘And that’s changed?’ Kat slammed shut the door of the underbus storage compartment. ‘Glad you’re alright.’ She gave him a friendly bump with her hip. ‘Don’t want to lose one this early. Bad form. Now get on the bus.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Jake snapped a salute and did as he was told.
Xen and Paddy were on the back seat. Jake had met them for the first time in the same seats on an almost identical bus three years earlier.
‘Cutting it fine,’ Xen told him, making a swipe for Jake’s coffee. He was looking good, his olive skin tanned a couple of shades darker than at the end of the last season and his curly black hair cropped shorter than usual.
Jake jerked the coffee away. ‘I got one for you, bro, leave mine alone.’ He handed Xen one of the KeepCups.
‘Sure you’re okay?’ Xen was looking at him like he might be concealing a gaping wound.
‘I’m good.’
Paddy pulled Jake down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Jake’s waist. ‘Missed you.’
Paddy had spent the two months of off-season downtime with his parents and siblings in Kilkenny. He was one of seven children and, as far as Jake could tell, family time consisted of jumping naked into freezing cold water then drinking pints of beer.
The bus driver made a pointed comment over the speaker about seatbelts and Jake slid sideways into a seat of his own. The engine vibrated into life and the bus lurched out into Victoria Street, heading for Sydney Road. Right past the billboard that was going to cause Jake grief all year.
If Jake had gotten his way, Naked Melbourne would not have put up the advertisement featuring him within half a kilometre of the Falcons’ training facility. He hadn’t, though. He’d gotten a fat cheque, but not his way.
‘Like I need to seethaton my way to work,’ Paddy said, pointing. His Irish accent always sounded stronger when he’d been home to see his family.
‘You’re the one who made me do it.’ Jake had been three shots beyond sensible when he’d made the bet, but he’d followed through.
‘Can’t believe they photoshopped abs onto you. False advertising.’
‘Fuck off!’
‘Where are they now, then?’ Jake squawked as Paddy shoved a hand – a cold hand – up the front of his singlet.
‘That’s harassment!’
‘You love it.’
‘Behave, children,’ Xen said.
‘They put, like, ab make-up on me,’ Jake admitted.
Unlike Paddy, who could have been used on advertisements for protein powder or weird supplements, Jake didn’t put a whole lot of effort into maintaining a sixpack. His body got the job done, and that was all that mattered.
He did hope that Kyle had to drive past the billboards in Canberra. Often. Just to remind him that he didn’t get to come on those abs anymore.
‘They stick a banana down your undies too?’
