Becoming the Quarterbacks slave Continued

Carl had been out to three parties in three days. His exams over, he just wanted to get school out of his system. By Thursday, he was too exhausted to stand another night. He planned rest, and to make Friday his big going home bash.

As he reclined on his bed he could hear the various coming and goings of the frat house. The place was constantly noisy. After a while you just didn’t notice it. He’d decided he was going to watch the end of the movie and then get some sleep, the fact he’d seen it ten times before wasn’t important.

As the adverts finished and a wild car chase resumed, the top corner of his 45-inch flat screen exploded. As he found himself showered in shattered plastic parts, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through his head. Bits of plaster dropped from a new hole in his ceiling. He instantly knew it would match one in his floor.

Carl had grown up on the Western outskirts of Detroit. Black, his folks had been upper middle class, his father an engineer, had managed to retain his job. When the city degenerated, even the residents in ‘good’ suburbs, knew what a gunshot sounded like. He’d just heard one and witnessed its damage. Someone was shooting in the house and he wasn’t about to find out who.

Everyone in his family, had been relentlessly schooled by his dad on how to call for help. Suddenly, he’d never been so grateful. He grabbed his phone and sprinted for the door. The passage was lined with heads sticking out asking ‘what the fuck?’ He ran, for what he thought would be the safest room in the house, dialling 911 as he went.
“Police,” he said firmly without yelling. The operator connected.
“How can I,”
“Gunshot at 344 College Drive!” he cut off. “Valley Nights.”
“Casualties?” The operator asked.
“I don’t know,” he said as he closed the bathroom door behind him. “Probably not, the bullet came through my floor on the second storey.”
“What’s at that address?”
“It’s a frat house, 28 rooms and a bar down stairs. Can you send someone?”
“Already on the way honey,” said the woman trying to calm him. “Where are you?”
“In the upstairs bathroom, the shot came from the ground floor.”

*

The police arrived four minutes and seven seconds later. This time of year they always kept cars on patrol near the colleges. There was always some drama. When the two units pulled up, they kept their lights off, so not to panic. The bar downstairs looked to be operating like any other busy drinking hole. The crowd had spilled out its double doors on to the lawn.

It was a little rowdy but well in control, the crowd hadn’t heard anything. A third and fourth unit arrived and the officers quickly looked to get everyone out of the bar and away from the house. The crowd were stunned; what was going on?

The 911 guy was still on the phone, emergency patched him through to the officer in charge.
“This is Officer Stevens. Who and where are you?” asked the officer.
“I’m Carl. I’m upstairs, hiding in the bathroom.” Replied Carl, clearly rattled but holding it together. This guy’s had training thought the cop.
“Carl, you said the round came through your floor?”
“Yes Sir,”
“What’s below your room?”
“Umm, I think its Cory’s or maybe Glenn’s room.”
“Numbers?”
“Oh, sorry. Four or Six.”
“Is there an exit up there?”
“Yeah, at the back.”
“Get yourself and anyone else you can see out, I’ve sent officers, look for them. Move!”
“Yes sir, yes sir.” Carl responded running back into the hall and waving for everyone to follow. “Cops say we’ve got to get out, this way,” he said pointing. A degree of panic erupted.

Six minutes and thirty-eight seconds had passed from the first shot.

As Stevens made his way down the passage he took in the numbers. A cautious operator, he thought he was probably dealing with a prank. Still, can’t be too careful. A second shot rang out. They froze expecting more. They didn’t come. Thank fuck!

*

Stevens and his backup were twelve steps from Cory’s room when the second explosion detonated. It wasn’t a firecracker, he knew it, fuck! He eased along the passage only to hear ungodly screaming, a young guy? The next second, the pounding on door four started.
“Let us out, let us out,” screamed panicked voice, voices? The door rattled under the torture coming from inside.

“This is the police,” Stevens thundered. “Come out with your hands raised.”
“Oh god, oh god, Cory,” continued the youngster from inside. “He did it, he did it”
“Open the door,” the door the officer bellowed again, this time hammering on it. The room when silent for a second.
“It’s the cops! Help, help let us out.” Screamed the kid. Stevens turned the handle, shocked to find it open. He pushed the door in slightly and retreated, weapon drawn. Two young guys rushed out, one covered in blood.
“On the ground, now!” yelled the cops from each end of the passage. The boys froze before dropping to the carpet.

Oh, great thought Stevens. He’s covered in blood, it’s a crime scene! He instantly called for backup.

*

Letters have no sense of urgency, they arrive when they arrive, sometimes on schedule, sometimes in their own sweet fucken time.

The hand-written scrip Kevin had just received was like something from the dark ages. Not only was it hand addressed snail mail, it was hand written. Who the fuck?

Dear Kevin

You may not even remember me but my name is Jake. We hooked up for sex two or three times a number of years ago and I wanted to send you a brief note.

It’s come to my attention that I would have treated you like an arsehole. To be honest, the specifics of our meeting are hazy, but if I met you, I know I would have treated you badly. In that period of my life, I treated everyone that way.

I just wanted to say that I have gained a new perspective on life and I am truly ashamed of how I used to treat people. Words are just words, but I am sorry for how I behaved. I utterly apologise.

I don’t ask or expect to be forgiven. I know this letter is just a token, none the less I would be indebted to you if you find it in your heart to accept it for what it is, an apology.

Sorry, Jake Roberts

What the fuck? Who is Jake Roberts? Thought the young tradesman builder. He sat at the computer and did a search. Oh fuck! Him. He’s right, he did treat me like shit. Best god dam sex I’ve ever had! What the fuck is going on in his world thought Kevin. Nice gesture, unnecessary, but nice.

Fifteen letters, in a similar vein landed at their various destinations over the following month. Some were ignored as pathetic. One or two provided utter and complete relief from demons of the past.

The one that landed at Josh Jackson’s house two weeks after the shooting was two pages long. In all its text it never mentioned a moment from college or Cory. Josh cried for a day and a half.

When Jake’s Dad returned home after what seemed like weeks away, the letter box was empty. Instead, he found their mail neatly stacked on the kitchen table. They had great neighbours!
The bills kept coming, no matter how distracted you were he thought, he thumbed through the pile. The cards from well wishers were plentiful, it had been a rough time. It was nice to have friends.

A plain business envelope caught his attention, why would it have a hand-written address? His blood ran cold, his son’s handwriting. He sunk to the chair, suddenly terrified of what he was about to see. He tore open the flap.

Two hours later he called Officer Stevens.

The Dean had been as busy as ten men. End of year break, was meant to be a quiet time but the ‘frat incident’, as it had become known, was never ending. Just this morning, the police had said the house would remain a locked crime scene, for at least another month.

It had been a week already, but now it all rested on what was a touch and go set of circumstance. He rubbed his temple. This was the quietest campus on the planet, how the fuck could something so wild have transpired here?

His secretary knocked quietly. That was odd, Carol never knocked. He looked up to see her standing at the door, holding what looked like sheets of typical parent correspondence, hand written! She was as white as a ghost! 

An hour later he called Officer Stevens.

In what he would later consider three ‘ground hog day’ events. Stevens found himself called to the investigating detective’s office. Yesterday he’d taken a call from the boy’s parents. They were suddenly distraught.

The day before he’d answered a call form the College Dean. The man could hardly speak. Now he’d been asked to attend the third floor. It wasn’t even his investigation, he’d just been the first senior Sargent to arrive on site.

As Jenkins gestured for him to sit, Stevens thought him a good man; he’d sort out what the fuck had happened in that house.

The detective held what looked like a letter. He passed it across the desk.
“This has been in our fucked up internal mail system for a week,” he said. “Its post stamped the day Jake shot himself. Take a read, if fact, read it twice.

Why? You won’t believe it the first time.” Stevens began.

Jenkins was right.

*

“Wow,” said Stevens, shaking his head. “This case just keeps on giving.”
“Yep,” agreed Jenkins.
“What have we got on who?” Asked the senior Sargent, suddenly engaged.

The detective stood to the photo laden pin board. It was the incident map.

“Well, the three main players. Jake, Josh and Cory. “Stevens nodded.
“Jake, from age 16 to 18, statutory rape of Josh, just 14 when it started.”
“Same count for Cory, stat rape of his brother from 13 onwards.”
“Cory and Josh for blackmail, potential deprivation of liberty and definite multiple counts for rape of Jake.”

Jenkins picked up a stack of papers.
“The doc said on the night of the shooting Jake’s arse had been torn to shreds. Multiple lesions, all bleeding. Two sets of foreign DNA.”
“Cory and Josh?” Asked Stevens, “They had fucked him that night? Before?”
“That’s what the doc said,” confirmed the detective. “Also said he’d be willing to testify if wasn’t a one off. Regular abuse, he said.” Jenkins paused.

“We got the hard drives?”
“Yep, all three. Jake’s is full of school shit, the guy has been crunching out A’s in every subject for more than two years. College confirmed his grades. The drive had a little personal stuff, but fuck all really. On his desktop there was the abuse video we logged, looks like it’s from shoot night. I’ve asked IT to confirm its date stamp.” Jenkins took a breath.
“The kid cracked under pressure?” Stevens asked. Jenkins shrugged. “The other drives?”

“Nothing on Cory’s, he’s a lawyer in training.” Replied the detective. “Josh’s though, is a different story. It’s full to the brim. Looks like he filmed every random fuck he’s ever had, except his brother’s.”
“Pity,”
“Yep, here’s the interesting thing though. There are two or three early date videos of hook-ups where Jake asks him his age, just casual like. The little shit claims he’s sixteen, on camera.”
“So, stat rape for Jake would have fallen over anyway?” Asked Stevens.
“Yeah, a firebrand prosecutor would probably have a go, but a conviction would be 50/50.” Stevens just nodded.

“How is the younger brother mentally?”
“His parents have him under watch, apparently he’s traumatised. I mean, you saw him covered in blood. He wouldn’t stop talking then, apparently that hasn’t changed.”
“The parents are in shock themselves. They had no idea of what their sons were doing with each other, or anyone else for that matter. They’ve never even heard of Jake.”

“The gun?”
“Jake’s, and legal, with receipts and permits. We still don’t know where he got the $600 to pay for it. Not from his folks.”
“So the brother cornered him, slaved him, and rough fucked him for the last two years?” summarised Stevens.
“Till he blew a gasket.” Confirmed Jenkins.

“The letters?” asked the Sargent, returning to the first topic of conversation.
“Yeah, well that’s a whole other chapter in its self. This one,” he said holding up the pages, “is basically an outline of all the facts. Facts as he saw them anyway. Even admits to the stat raping of Josh.”
“The College Dean’s is a similar fact outline, but is a general apology to the school, his hockey team and the coach for the fallout.”
“The last big note, is this one his parents got. They said he’d been spending more and more time at college. Didn’t come home last break. We think that’s when he picked up the gun. The dates match.”

“What’s with all the smudges?” Asked Stevens, looking at the pages in his hands.
“I’d hazard they’re his father’s tears.”
“Jesus!” Spat Stevens, this is a fucken mess.
“Yep. The one to his folks is almost all apology, for what he planned. They’ve read the others, they know what he went through.”
“What do you mean big notes?” said Stevens, suddenly picking up on the tiny assertion.

“When the Captain gave the press conference last week,” Stevens nodded. “He mentioned letters to the folks and the school. We didn’t know about this one back then.” He said gesturing to the one addressed to the police.
“Well, turns out there’s at least seven personal apologies sent on the same day, maybe more.”
“Apologies to who?”
“Guys he used to have sex with. Apparently he was under the impression he was an utter arsehole.”
“These guys contacted us?”
“After they saw the Capt. on TV. Not like they could miss it. A shooting at a quiet college like ours is big news, even without all this slave shit. Thank fuck none of it has come out.”
“What did these guys say?”
“That’s the thing. Two of the seven, confirmed he was a bastard, but nothing they thought of as assault.”
“What about the other five?” Asked Stevens. Jenkins laughed.
“They said it had been some of the best sex they’d ever had.”
“Wow,” added Stevens, shaking his head.
“Seems Jake’s view of himself, was worse than reality.”
“Suppose. Being blackmailed into slavery will do that sort of shit.”

“What happens now?” asked Stevens after a contemplative pause.
“Well, it’s sort of on hold. I mean, I think we’ve got an accurate picture of what happened. The only thing we don’t know is, if it’s going to fall left or right.”

“Any word?”
“No, but we’re not alone.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Stevens, confused.
“Well his parents are in the same boat of course,” Stevens nodded, understanding, “but the college has plans, if it’s a positive outcome.” Another pause.
“Something else too, I took a call from the National Hockey League. Seems Jake was on their radar, two years ago. Next big thing, apparently.”
“What did they want?”
“A month ago the coach sent them a collage of his plays, season past. The woman I spoke to said how rare it was to find someone with his skills, in some down home college.”
“I used to play myself. How good was his season?”
“Ten best on rinks, 75 goals.”
“My god!”

*

The dreams were fitful and never ending. Worse, I was incapable of getting a fix on them. The only constant I seemed aware of was the all-pervasive sense, I was somehow trapped. I don’t think I have ever been scared for so long.

The first time I woke for real, I remember thinking that, this time I would stay awake. I don’t specifically recall, but I was later told, I’d been waking on and off for two days. Every time I managed to arouse myself I seemed to fall back in to the same dream ridden sleep I’d come from.

Once I’d managed to stay conscious for forty minutes, the doctors decided that this wasn’t a drill and looked to engage me. The questions didn’t make sense, my responses, even less so. I needed more time. Eventually my parents arrived, they rushed into the room like it was a black Friday sale. A room, I thought, I’m somewhere in a room.

It was clear that they were over joyed, but despite their presence, I was still confused. I just laid back, needing to take a minute. I took two hours. My glorious first words were epic.
“Water,” I croaked, sending my mother into a frenzy. She finally had something to do. I drank awkwardly, why couldn’t I use my arms? Oh my god! I was paralysed! I panicked and thrashed around both weakly and pathetically.

A doctor suddenly appeared and with his hand settled on my chest, I began to calm.
“Am I an eggplant?” I asked bizarrely, I think I meant to say vegetable. The doctor’s surprise showed.
“No, you’re not any type of fresh produce. You are though very lucky. Please stop moving too much, you’re waking up after a long sleep and you need to take it easy. Can you do that for me Jake?”
My name, how did he know my name? I simply nodded yes.
“Good, good. Take some deep breaths and in a few minutes we’ll tell you everything you want to know. Including where to buy fruit and vegetables, if that’s what you want.” I started to settle
“No cabbage,” I added, as he looked at me quizzically. “I hate cabbage.”

“What’s wrong doctor? Why is he talking like that?” I heard my mother in the background.
“Nothing’s wrong, he’s just waking up from the deepest sleep he’s ever known. For a time his mind will be latching on to the strongest thoughts it can, thoughts from his past. He must really dislike cabbage.”

“He does! There was this one time..”
“Jules,” I heard my father say. “Not now honey.”
“Oh, of course, sorry.”
“No problem,” said the guy in the lab coat. “A bit of ordinary banter in the background won’t hurt. Tell me about the one time, but speak up a little so, Jake can hear you.”
“See Jerry, I was doing the right thing.” I saw my father sigh, the world was becoming more and more familiar. I was in a hospital! Why? Was there a car accident? Oh fuck, my car would cost a fortune to fix, where would I get the money? I didn’t have that sort of cash, I started to cry. It was my mother’s turn to panic.

“Oh god, he’s crying,” she said urgently. “Don’t cry honey, don’t cry, you don’t have to eat cabbage ever again.” Cabbage? Did I crash into a road side stall? What was going on? Oh, I’m in a hospital! I remember now. A hospital, I was worried I couldn’t move, I remember that too. Under the blankets I wriggled my fingers, I wasn’t paralysed! Why had my mum been talking about what I have to eat?

Over the next twenty minutes or so, the world became clearer. I still had trouble staying focused but it was getting easier. I was firm on the fact I was in hospital, I decided to stick with that, as a foundation stone.
“You have been asleep for a few weeks,” said the doctor cautiously.
“How long?” I cut in. I saw his instant discomfort.
“You’ve woken up now. That’s good, very good. You gave us quite a scare. You hit your head and we were very worried, but you’ve woken up all by yourself, that’s important, it’s the best way.”
“How long?” I asked again. My focus was exponentially improving.
“Six weeks, almost seven,” he answered quietly.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Can I promise to tell you everything?” he asked, “just not now, ok.” I nodded.

*

I looked in the mirror and turned my head to the left. I gently reached up and fingered the gouge that ran in a perfectly straight line up the side of my face. The ‘channel’ which extended from my jawline, over my temple and up the rest of my skull wasn’t sore to touch. It wasn’t anything, just a numb-ish strip about a centimetre wide and one or two mil deep in places. A scar for life.

The doctors said it could take a while for feeling to return to the damaged tissue, or it may never come back. I turned to look at myself square on. I was definitely looking better each day, I was certainly getting more hungry. How long to lunch? I’d woken a week ago and every day I was remembering more.

The police were coming to see me this afternoon. The doctors had given them half an hour. I had no idea of what they are going to ask, but a cop named Jenkins spoke to me briefly, he asked if we could have a light chat. I was nervous.

I had most of it back together by now, most of what I knew that is. I still had bouts of tying myself in knots, but even this was decreasing.

I had planned to kill myself, it was as simple and as complex as that. I could have taken Cory and Josh with me, but I was the one who had put myself in the situation. Anyway, taking them with me would have been who I used to be, not who I had become.

I had decided I liked who I had become, I liked me a lot.

The rest of the events from my kill day, I had no firsthand knowledge of. To me it was all hearsay, although I had no reason to doubt the police’s initial report. Mum had slipped me a copy.

I think mum and dad were still shockingly disappointed in me. When it came time to leave there was going to be one hell of a conversation. Dad had already spoken about a councillor, just casually here and there, but I could see where he was going.

I’d thought about Josh and Cory and the life I had been forced to live. I was definitely going to ask the cop about them. From what I could gather, I think Josh was having a rough time of it. I didn’t know what to think about that.

Josh’s utter panic at the second I pushed the trigger down, saved my life. He pulled his hand away with all his strength, and took my grip with it.

The 9mm slug had shot up the side of my head like a, well, like a bullet. It took a strip of skin four mm deep with it, knocked me out and showered the guy in blood. It was surface blood mind you, but it still looked terrifying. I’d seen the police pictures.

The gunshot wound had been dramatic, but not life threatening. As insignificant as it sounds, my life being endangered came from me falling to the floor. The side of my skull hit the unyielding hardwood before anything else. The speed of the collision and the momentum of my bulk did the damage, at exactly the wrong spot on my skull. Within seventeen minutes my brain had started to swell. Within forty, I was in a critical condition.

My induced coma was the best method the medicos had to address the brain trauma. That, and drilling four holes in my skull to relieve the pressure. Medically, all had been roughly on track until I didn’t wake up after the coma drugs were stopped. Apparently I teetered on a life or death blade edge for two weeks. Despite the dreams, I guess I made the decision to come back.

*

Given I had decided to end my life, I had no plans for the future, no expectations I would need them. A year after I left hospital I looked back on the traumatic event with a degree of guilt. The councillor dad engaged had helped a lot, helped all of us actually.

The police had charged Cory with a raft of offenses. His trial had yet to occur but his college life and planned career were over. Josh, facing fewer charges, remained the more fragile of the brothers.

Everyone on campus knew what had happened, everyone, everywhere seemed to know. The Dean had been to see me personally and had come with an amazing offer. The four subjects I had yet to complete remained open for me to attend, that was if, I still wanted to graduate as a sports scientist.  

I had accepted the offer and been able to attend in the second half. My pass rate averages dropped back to 75% as my broadened interest pool impacted. I still had occasional concentration issues but I was working on that.

The College had aggressively disbanded the frat, primarily in frustration that everyone knew what was happening, and no one acted.

Most excitedly, I was able to get back on the ice. It took me months to achieve full strength but in my first return game, I scored two goals! My touch had come back. In a mind blowing phone call a woman named Mary from the NHL, I found I was being offered a place in next years in-take draft. As soon as I heard of the offer I sought out the coach and we drank to it. He cried, I hugged him, he cried more.

*

I had planned to rent a flat, just off campus. I arrived a week early to scout out what was on offer. I instantly noted the frat building was being gutted and converted into the new student welfare centre, fitting. As I sat in the library going through the on-line rentals, Carl suddenly appeared.
“Been looking for you all over,” he said. “Heard you was coming back.” I stood and gave him a congenial hug, he sat.
“We’ve found a place on Shen Street.”
“Who’s we?” I asked.
“Dan, me, Alex and Stu,” all ex frat I noted.
“Cool,” I offered not really knowing what else to say.

“What do you think?” I was confused.
“I dunno, I already said it was cool, I dunno what else to say.” Now it was he, who looked confused.
“No, about living there with us?” he rushed out. “We’ve got an extra bedroom, and,” he stopped dead, as if the words stuck in his throat. “Well, we fucked up over the last few years.” He had his head down. When he looked up he had a hint of tears, it took him a full twenty seconds to go on. “Just saying, if you wanted to stay with people who are never gunna let that shit happen again, we’d be happy if you picked us.” He burst out crying, it must have been playing on his mind for months. I was glad the library was deserted, I had no idea what to do so I just let him be. Eventually, he pulled himself together. “I’m sorry man, I knew what was happening and I did nothing, didn’t know it was that bad, sorry man,” I stood up. He was instantly shocked, thinking I was about to leave. I dragged him to his feet and gave him a hug, he cried some more.

“What’s the rent?” I asked after he’d recovered, for a second time. I wanted to get past what they had or hadn’t done. It was history.
“Dean says your scholarship will cover all of it, and still leave you some.”
“Let’s do it,” I confirmed. He was shocked again.
“Just like that?”
“Are we going to do this or not?” I pressed.
“We are, I mean, we will,” He was all smiles.
I moved in the day after.

Two weeks later I moved to his bedroom and permanently occupied the left side of his mattress.

*

Four years later I was coming to the end of my third season with Colorado Avalanche. Based on how I, and the team were performing, I figured on another two years, maybe three. The team was a fantastic squad, I couldn’t see myself anywhere else. I’d stay as long as they wanted me, but I was under no illusions that players were just meat assets.

I was stacking as much cash away as I could. My pay was a long way away from the big names, but it was still insane. I lived a simple life, with a modest two bedroom on the outskirts.

The biggest complaint the guys had about me, was that I didn’t party with them enough. They constantly begged me to come and play up. How could the one guy, who got along with ‘EVERYONE’ not party? They had even insisted I bring Carl, I begged off.

Outside of being on the ice, being home on the lounge with Carl was the best place I could be. He’d followed me to Colorado and quickly found a midsize accountancy role. We’d continued the feather light, Dom Sub relationship we’d kindled at college. I loved him more than I could believe.

Coming into the NHL as it transpired, had been fantastic. I generated zero headlines, was a mile away from being the ‘next biggest guy’ and slipped into a great squad completely under the radar. Second year in, I found myself seventh, on the conference goal scorers ladder. The guys complained, it was because I pushed the puck to them to score, when I had no need.

A classic ‘quiet achiever’, I knew my game was continuing to improve, someone would notice, but whatever happened, I was never playing ‘just for me’ again.

*

When I’d first showed up at Avalanche, it was clear the established squad expected me to be as green as grass, cocky and probably loud as hell. Like all rookies, they said later. Instead I was quiet, skilled and utterly disarming. I had zero bravado, and it confounded the fuck out of them. Internally, I milked understatement because I genuinely found the reactions, hilarious.

Despite the scar running up the side of my head, solid rumours around my history of sexual abuse, emerged four or five months after I started to feature in the team’s weekly stats. I discussed it with the coach, and he gave me the green light for twenty minutes, pre-training. By then I had begun to build a solid bank of credibility. When I asked the squad room for quiet, I got it.

I started by introducing Carl, who said an uncomfortable ‘hello’, and sat as quickly as he could escape. I smiled and the room chuckled at how he was obviously freaked. I wasn’t sure the room knew I was gay, but they did now. I gave the team a full potted version of my enslaved history and explained I’d wanted them to hear facts from me. Ten minutes in, the room was deathly silent. I knew I was going to breach coach’s time limit. It didn’t matter, he was just as enthralled.

I explained I had no control, but I’d be pleased if it didn’t become a general or constant topic of conversation. I added that if any of them wanted a one on one chat, I’d have that too.
“My history is what it is, I’m not freaked by it, ashamed of it, or” I spoke firmly, “that interested in it. But, I understand people might be. I just don’t want to keep fuelling it. It’s history.”

In the months after, I had four or five of the guys pull me a side for a chat. I was happy to satisfy what was essentially their curiosity. There wasn’t much to be intrigued with, my squad room chat had been detailed and confronting. The main questions were what happened to Cory and Josh. I told the truth, I didn’t know.

I found out later that a ‘pact’ had been formed in the team to never discuss the topic. Not at games, at training or even end of season drunken parties. I never heard it spoken of and I only found out years later my team had formed a cone of silence around me. Any external chat, speculation or random questions came up against a brutal slap down.

When I finally did hear of this protection, I cried like a baby.
I realised, I utterly belonged.

Thanks for taking the time to read these extra chapters, I hope you enjoyed them. Special thanks to Gaz who graciously allowed me to let you know what happened to Jake.

As always, if you feel you'd like to let me know what you thought, drop me an email at [email protected] 

Luke