Jock Reign (Jock Hard 5)

Ashley: Too late, now I’m up—and Georgia is too, she says hello.

Me: I am so sorry mate, I didn’t think I would wake you, just in the library studying and bored out of my mind.

Ashley: It’s all right—I’m glad to hear from you. How have you been getting on? The house is good, everything fine?

Me: Brilliant, just brilliant. I hate myself for signing up for rugby, but other than that…

Ashley: You’ve gone mad. You’re rubbish at sports.

Me: It’s painful, brother. I don’t think I can carry on much longer, this last match was horrid. Thank goodness no one was there to see it.

Ashley: I would pay to see you, actually…

Me: I would rather marry Caroline than let you watch me play at rugby. I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.

Ashley: Obviously. I could have told you that before you started. Stick to polo, mate.

Me: Too. Bloody. Late.

Ashley: It’s never too late. Quit. Spare yourself.

Me: Got a few lovely bruises for my efforts though; makes me feel like a badass.

Ashley: Don’t let Mum hear you using American slang, she’ll accuse you of being too Americanized for her.

Me: I’ve been here a matter of weeks, there’s hardly been time for that.

Ashley: I know, but this is Mum we’re talking about…

True. Our mother is extremely excitable; some would call her high-strung. Definitely high-maintenance, but that’s to be expected from someone upper crust.

Upper crust.

That’s making me hungry for pizza.

Or pie.

Shite, I have to get out of this library…

Me: She loathed it when you were here, and I’m sure she loathes that I’m here.

Ashley: That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.

Ashley: Georgia wants to know if you’ve met any birds yet.

Me: No. I’ve not met anyone. Tell her to stop being nosey, but if I meet someone she will be the first to know.

Ashley: Georgia says: Promise?

Me: Yes, I promise.

Ashley: She told me to tell you: Stay out of the rugby house, you’ll never meet a nice girl at a party.

Me: But isn’t that where you met her?

Ashley: Georgia says: I was the exception, not the rule.

What I’ve never told my brother is that I want a relationship like the one he and his wife have—even though they have a relationship because they got completely trollied in Las Vegas and got hitched while they were blasted drunk.

Rather than getting divorced or an annulment, they decided to stick it out, get to know each other better, and make a life together in England.

Instead of letting my brother move to America for six months and take a leave of absence from work, Georgia packed up her belongings and was the one to move.

For him.

They both have sacrificed a lot for each other—that is the kind of commitment I’m looking for. That is the level of commitment Caroline could not provide. We were not best friends. Everything was surface and fake, and you cannot build a life around that.

Caroline hated my comics and hated my collectibles—hid everything about my hobbies. I couldn’t even mention them in her presence; after a time she got so irritated they did nothing but cause fights. She never understood why I didn’t sell my memorabilia and spend the money on her.

Me: Tell Georgia she is quite exceptional.

Ashley: Hey, no flirting with my wife.

Me: LOL

Ashley: We’re going back to bed. I love you, but this wasn’t an emergency, so don’t text me in the middle of the night again unless it is. Let’s video-chat soon.

Me: Love you, mate.

And that’s another thing—until I moved here and until I broke up with Caroline, I never told my family I loved them. The Dryden-Jones clan isn’t exactly what most would call…an emotional lot of people.

Therefore we never used endearments with each other. Not even Mum, not even when we were lads.

Since Ashley and Georgia got married, things have been different; everyone in the family is a bit more affectionate. I’ve told my brother I love him more in the last six months than I have in my entire life combined.

Mum and Dad, too.

I find a pen strictly so I can rap it against the tabletop in time to the ticking of the second hand on the clock. It’s still a dull echo in the background, making it impossible for me to concentrate on schoolwork.

Loudly, I sigh.

Quite dramatic if I do say so myself.

My eyes are everywhere but on my work: the circulation desk where several students are working behind it, stacking books and helping people. The rows and rows of periodicals.

I wonder if anyone actually ever opens any of these books with the new technology of computers and laptops and cell phones—are the books simply here for decoration now? Do we even need libraries?

Why am I even here?

My bored roaming gaze takes me to the lobby. Then the stairs that spiral up to the second, third, and fourth floor. Students trickle down on their way out, and I stare at them long enough to see a familiar face.