Chapter 6

Callum’s attempt at faking sleep eventually gets him to fall asleep genuinely. He only knows that because he starts awake about an hour later when the coach comes to a complete stop in the private car park for the club. Everyone grumbles while they grab bum bags and carry-ons and fumble for phone chargers so they don’t get left behind. Callum smiles weakly at Isaac when he offers him a hand. He takes it. 

No matter what, Callum will always reach greedily, guiltily, and take whatever it is that Isaac is holding out to him.

“C’mon. Will’s talking about going to Dusk,” Isaac says. Callum blinks up at him sleepily before he follows him off the coach. 

“We have match tape review tomorrow, remember? The last thing we need to do tonight is go out and get pissed,” he says. He stretches out in the car park, relishing in the brief sunlight there is to find in England in the winter. “Besides, I have an appointment with my bed. Hotel mattresses always leave me sleeping weird,” he adds, grinning before he rolls his shoulders. Isaac rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s the hotel bed that did that. Not whatever bird you pulled,” he snorts, lightly shoving at Callum. Heat prickles at Callum’s skin whenever and wherever Isaac touches him. It’s unfair. The weak sunlight suddenly feels blistering with the way his cheeks warm. 

“C’mon, mate. Don’t be a prick,” Peter says. He pats Callum’s shoulder in passing, his eyes warm and friendly, before he jogs after Matthijs to his car. 

“Peter is right. You should be nicer to Callum. It isn’t often he gets a chance to become intimate with a woman. He cannot help it if he is not used to sharing a bed with someone else,” Matthijs calls. Isaac doesn’t even try to stifle his laugh. It rings out loud and clear in the car park, drawing the attention of the others. Even Nathaniel looks curious when he unloads Callum’s bag. 

“You’re such a prick, Matthijs!” Peter squawks, trying and failing to muffle his own snort of laughter. Callum wishes for the car park to open up and swallow him whole when he gets a look of slightly panicked confusion from Matthijs. 

“He really said ‘You get no bitches’ without flinching,” William says. Callum watches the moment that the words register properly with Matthijs. Dutch sky-blue eyes widen in horror. 

“That was not what I meant!” The others give Matthijs a blank look. His skin burns red beneath the combined weight of their stares. “... It was what I meant, but you all make it sound very mean. I was just making an idle observation!” That sets everyone off again. Matthijs gives up before he climbs into the passenger seat of Peter’s nondescript black car. Callum takes the brief distraction to get his bag from Nathaniel. The kitman is looking up at him again, those green eyes wide and curious while he hands over his duffel bag. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Callum says, stopping any awkward questions before they can begin. “Thanks, Nathaniel. I really appreciate you getting my bag for me like this. You’re a good lad,” he adds. He watches those green eyes go all wide and starry again, then gives one of his red curls a tweak just to watch it spring back into place. Nathaniel makes this pathetic little squeaky noise before he swats his hand away weakly, cheeks burning bright red. 

“Um—yeah, n-no, just… Doing my job,” he whispers. Callum shoulders his bag before he heads over to his own car. The black and orange sports car is a statement, he thinks, unlocking it before he slides into the driver’s seat. The duffel bag rests in the empty passenger seat. After the exhausting day he’s had, Callum muses, he deserves to ride home in peace. He taps around on his phone and queues up his favorite playlist. The bass rattles in his bones after it connects to the system in the car. He clicks his safety belt into place before he revs the engine. 

It’s all the warning the others in the car park need.

Callum peels out in a rush, listening to the roar of the engine before it becomes a smooth, easy purr that rumbles beneath the heavy bass of the alternative rock mix he plays. His hand finds the gearshift easily, shifting through each gear as needed until he’s cruising along at 100 km/h. 

If he can just drive fast enough, he can outrun all the stupid things his friends say and pretend they don’t dig deep beneath his skin so they can fester and rot him from the inside out. If he can just drive fast enough, he can outrun the urges he has to open his mouth and let all of his secrets come rushing out. If he can just drive fast enough, he can outrun the urge he gets to turn to them and explain how he actually does know how it feels to have someone in bed with him, very frequently, but it’s just never a woman, so he can’t tell them that. If he can just drive fast enough, he can outrun the impulse to tell Isaac specifically about just how often he pulls, and how so many of the men look like him, or sound like him, or even fucking play like him, same positions and numbers even though they’ll never actually be him. 

Instead, Callum just tears down the motorway as if he can outrun himself.