went pretty much silent after that, didn’t it? Perhaps I do, perhaps you do, without being aware of it.
Let people decide for themselves.”
Mr Degaré, will things change now there’s an openly gay couple?
“There will be football and matches to be won. Simple, non?”
Mr Kirkby, your opinion on this?
“After what happened to Steve, it all changed, didn’t it? The whole discussion became a bit
obsolete if you ask me. I want players with me on the pitch who do their job, talented men who care
about the game and the club. Why should I give a shit, pardon me, about the colour of their skin, the
gender of their spouses or the kind of music they prefer?”
And the fans? The sponsors?
Degaré answered this one and to Steve he sounded almost tired, like it wasn’t the first time he
had said those words, “I firmly believe true fans support the players for their talent and their work for
the club. And in most cases, I know I’m right about that. The others shouldn’t call themselves
supporters. Any sponsor who loves their money will keep a sharp eye on the fans. I understand there’s
been a sharp increase in the sales of Borghart shirts. There’ve even been special requests for Gavan
ones.”
Still, there have been season ticket holders of many years sending back their cards. Fights with
rival clubs. Wasn’t there a petition …?
It’s Matthew’s turn again. “I heard about it, of course, and it makes me angry and
disappointed. Some people can’t deal with reality and some of those people are, sadly enough, football
fans.”
More answers follow more questions about the police, the hospital, the whatever.
Steve feels his face tense up in a forced smile.
Mr Gavan, will you miss football?
He had been willing, less than a year ago, to give up the love of his life for, when all is said and
done, a game. He had been giving up his boy without even trying to put up a fight.
“I’m going to be Daniël’s biggest fan when he gets into the selection again. Okay, apart from
his mother, perhaps. Support the other lads too. So I guess I don’t have to miss football.”
The Dutch press get their opportunity. Steve can guess their questions and Dan’s answers.
Finally, it’s over. His muscles tremble in fatigue. His limbs refuse to obey his overloading
brain. Everything hurts. Even his bones ache with gnawing pain.
“I don’t know how I’m...please, help me Danny.” Leaning heavily on his lover, he makes it to
the car. He wants to get away, to get home.
*
A letter from the lawyer is waiting for him, and he asks Daniël to read it aloud.
“It says that the trial is getting near and they will call you a day or so before it actually starts. I
guess that’s good, in a way.”
“I can’t deal with it right now. I’m so tired.”
Daniël helps him to bed without saying more than a few words, kissing him on the forehead.
“Rest a bit.”
“In your arms? Please, Danny?” Why such fear in his voice?
“Right where you belong.” Daniël settles next to him, making sure Steve rests as comfortably
as possible against his shielding body.
That same day, after they’ve had tea, Daniël downloads the press conference on his laptop.
Staring at the screen Steve feels a shock at what he’s actually seeing. Is he that slow-speaking
man? The man who sounds like he has trouble even formulating the simplest answers, dragging the
words from an unwilling brain with a sluggish tongue? The man whose eyes seem to have trouble
focusing? The man clutching his beloved’s hand? His beautiful, young, healthy, so full of life and
talent boy? The man who’s almost unable to stand from his chair and can’t leave the press room
without assistance?
Is he the pitiful shadow of what less than a year ago was a healthy man in his prime?
Is this what people are seeing?
Is this what Daniël loves?
Steve hides his face against Daniël’s body and cries his heart out.
Chapter 23
Even tears that seem to fall without end have to dry up at some point. After that, there’s pure
empty nothingness. No relief or remaining sadness. Nothing. Not even exhaustion. Daniël holds him
through it all, not trying to soothe him or show him there are other, more helpful ways of interpreting
his situation; offering his body as an anchor against the storm. He thinks at some point he falls asleep,
but there’s too little difference between sleeping and waking to be sure. He knows, however, Daniël is
with him, every second of every minute of every hour. And just like he used that knowledge to leave
perfect peace and joy behind, because making sure his beloved didn’t have to lose him was more
important than any version of paradise, he uses it again to slowly wake up from this almost catatonic
state.
Daniël kisses him on his lips. “I’ll make tea and something to eat. Perhaps you’d like a shower
later.”
Steve lets it all happen. He doesn’t have the illusion that a good cry will make everything okay
somehow, but for now he accepts the quiet resignation before there will be some long, hard talking to
do. He has seen himself through the impartial eyes of the stranger and if his marriage to Daniël is to
have any sort of chance, they’ll have to come face to face with it, one way or the other. Even Daniël’s
love, that can’t be measured or perhaps fully understood, won’t be enough to prevent them from
having to walk a different path at times to arrive at the same point; and if it does turn out they were on
the same road all along, their steps won’t be matching.
“First tea and sandwiches, then a shower, and if you don’t need to rest by then, we’ll talk.”
Daniël smiles when he puts the tray on the table, but Steve can hear in his voice he means business.
They sit on the couch, touching as much of each other as possible while drinking tea and eating
ham and cheese sandwiches.
“Nice,” Daniël sighs and he kisses Steve’s cheek.
Steve’s in awe at how Daniël is able to fully enjoy this simple moment, no matter what’s
behind him or what’s still waiting for him. If he’s worried about Steve’s moment of deep mourning,
and Steve can’t imagine he isn’t, it doesn’t keep him from sitting next to his lover, drinking tea,
kissing his cheek and saying, “Nice.”
After a long, hot shower Steve, doesn’t have enough energy left to even pretend he’s up for
some serious talking.
If he dreams, he doesn’t remember.
He must have been sleeping for more hours than usual because by the time he’s awake, it’s
fully light and Daniël is up and dressed.
“I just got an e-mail from the estate agent about some houses we might want to take a look at.
Relax; it’s only photos and descriptions. I have afternoon training. So do you. And we mustn’t forget
to get something for supper. I’m thinking of omelettes.” Daniël talks while he shaves Steve in the
bathroom. “There’s another letter too. I guess from a fan. The handwriting looks the same as the first
one. Shall I open them?”
“I don’t feel like reading letters from fans right now. I know it sounds rude and unthankful, but
… perhaps later?”
“Everyone knows by now that any mail to you should go through the club. Not our fault if
there’s always a few who won’t listen. By the way, Matthew messaged me; there are some very nice
reactions to the press conference. You mind if I get a few newspapers?”
Steve knows Daniël doesn’t expect a real answer, or even a reaction, it’s just him starting the
day in a pleasant manner. He also isn’t trying to evade the hard subjects; there will be time for those,
too. But it would be unbearable to talk about the truth that stared him in the face when he watched the