7. Jason

CHAPTER 7

JASON

The whole family meets for a pre-graduation brunch Sunday morning, and it's chaotic enough that I can almost pretend to ignore Mik on the other side of the table. He looks exhausted, and I wonder if he slept as poorly as I did. My eyes cut to Janel, who is fussing with the sleeves of his shirt, and I'm caught between feeling guilty and irritated.

I know that my brain is trying to give me reasons to justify what I did yesterday. I'm torn up with guilt, but I'm also violently jealous that she has the right to touch him. The way she fusses at him, whispering at him to fix his sleeves, is making my teeth clench. All he did was neatly roll the sleeves up his forearms, and she's acting like he's indecent. Although, to be honest, the way his forearms look with his sleeves rolled up is ridiculously hot. Especially because I thought I saw the slightest hint of ink peeking below the rolled sleeve. When we were young, he only had the top part of his arm done, but I know he had plans for more. Fuck, those tattoos of his were so hot to me. The fact that my parents found them absolutely abhorrent only made them hotter. And he used to have a lip ring that I would imagine biting when –

"It's so nice to have you back here, dear," my grandma says, patting my hand sweetly and shaking me from my thoughts. "Grandpa and I were so jealous when your parents got to fly out to see you. But John's edema just won't let him travel long distances like that."

I smile at her, thankful for the distraction from where my thoughts were going. Again.

"I wish you could have come out too, but I understand. And I'm here now."

"Your father said you're only here for a short visit, though. Do you ever think you'll move home?"

I consider her question. I'm the oldest player on my team by several years, and I've noticed myself slowing down. Or maybe these kids are just getting faster. By professional rugby standards, I'm practically ancient. They probably only keep me on because of my size, but that's not going to last much longer.

"I'm not sure yet," I tell her. "I was offered a coaching position when I decide to retire, so it's something I have to think about."

They offered me the position a month ago, knowing that I'm pushing my luck with every season I continue playing. I still have a little while to make a decision before the new season starts.

I'm not sure what I want to do. I have missed my family. Outside of the tension with Mik, coming home has been wonderful. If he weren't a factor, I don't think it would even be a question whether I would come back. But if these brief encounters with my brother-in-law have taught me anything, it's that I'm not over him. Not by a long shot. A coaching position would at least give me an excuse to stay overseas. Far, far away from him.

"Oh, well, I understand," she says, but her voice betrays her.

My insides twist up with her resigned tone. Mik's words from yesterday echo in my head. Every time I hang up the phone after talking with my family, it adds to my guilt. I made up excuses for so many holidays that they no longer even bother asking me if I'll come home anymore.

But how am I supposed to tell them I can barely deal with reality from thousands of miles away, that being here is excruciating? That I apparently can't be in the same room with Mik Sanders without wanting to punish him or make love to him—either way, it'd involve my dick. That he's married to my sister and is the father of my favorite person on earth apparently has no bearing on what I'm willing to do to have him.

Time and distance have healed nothing. But they're the only defense I have.

"When do you fly back, son?" My dad asks from across the table, and multiple people look up with interest.

My eyes cut to Mik and then dart away. I need to leave sooner than later, if we're being honest.

"It depends on a few factors, but I have a meeting in London on the twenty-first, so no longer than two weeks, I'm afraid."

"What kind of meeting?" Janel asks, and I try to meet her eye without looking at Mik.

"Just a, uh, promotional thing."

My mother gasps excitedly. "Another magazine?"

I return her enthusiasm with a tight, awkward smile and nod.

The money for doing adverts and interviews is even more than the salary for an athlete, and the club encourages players to do them because it reflects well on the team. The more popular the players are, the more fans there are to buy tickets, after all. The downside is that I find some of the promos and attention to be entirely embarrassing. If its sports related and about my talent on the field, I'm okay with it. But when it's effectively selling half naked pictures of myself being paraded around as a sex symbol, then it's mortifying. But the owners love it, and aggressively encourage it. Plus, I'm not getting any younger. If I'm going to age out of the game, I might as well save a little more for retirement. Not that I'm hurting for money.

I know what Jase is going to ask before the words are fully out of his mouth. "What magazine?"

I clear my throat. "It's called The Scene ."

Mik snorts, then coughs to cover it up. He shrugs apologetically when Janel pins him with a scathing look and then keeps his eyes pinned to his coffee cup. It does nothing to hide the mirth swimming in his expression.

Jase types into his phone and then reads out loud. " The Scene is the best-selling gay magazine in the UK and Europe and the world's biggest LGBTQ media brand," he reads. "That's so freaking cool!"

Ugh . My face is hot. I breathe through my nose and try to play it cool. "Thanks, it's… something." It's ridiculous. "The team owners like us to do these things for, uh, public appeal."

From the corner of my eye, I see Mik roll his lips to keep from laughing again. I'm caught between wanting to laugh with him and wanting to punch him for laughing.

"My son the celebrity," my mother says proudly, reaching over to pat my hand.

My father grunts. "Never thought my son would be a gay sex symbol." He flinches, and I'm pretty sure my mother kicked him under the table. "But, uh, we're real proud of you, son," he's quick to add.

"Did you say gay sex?" Grandpa John yells loudly, cupping his hand behind his ear. Pretty much everyone in the restaurant turns around and stares at our table, and I rub my hand over my face. Oh my god .

Jase starts cracking up, and when I turn towards him, I notice he and Mik are both losing their shit. Mik's got his elbows on the table, face buried in his hands, and his shoulders are shaking. Janel keeps swatting at them and telling them to behave, her face flushed as red as mine. For some reason, that gets me going, and I start laughing, too. Before we know it, our whole table is laughing so hard the manager has to come over and remind us what kind of establishment this is. Unable to keep it together— seriously, I'm losing my mind —I pull out my credit card and hand it to the manager on my way out of the building.

As soon as I step through the door to get some fresh air, the heat smacks me in the face and helps me to sober some. The door opens, and Mik walks out, joining me against the wall as we wait for the rest of my family— our family—to finish up.

"Sorry," he says, trying and failing to cover the mirth in his tone.

"No, you're not," I say, laughing.

"You're right. I'm not. That shit was hilarious."

We both crack up again, and then I realize I'm leaning into him, and he has his hand on my shoulder. Sure, we're just laughing, but we can't just slip right back into how we used to be. If I stay this close to him, I'll do something terrible. Like bury my nose in his neck and huff his scent so I can pull out everything familiar and name everything that isn't. Or lick the sweat from his temple. Or kiss him. Bite him. Mark him.

I clear my throat and step back. Mik shakes his head and runs a hand through his short hair. I miss when it was long and messy.

"I am sorry," I start sincerely. "About yesterday. I was out of line."

He doesn't make eye contact, but he nods. "Me too."

"We're all adults, and that was a long time ago. For the sake of all of them, we need to find a way to be…"

"Friends?"

"Brothers," I correct. Because that's what we are, legally. Brothers-in-law, at least.

Neither of us would ever do anything to hurt Janel. I knew it back when it took him six months to break up with her because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. I knew it the moment she blurted the words that changed all our lives. And now, even more than all that, neither of us would ever want to break up this family. I might not have talked to Mik in eighteen years, but I talk to his son, and I know what an amazing father he is. He'd do anything, sacrifice everything, for Jase. And so would I. I can pull myself together for the sake of Jase.

He nods, and I hold out my hand. I ignore the electricity that buzzes up my arm when he slides his palm against mine, or the way his strong grip makes my stomach flip. I give his hand a curt shake, then pull back as everyone else files out of the restaurant.

This is just how it has to be.