Cricket (19 page)

On the drive down to the field, Henry had plagued Ryan with questions about the sport, from the uniforms (How do you tell the teams apart when everyone is wearing the same color?) to the color of the ball (Why is it red?) and the bat (It looks heavy) and why he looked like such a dick. Ryan had laughed at that and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

“I think you look adorable.”

When they arrived at the field, there was already a handful of people wandering around, and Henry was suddenly nervous again.

“Don’t be,” Ryan whispered into his ear, as if he could read Henry’s thoughts.

“Don’t be what?”

“Nervous. You’ll be amazing. And besides, it’s only a local game. It’s not league or anything.”

“But I still don’t know
how
to play!” Henry said, noting the rising hysteria in his voice.

Ryan rolled his eyes, grabbed Henry’s wrist and dragged him across to the clubhouse.

“Hey, Andy!” he called out, and Henry was somewhat reassured to see Stella’s partner leaning against the door of the clubhouse, playing on his phone. “I’m going to go set up and show Henry around,” Ryan said.

“Okay. No worries. Nice kit, Henry.”

It seemed appropriate for Henry to flip him off, so he did, and Andy laughed.

The playing field was fairly big and, to Henry’s surprise, circular. In the middle was a long, narrow strip that was made of an almost rubbery surface, in comparison to the grass that covered the rest of the playing area. He noted the rope that ran around the very perimeter of the field, denoting the edge of the playing area. This was the boundary, as Shenal had called it, that he needed to reach to score a “four” or “six.”

But Ryan was showing him the wickets.

“We’re batting first,” Ryan said. “So listen closely. You’re going to want to practice a few times to get the angle right, because your one job, your
one job
, Henry, when batting, is to protect your wicket.”

“I thought I needed to score….”

“You can’t score if you get bowled out with your first ball. Protect your wickets.” He picked up one of the bales, a round piece of wood about as long as his thumb. “If these hit the floor, then you’re out.”

Henry nodded but felt decidedly unsettled. “There’s too many rules,” he complained. “I’ll forget something and end up looking like an ass.”

“You won’t look like an ass,” Ryan said, smiling at him indulgently. “You’re last on the roster, so you’ve got plenty of time to watch and learn. And practice.”

Henry elected to watch first, even though Andy was waiting to pitch him a few balls and teach him proper batting technique. He claimed it was because he wanted to get an idea of what he was aiming for, but in reality, Ryan was out there, and he looked good, all focused and intent.

And he was clearly good at the whole cricket thing, despite his protestations that it was only a hobby.

There was a small crowd assembled in the stands who seemed to be more interested in the sun and their picnic baskets than the game. Nevertheless, Henry found this more endearing than annoying, and they all clapped politely whenever Ryan produced a particularly spectacular move.

He was caught out, putting the score at forty-six to one, a good score, according to Andy, who patted him on the back as he took Ryan’s place.

“Do you want to do a few practice runs?” Ryan asked after he drank a bottle of water and wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

“Sure.”

There was a batting net behind the clubhouse, and Ryan led him around there and found a bat and spare ball to train with. It only took a few minutes for them both to realize that Henry needed some rather intense coaching before he took his turn on the pitch.

“Come here,” Ryan instructed and stood behind Henry, wrapping his arms around Henry’s and correcting his grip on the bat. “You want to knock it gently in a forward motion, not swing it,” he said, moving their twined arms back and forth.

“I suck at this,” Henry complained.

“No, you don’t. You just need to adjust the way you’re standing….”

Henry thrust his hips back and wriggled his ass into Ryan’s groin.

“Not quite like that,” Ryan said, laughing. He stepped away and back up to the front of the batting area.

They played until Andy came round the back to find them and call them back to the field.

“Are we all out already?” Ryan asked.

“No,” Andy said, “but I’ve just sent James in, and it won’t take him long to get out, so we need Henry warmed up.”

“I only understood 50 percent of that,” Henry said, and Ryan smiled, laying his hand on Henry’s lower back to gently guide him back to the stands. “Warm up,” Ryan said. “You’re up next.”

Andy was right. It didn’t take long for James to be dismissed from the game, and the kid jogged back to the clubhouse, accepting slaps on the shoulder in commiseration.

“Ready for this?” Andy asked Henry as he pulled on the batsman’s protective gear.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t drop the fucking bat,” Ryan advised him sagely.

“Got it.”

The walk to the center of the field felt like one of the longest of his life, and Henry was thrust back in time to when he was thirteen, playing his first real game of baseball. It had turned out to be the start of a long love affair with the game. He could only hope he got the same sort of luck with cricket.

He tried to remember all the rules Ryan had coached him on as he assumed the correct position to protect his wickets, waiting for the first ball and hoping and praying that he didn’t get sent out with the very first over.

In some ways, he didn’t really have to worry at all. When the ball was pitched to him, his training took over, and he smacked it as hard as he could. It probably wasn’t the best plan of attack. If there was a fielder in the right place, he’d be caught out for sure.

Some stroke of luck had the ball bouncing, and Henry was already running to the other end of the pitch, about twenty yards away. He touched the line with the edge of his bat to show the umpire that he’d got all the way there, before doubling back to attempt another full run. He made it safe, rolled his shoulders, and settled in to play.

“J
ESUS
C
HRIST
, Henry, that was fucking awesome.”

Another pint of cider was placed in front of him, and he groaned. “No more cider, please. I’ll throw up.”

Ryan shrugged and pulled it over to replace his own almost empty glass. “Waste not, want not,” he mumbled.

“Seriously, though,” Andy continued, “You’re like a machine. A cricket machine.”

After the game, the whole team had piled back to the Dog and Duck, where Stella had cooked huge trays of sausages and chips for her “boys.” Henry had finally been sent out after scoring his “half century”—fifty runs—including several “fours” and two “sixes.” Secretly, he was a bit disappointed with his performance. He was just starting to get a feel for the game when someone on the other team had made a spectacular dive to catch him out.

Stella squeezed Henry’s shoulder as she passed, collecting glasses and the paper plates on which the sausages had been served. Henry had gathered it was an old tradition—going back to the pub for something to eat. Since he was pretty hungry after the match, it was one he approved of.

After Henry had proved his batting prowess, the teams had switched, and he’d been sent to the outfield. He wasn’t ever much of a catcher, but had a decent enough throw to send the ball back to another player, who could try and get the current batsman out by throwing the ball at the wickets and knocking the bales off.

The rules of the game continued to mystify Henry, and in the clubhouse after the game, while changing, he’d attempted to clear up his remaining questions with Ryan, a conversation that (perhaps inevitably) spilled over into the pub after.

Henry excused himself to the bathroom and was caught by Stella on his way back to the table.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he said, pleased that she’d sought him out. “It went better than expected.”

“So I heard. The boys are proclaiming you the savior of village cricket, sent from a faraway land to deliver them from another humiliating end to the season.”

“I’m not sure about that,” he said and, to his shock, felt himself blush. Stella noticed too and poked him in the side.

“I meant to ask you about something else, actually,” she said, and Henry hoped to whatever god was listening that she didn’t want to ask more about his sex life. Or lack thereof. “I know Ryan was teasing before, but I’ve been talking to Andy. And we’d like to get married at Stretton House. When it’s ready.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I figure if you’ve got some photos from a real wedding it’ll help build up interest for the next one. And, you know, it’s a beautiful building. I’d love to get married there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Henry said, suddenly filled with excitement at the prospect of hosting another wedding. “When were you thinking?”

“When will it be finished?” she countered.

“Ah,” he said, stalling. “Can I let you know?”

Stella laughed. “Sure. Will you plan it for us too? I really don’t have time, what with Jack and the pub. That’s part of the appeal, if I’m honest. Having someone else do all the work for me.” She gave him a winning smile.

“Of course. I’d be honored to.”

“Henry—one last thing.” Stella grabbed his arm. “Your relationship with Ryan is none of my business. But you should know—he hasn’t looked this way for a long time. If ever.”

“Looked what way?”

“Like something has lit him up from the inside,” Stella said gently. “You’re making him so, so happy. That’s probably too much responsibility to put on you, but for goodness’ sake, don’t go wasting it. Love with all your heart.”

“I don’t love him,” Henry said, but his voice cracked on the words. He cleared his throat.

“Okay,” she said indulgently. “Maybe I’m projecting. Either way, don’t let something amazing slip through your fingers.”

Henry leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, aware that, whatever relationship he had with Ryan aside, he was rapidly learning to love his sister. “I won’t,” he promised.

Fourteen

H
ENRY
wasn’t sleeping, not really, when he heard footsteps on the stairs that led up to his bedroom. The light on his nightstand was still on, although this was the only light in the room, and he’d long since put his iPad away with the intention of going to sleep.

But sleep was evading him.

And Henry had a good idea that the reason sleep was evading him was currently ascending his stairs.

When Ryan appeared around the corner, Henry wasn’t surprised, wasn’t excited. He couldn’t feel much except bone-deep relief.
Finally.

Saying nothing, he pulled back the edge of the duvet, silently inviting Ryan in. Ryan hesitated for a moment, playing with the string that held up his flannel pajamas. Then he took a hesitant step forward, then another, then climbed into bed next to Henry and lay down stiffly.

Henry shifted on the bed and rolled over to face him, reached out, and gently stroked Ryan’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Then he leaned in and placed the softest kiss on Ryan’s lips.

It took a moment for Ryan to react, a moment in which Henry wondered if he’d just made a terrible mistake. Then Ryan lifted his hand to thread his fingers through Henry’s hair, and suddenly it was okay again.

When Ryan tucked his head under Henry’s chin, resting his cheek on Henry’s chest, Henry wrapped his arms around the man so intimately invading his space and tugged the duvet up to cover them both.

He’d never really held anyone before. As that thought flitted through his mind, he wondered why it seemed so entirely ridiculous. He was nearly thirty years old, for fuck’s sake, had been in a long-term relationship and had many more fleeting ones. But not once had he ever lain back and comforted a lover in his arms.

It wasn’t just about identifying as a bottom. He was usually the submissive partner in the relationship as well. He liked taking on that role, letting someone else be in charge. It meant he could brush the responsibility from his own shoulders.

Ryan though—Ryan wasn’t simple, not on any level. He was the more masculine one out of the two of them, and that wasn’t a problem. It was the fact he’d never been with another man before that was causing those feelings of uncertainty for Henry, making him wonder if this was the right choice after all. Ryan needed a lot of guidance. He needed to be reassured, every step of the way, that he wasn’t doing things wrong.

When the realization hit Henry, it almost stole his breath away.

This was what being an equal in a relationship was like.

He wanted to laugh, the idea was so absurd. He wasn’t the strong one. He wasn’t the masculine one. He couldn’t be that if he tried. And he wasn’t even really the emotionally stable one. But it was his turn to lead someone else through the highs and lows of being gay, just like his first boyfriend had done for him.

Instead of terrifying him, it was actually quite a warming thought. Henry squeezed Ryan tighter. It took a minute or two, during which neither man spoke but took up the task of caressing each other’s skin. Ryan wasn’t wearing a shirt, so Henry’s hands had the whole expanse of his back to explore, finding their way around the strong muscles that so contrasted with his puppy fat around the middle.