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  And Abe and Lisa, well, there was another story. They were currently “on hiatus,” which was just their fancy way of saying that they had split up, were still being tight-lipped about why and if they would ever get back together. Dec couldn’t get anything out of Abe, and they usually shared everything. Lisa avoided us both, knowing we might succeed at breaking her down.

  So, although things were great and wonderfully normal between Dec and I, our friends were on more unsure footing.

  I should have known better than to take mine and Dec’s security for granted.

  Maybe everybody else’s troubles were a portent that other storms were brewing. Dec and I had had it easy for a while—our last hiccup had been the changes in our careers happening at the same time, and even then we had never been in serious trouble with each other. I had pledged after all the brouhaha associated with Dec’s coming out that I would become a newer, stronger, less dramatic Simon Murray. Dec said he liked the old one just fine, and truth be told I slipped up enough to keep him happy.

  It was Abe who had changed the most. He had played for another season after Dec retired, and he took it far worse when an injury forced him out of professional play as well. For a while he raged between irritability and depression, and although Lisa tried to help him he resisted it. When she left him out of frustration, I think she hoped it would cause him to confront what was happening to him. It hadn’t really worked, although we all still hoped it would. But Abe continued to suffer, and Lisa stayed out of sight.

  It was funny how much things could change in almost three years. It would only be sensible to assume that Dec and Abe would be starting to think of retiring, if not retired already as not many footballers had careers past their early thirties, but for the three of us to be in new careers, Abe and Lisa in Splitsville, Nyssa abandoning me for New Zealand, and Fran and Roger to be considering having a brood of their own, seemed to have swiftly thrown us all into life as semi grown-ups. I still didn’t know what to think of it all. I think before I met Dec I was settling into a comfortable rut, and who knows what I would have been doing if I hadn’t been dragged along to that housewarming party by Fran and Roger? Maybe I would still be at the Triple F Film Festival, and still thinking I was revelling in singledom. Maybe I was in a comfortable rut now, but it was a hell of a nicer one.

  I guess “rut” isn’t the right word. A rut is something you subconsciously want to get out of. The thing is, when I admitted it to myself, I was happy. Happy happy happy. And that’s a good thing. But the problem with being happy is that life can knock it out of you in its own natural submission to the tall poppy syndrome.

  When it all started, it was summer in Melbourne. We were suffering through a long, humid heatwave with storms that promised relief but only made it worse. Everybody started to get that sluggish look of the walking dead. At night I cranked the air conditioning up, making Dec complain and pull a jumper on. I said it was better to be cold and put on a jumper instead of suffering in the heat and doing our best Wicked Witch of the West impersonations after Dorothy threw a bucket of water on her.

  I was never at my best in summer. Roger Hargreaves could have written a book about me—Mr. Homicidal. I chose to become a hermit camped out in our air conditioned apartment, only venturing out when Declan forced me to, whinging vociferously. I was a winter boy through and through, and Melbourne never failed to deliver on that, but winter was still too far away.

  So it was only natural that everything would happen when my mood was at its lowest point, serving to aggravate me only further. And the cause of our problem was one man: Greg Heyward.

  THE power must have gone out at some point in the night, because I could feel myself struggling in my dream, which involved searching my parents’ house for a golden key (don’t ask me). I felt overheated and finally woke feeling suffocated, sweaty, and dehydrated. Part of the suffocation was due to the fact that Declan was sprawled across me and I was crushed beneath his weight. He had no sense of personal boundaries in sleep. Normally, I didn’t mind so much, particularly in winter when he proved to be better than an electric blanket and a cat for warmth, but that was helped by the fact that we normally had working air, cooling the impossible summer night heat. Right at this point of time I wanted him off me and as far away as possible.

  “Dec.”

  He remained as heavy as stone, and as impenetrable.

  “Oh, come on.” I pushed at him, my hands sliding on the warm and moist skin of his shoulder, which elicited a grunt from him but still no movement.

  My chest felt like it was slowly being crushed. I might as well have been a suspected Salem witch being tortured with a rock press. At least then I could have zapped myself out from underneath it like Sabrina or Samantha.

  I managed to swing my left foot onto the floor to gain some traction and began to slide myself out from under him. As I was doing this, he flung his arm out to clumsily settle around my shoulder and pin me down.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  I pulled myself out further and managed to get my second leg free. Now I had enough force to slide away, but fell heavily to the ground as I had no balance, knocking my arm against the dresser.

  Getting to my feet and rubbing the injured limb, I glared at Dec. Silhouetted by moonlight, and with that beautifully relaxed face people only seem to get in sleep, I couldn’t hold any grudges against him. But I needed air and water.

  Switching on the light to the lounge, I stupidly remembered the power was off and made my way to the kitchen in the dark. I startled Maggie as I got close to the fridge. She was lying on the kitchen counter top, her favourite place when she was warm, obviously because of the tiled surface. She knew she wasn’t allowed on it—it was the one thing Dec was funny about—but I never had the heart to chuck her off. Needless to say, Maggie usually won, and the spray and wipe got a liberal workout in our household.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, thankful it was still cool, gave Maggie a quick scratch behind the ears, and fled to the balcony. It was still warm outside, but there was a slight breeze blowing that made it more bearable than inside. I chugged on the water with relief. It was so cool in comparison I could practically feel it hitting my veins and coursing through my body. A few boats were moving out on the water below, people seeking their own relief from the sluggish heat. That could be the only reason for it. It’s not like there was an abundance of good seafood in this inner-city stretch of the Yarra to fish for, even if it was where the river began feeding out into the sea. The Yarra was notorious for its murky brown colour and rubbish traps.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I turned to find Declan behind me, framed by the open sliding door.

  “Too hot,” I said.

  His boxers were riding low on his hips, to the point where you could see that intoxicating “v” made by his muscles. I must have been too obvious in staring, because Declan was suddenly pressing me up against the railing, his chest against mine and his thumb stroking my cheek.

  I tried to pull away. “Yuck. You’re hot and sweaty.” But unlike being suffocated in bed earlier, it really wasn’t that bad. I reached out with my foot to slide the door closed, making sure Maggie stayed in.

  “So are you.”

  “Then it’s even worse.”

  “We can be hot and sweaty together.” He was doing his patented “sexy” voice, which was actually more amusing than erotic. Although it usually ended up having the same effect upon me as if it was sexy.

  His fingers helped. Damn, his touch was magic. My resolve was already melting, much like the rest of my body. Then he started kissing me, beginning with my lips, then tracing a course along my jaw, down my neck, and along my shoulder. He paused and peered up at me with a cheeky grin. “Shall I stop?”

  “You magnificent bastard,” I moaned.

  He laughed, his breath like fire against my skin. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  WAKING a few hours later, I was naked, on top of the sheet
s, and cold. The power was back on, and the room was Arctic. Even having Dec sprawled over me once again wasn’t enough to keep me warm. It seemed that temperature-wise it was either feast or famine for comfort in this place. I managed to reach for the doona that was half spilling onto the floor and pulled it over us. Dec yawned himself awake and grinned sleepily at me.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning yourself. Mind getting off me?”

  “I do, actually.” He lazily traced a finger around my left nipple, and I whacked him on the butt.

  “Stop it. You know you have Abe coming over soon.”

  “He only lives three floors down. If we don’t answer, he can just come up again later.”

  He knew that wasn’t the plan for today, but I tried to keep it light. “You’ve exhausted me enough.”

  He was looking far too pleased with himself. “Really?”

  I scoffed at him and pushed him away. “No! Now make me coffee.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I had a quick shower while Dec made coffee, and then I fed Maggie and made scrambled eggs while he likewise made himself presentable. We were eating when the knock came at the door.

  Abe was not looking his usual self. It was fair to say, however, that he hadn’t been looking like himself for a while. He was subdued when he greeted me at the door, scratching at his unshaven cheek. It wasn’t designer stubble; it was on its way to unkempt beard.

  “You hungry?” I asked. “There’s eggs.”

  “No, I’m fine. I had some Maccas earlier.”

  The breakfast of hangovers. I could smell last night’s alcohol on his breath, masqueraded unsuccessfully by mouthwash and toothpaste.

  I grabbed my keys and messenger bag, kissed Dec, briefly rested my hand on Abe’s shoulder, and made my way out the door. I knew I had to make myself scarce. Dec had been wanting to talk to Abe alone for a while, but Abe had always engineered it somehow that there was company around. He had probably been expecting me to stay there, and I could see by the look on his face that he wasn’t happy.

  But that was Dec’s problem now.

  I crossed the Webb Bridge into the retail and dining heart of the Docklands. Breakfasters were out in full force, and even though I had just had breakfast at home, I sat in one of the cafes and ordered a latte and toastie so I could open my laptop and work minus the threat of being thrown out for other paying customers. Even though it was the weekend, I had work to do. I could have saved it for the office on Monday, but I couldn’t be bothered going out and searching for entertainment before I could return home. Fran and Roger had gone to Sorrento for a couple of days, so I couldn’t even annoy them for company.

  And then I saw somebody I did know.

  Lisa was walking along the waterfront with her mother and sister. It had been a while since I last saw her, which was pretty strained, and I was about to call her name out when I stopped myself. She looked happy and peaceful with her family, and I knew if I drew attention to myself it could lead to awkwardness. It’s not like Lisa and I would be able to say anything of importance to each other when she was flanked by her two greatest supporters on earth, and I just didn’t have the heart to disrupt that.

  So I put my head back down over my laptop and typed away furiously, even though it was only indecipherable gibberish that was coming out on the screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the three of them enter the cafe. My heart was pounding. Maybe Lisa would approach me of her own initiative? Maybe she was ready to speak to me alone?

  But they left again, and I have to admit my heart sank. I know I had avoided her, but it was to leave the decision up to her. It seemed she had made her choice.

  Breakups never affect the couple only. Dec’s loyalty would have to remain with Abe—he was his best friend. But Lisa and I had forged a really close bond since our time together as footy WAGs. We used to say we should call a formal meeting to change the WAG moniker from Wives and Girlfriends to WAP—Wives and Partners, so it could take into account the only gay partner of an out AFL player at the time. But WAGs we remained, and I had really thought our friendship was impervious to any external strain.

  So I was feeling a little bit hurt and blue when I made my way home. That vanished when I heard the yelling coming from behind our apartment door. It was muffled enough so that, although I could hear the tone, I couldn’t make out the words.

  Fumbling with my keys, I opened the door on Abe screaming, “You always have to be Mr. Fucking Perfect! Can’t you stop it for once in your fucking life? Not everyone can live up to your standards!”

  Neither of them had noticed me yet. I hung my messenger bag on the hook and stood there for a moment as I wondered whether to intervene.

  “I’m not Mr. Perfect,” Declan said. He was trying to remain calm, but the veins in his neck were a perfect mirror image of those in Abe’s: a mini-Vesuvius ready to blow. I knew then that this situation was skirting dangerously close to an out-and-out battle. “All I want to do is help you. That’s all anybody wants to do. Lisa—”

  “Don’t say her name,” Abe warned him.

  “Why not? It’s the only thing that actually seems to make you care about anything. Don’t you want to try and get things back on track with her?”

  “I told you to shut up!”

  Okay, this was probably the moment. I startled them by making my presence known. Abe seemed to calm down slightly, and I was relieved.

  “Look, guys,” I said, unwisely standing in between them but feeling it was best to create a buffer zone. “Let’s just chill out before somebody says something they really regret—”

  “Fucking arsehole,” Abe hissed in Dec’s direction.

  “—like that,” I finished.

  “Get out,” Declan said. I had never really heard him sound like that before—it was like Linda Blair’s devil voice, but I could tell he was also restraining himself before he said something similar. And he didn’t want to do that. He knew Abe was hurting and lashing out at the person he trusted most at the moment—probably because he knew Declan would be the only one who would forgive him for it. But even Declan had his limits.

  “Going!” Abe yelled. He was at the door in two long strides. “And fuck you!”

  It exploded out of Dec. “And you wonder why she left you. Don’t worry, Abe. Everybody else is starting to follow her.”

  Yeah. I couldn’t believe he stooped so low either. But I guess it showed just how badly this thing had been brewing between them. Abe slammed the door, but he was bounding back across the room, and I could feel Declan move around me. Probably so they could collide in some slow-motion Matrix-style action move in the middle of our lounge room.

  I couldn’t let them start beating the crap out of each other, so I stupidly jumped in the middle of them again.

  And suddenly I was lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling, my face numb.

  At least, numb until the adrenaline vanished and pain flooded into every nerve of my skull. I blinked away stars and Tweety Birds, to see Dec and Abe standing above me and looking down, both of their faces frozen in different ways:

  I felt both of them take an arm and pull me up off the carpet. Supporting me, because my knees seemed a bit rubbery, they steered me to the couch. Declan disappeared while Abe kept babbling, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.” I wanted to answer him, but I still felt a little incapable of opening my mouth and making some form of coherent speech. Declan speedily reappeared at my side with a roll of toilet paper, crouching down to my level. I was perplexed until he tore off what seemed like half the roll and pushed it under my nose. The fact that I could immediately see it stain red suddenly made everything a lot clearer. I think I must have gurgled in some sort of shock, because it only raised Dec’s ire.

  Still pressing the tissue against my nose, he turned on Abe. “I told you to get the fuck out!”

  “Dec, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean—”

  “How fucking stupid are you, that you need to be told—”<
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  By now Declan was back on his feet, and I kept the pressure with the tissue. It was almost soaked through. Both he and Abe were circling around one another again, as if they were still on the bloody football field. Fucking jocks, I swear. Even though they were both retired, they still thought they were gladiators. I got to my feet, but wisely stayed behind Dec this time. Let him take the punch this time—I didn’t think my face could take another one. Especially as my nose was already big enough without swelling.

  “You know he didn’t mean to hit me,” I said, muffled around a fistful of tissue. They never put this scenario in their commercials with the cute little Labrador puppies, that’s for sure.

  “Oh, that’s fine, then!” Dec said. “Sorry, Abe. Now that I know you didn’t mean to hit Simon, let’s all have a beer!”

  Sarcasm never sat well on him. He should leave it up to the experts.

  Abe stood defensively, with his arms crossed over his chest but a genuinely contrite expression on his face.

  “You’d rather he hit you?” I asked, grimacing as a little river of blood ran down the back of my throat. Tasty.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, there you go,” I said to Abe. “You have permission. Go ahead.”

  They both stared at me, wondering if I had a concussion. Obviously, inappropriate humour wasn’t my strong point.

  “I’ll go,” Abe finally muttered. “I’m sorry. To both of you. Especially you, Simon.”

  “That’s right, run away,” Dec jeered.

  Petty wasn’t pretty. But there was no comeback, no new punch. Abe just stared at him; this time I couldn’t even read the expression on his face. It was totally devoid of emotion. He gave a slight nod and disappeared out the door, closing it behind him.