Page 47 of The Wing
You did it! NZ won because of you! Have fun celebrating and text me when you can.
I text Daisy too, congratulating her, and sit back on the couch with my cold cup of tea. It’s just gone seven A.M. and pink is beginning to tinge the sky.
Being awake at four on a Sunday is not my idea of fun, but I finally heard from Hemi, so it was worth it.
I was so caught up in self-doubt about whether Hemi still wanted to hear from me, I didn’t stop and consider ifHemiwas having issues adjusting back with the team. His panic attack set my heart racing, and since he hung up with Daisy shouting at him, I’ve thought over our text exchanges since he left.
Yes, he ignored the questions I asked about his shoulder, but he responded to everything else when he could with the time difference. When I stopped texting him, he didn’t send anything until today, which was only three days, but after watching him break down in an empty supply closet, it’s clear he was having more issues this week than I realised. Three days without a message when he’s been on the brink of a panic attack all week, trying to stay afloat on a professional rugby team, is reasonable.In hindsight…this week apart was okay, and I was overreacting. He responded when he could and texted when it was clear I was overthinking things and stupidly leaving him alone.
I settle deeper into the couch, leaving the TV on but muted in case anything interesting happens, and scroll through our text exchange during the week. My cheeks heat with embarrassment even though I’m alone. It’s pretty clear he was responding to me as soon as he woke up and only avoided answering questions about his shoulder. He even responded when I asked how training was. I scrub a hand over my hot cheeks. I should have realised he needed more support, someone to talk to, to push him. But hindsight’s a bitch, and now I know for next time.
Next time.
I hope there’s a next time. I think there will be a next time.
I’ll fight for a next time.
I chuck my phone on the couch and unmute the TV now that the interviews have started. A microphone is shoved in the captain’s face. He’s one of the locks and is a big guy with brown skin, curly hair, and a thick beard. He towers over the reporter. I tune out what he’s saying, basically how excited he is, how it was a team effort, and they’re glad Hemi’s back and feeling better.
When a microphone is shoved in Hemi’s face, I turn the sound up a few decibels and lean forward. He’s tired. The lines at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced, and he’s still catching his breath. His hair is slicked down, sticking to his scalp, and his lips are chapped.
He looks gorgeous.
“Hemi, how does it feel to score the winning try?”
Hemi runs a hand through his hair. “Feels great, but I couldn’t have done it without the team and Johnny getting the ball to me.”
The reporter nods along. “You didn’t play in last week’s game against South Africa. Can you tell us about that?”
I roll my eyes at the leading question as if the reporter doesn’t know exactly why Hemi was off.
Hemi nods. “Yeah. You know I was on leave because I’m having issues with my shoulder. Thankfully I’m not injured, but I am having a few issues with my mentality and confidence, so I took some time away to get my head on straight. Spent time with a close friend, and he helped me sort my head out.” The reporter’s eyes light up at the mention of someone else, ofme, and I sit up straight.
“Does your friend watch rugby? How close are you?” Was the reporter’s clumsy attempt to remind everyone that Hemi’s gay and has just mentioned another guy.
“He does. But we spent the week hiking and going on film tours in Wanaka, New Zealand. I’m sure you saw the photos.”
“I did, but no one can figure out who the mystery man is. You two looked close.” The reporter shifts the microphone to Hemi as if that was even a question. It was a statement. The interview officially derails from focusing on the game to Hemi’s love life.
I swallow nervously. He doesn’t want a relationship because he doesn’t want extra attention from the media. Not unless it was serious he said on the hike. Why is he talking about me on live television when it’ll be picked up by every news station in NZ and probably the world? The rugby world only has a few out men in it, but none of them are currently in a relationship.
Hemi shifts his eyes from the reporter and stares down the camera. It’s like he’s looking right at me. “Going to Wanaka was the best decision I ever made, and I have our physiotherapist, Daisy, and her friend to thank for setting it up and allowing me to stay with him. Coach was right to remove me last week. I need time to figure out my mental health and how it’s affecting my game, but I wouldn’t have been able to play as I did without him.”
The reporter’s eyes gleam with glee, but all I can focus on is Hemi and his hazel eyes staring at me and wishing I was there to kiss him.
“You’ve been a proud supporter of the queer community your entire professional career, and you’ve been out since you played for the under twenties. Is your friend perhaps more than a friend?”
I’ll give it to the reporter, he has balls to ask that in front of the stadium and everyone watching live when he should focus on the game. But I want to know the answer, so I lean forward until I’m on the edge of the couch and hold my breath.
Hemi stares at the camera. “He is.” And then he walks away from the reporter with a smirk.
The reporter tries to follow him but can’t keep up, so he faces the camera and begins telling us Hemi’s history, but I tune it out.
Hemi said I was more than a friend. Confirmed it in front of thousands of people. On live television.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter to the empty room and run a shaking hand over my mouth I didn’t realise was spread in a wide, giddy smile.
I fumble for my phone and type out a message, backspacing multiple times when my shaking fingers hit the wrong letters.
