You never had to worry about low self-esteem amongst your teammates.
“As long as you let me have your cast-offs,” Micah said.
“I guess we can do that.”
But not everything was so chill. A couple of days after that, Micah was coming up the stairs to head into his bedroom when he heard Sam and Dane arguing in the lounge room. He hesitated, not wanting to listen but not wanting to awkwardly interrupt them either. He stood there, still trying to weigh up his options when it became apparent that he was the subject of contention.
“I think it would be a good way for you to finally bond with Micah,” Sam was saying.
“Are you kidding me?” Dane asked.
“Like it or not, he’s with us for the next year or two, so if you want to keep being a sulky little kid you’re going to find it increasingly difficult. Even Mum and Dad are getting sick of it.”
“Everybody loves Micah! Can’t wait for the sitcom.”
“Everybody likes Micah because he’s not acting like a child. All I’m asking you to do is to come for a night out.”
“And what the fuck makes you think I want to go to a gay bar?” Dane asked.
“Maybe for the same reason we are? To show support for our friend?”
“He’s your friend, not mine.”
“Dane, talk to me. You’re my brother. What’s going on?”
There was a pause, as if Dane was seriously considering spilling his guts about something. Instead he went on the attack again. “Yeah, you’re my brother. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“You must be loving it—you didn’t like the brother you had so you went out and adopted a new one.”
“Do you hear yourself? That’s fucking crazy.”
Sam must have been upset if the word “fucking” had escaped him.
“Is it?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Dane, you’re the one who locks himself up in his room and refuses to do anything with anybody. If you feel like you’re being ignored, it’s because you’re not giving anyone the opportunity.”
“Yep, everything’s my fucking fault. Not like your new best buddy. You don’t even know what he’s up to, but I do. You have no idea.”
On the stairs, Micah slumped. What the hell did Dane mean? Did he know… no, how could he?
“Oh, really?” Sam asked. “What is he up to?”
Micah felt his blood turn cold. He wanted to interrupt them, make his presence known, anything to stop what Dane was about to say—but his feet wouldn’t move. He was stuck there.
“Think about it,” Dane said.
“No, I’m not listening to your bullshit. If Micah has secrets, he’s not the only one.”
There was a long pause, and Micah wished he could see what was going on between them in that moment. What did Sam mean? Did he just mean it generically, that everybody had secrets, or was he actually calling out his brother?
After Dane refused to speak, Sam did so. “Now, are you going to come out with us or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine.”
Realising that he was about to be discovered, and that for the moment he was safe from Dane’s revelation, Micah regained the use of his feet and ran up the few remaining steps, thankful for the thick carpeting. He got a quick glimpse of the two brothers from the doorway as he passed it, but thankfully they were looking away from the hall. Safe in his room, he closed the door as quietly as he could and sank onto his bed with relief. Seconds later there was a knock.
“Yep?” he yelled, quickly sticking his headphones half on his ears, to give a plausible cover for being blissfully unaware of the argument in the other room.
Sam cracked the door open. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“So you’re knocking on my door because?”
“What are you listening to?” Sam ignored his question and supplied his own.
“Beethoven’s Greatest Hits,” Micah lied, on the spot.
Sam stared at him quizzically. “Really?”
“Yep. I’m cultured, me.”
Sam remained loitering in the doorway.
“Did you, uh, want to come in?”
Sam nodded, closed the door behind him, and sat on the end of Micah’s bed. “I should let you know. I invited Dane to come out with us on the weekend.”
“Let me guess, he was chuffed by the invite?”
Sam let out a deep breath. “No. He was not.”
Micah shrugged. “I didn’t think he would be.”
Sam didn’t say anything.
Although he really didn’t want to get caught up in their drama, Micah couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible. “Why don’t you arrange to do something one day, just the two of you?”
“You heard?” Sam’s tone was one of weary resignation.
Micah didn’t want to admit he had basically been spying on them. “You were pretty loud. Even over Beethoven’s Sixth.” Did Beethoven even have a sixth symphony? He knew the Bittersweet Symphony was by The Verve, but that was pretty much the limit of his symphonic trivia.
Luckily Sam didn’t appear to have much knowledge of Beethoven’s back catalogue either. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. But maybe you two need some alone time. You and I, we’re practically in each other’s pockets because of training and games and travel. And although that’s part of our job….”
“Dane probably doesn’t see it that way,” Sam said.
“Nope. He just sees us spending a lot of time together.” Although they were roughly the same age, Micah felt years older than Dane. Maybe it was because he was expected to be—a professional team player, with the pay cheque to prove it—and for a moment he wondered what it might have been like to be a normal teenager. Going to uni, staying at home with his parents, shirking having to mature or take on any real adult responsibilities for a while. Arrested development. That was a luxury denied him.