Page 28 of Breakout Year

Akiva

A few days after what Akiva termed The Rec League Incident, Eitan texted him with uncharacteristic brevity.

Eitan: hey so some personal news

Three dots appeared, and Akiva experienced a minute of un-caffeinated panic.

That Eitan had somehow been traded again, despite it being the beginning of September.

That he’d found a real boyfriend and was gently but firmly breaking things off with Akiva.

Amicably parting ways didn’t feel so amicable to the churn in Akiva’s belly.

Until Eitan dropped an article into the thread. Akiva took exactly two seconds to skim the headline then hit the FaceTime button.

“National League Player of the Month!” Akiva yelled in greeting.

Eitan must have just woken up to the news—he was shirtless, hair bed-messy, pillow lines still decorating his face. “National League Player of the Month!” he yelled right back. “I woke up to a bunch of Insta tags. It’s weird to get those without people being mad at me.”

“Congrats. Mazels. Really, that’s amazing.

” Akiva couldn’t help himself. He read off the article—which cited Eitan’s tendency to work at-bats, his ability to hit to all parts of the field.

His strengths as a defender and his speed on the basepaths and how he’d had a better month offensively than any other position player in the league.

After about the fifth sentence, Akiva took a breath and found that Eitan was grinning at him, pleased and slightly sheepish.

“What’d your parents say?” Akiva asked.

“Haven’t told ’em yet.”

Akiva knew his most tri-state-area feature was forgetting the specifics of other parts of the country. Ohio was…an hour behind? Two? “’Cause of the time difference?” he asked.

Eitan shook his head. “Cleveland’s on Eastern Time. I just wanted to tell you—to see if you wanted to celebrate.”

He called me first. Something Akiva shouldn’t relish except for how he was. “I’m free tonight.” Mentally, he rearranged his schedule until it was true.

“Let me see if I can get a reservation.”

“Eitan, you were just named the National League Player of the Month. You could probably get the keys to the city.”

“Well, at least someplace loves me.”

It was as negative as Eitan had been about his old team or his old city. “Can I tell you something?” Akiva asked.

Eitan’s eyebrows rose in question. “Sure.”

“I know you wouldn’t say this in public—that maybe you’re too nice to say it at all. But fuck Cleveland. They didn’t know what they had, or if they did, they didn’t value you the way they should have. Either way, they shouldn’t have traded you like that.”

Eitan’s mouth—the part of his face Akiva had spent the past few weeks both obsessed with and studiously avoiding—curved up. Akiva wanted to kiss him there, to learn the exact topography of his smile, something real, something lingering. “You sound pissed,” Eitan said mildly.

“You ever get angry on behalf of someone else ’cause they can’t?”

“More than I should. But I appreciate it.” Eitan was silent for a second, his forehead pinched in concentration as if he was scrolling through something on his phone, leaving Akiva to wonder if anyone else got mad on Eitan’s behalf.

“You in the mood for anything in particular tonight?” Eitan asked.

You . “Nah, your pick. Text me the details.”

After their date—a back room, a bottle of wine followed by two tumblers of scotch delivered compliments of the owner—Eitan turned to him as they were leaving the restaurant. “It’s a nice night. You up for a walk?”

Akiva scanned the area around them for Dave or any of his paparazzi friends, for the telltale wave of a phone that meant they were being photographed. The only thing looking at them were pigeons, and even they seemed like they had better things to do. “Sure.”

So they walked the long blocks north back to Eitan’s apartment.

New York in the summer was half trash smell, half paradise.

Tonight, they got the latter. Akiva had lived in the area long enough not to have romantic notions about Manhattan—the rent was too high, the streets too gray with concrete—but with each brush of Eitan’s shoulder against his, he wondered why anyone would ever live anywhere else.

When they arrived at Eitan’s building, Eitan gestured up toward his apartment. “It’s late. You could stay over. The housekeeper changed the guest room sheets.”

A guest bed would only remind Akiva of the wall between them. “Sorry,” he said, “Sue’s in the middle of editing, so I’m in the middle of editing. And besides, it’s almost Shabbat.”

Eitan frowned, possibly because it was Wednesday .

For a second, Akiva wondered if he was going to insist. It was late and the train to another train to Akiva’s car to his house would take more than an hour.

Akiva didn’t mind the travel. Trains were good for clearing his head.

Unlike standing next to Eitan on the sidewalk, in the shade of his building’s awning, watched by the doorman, the security cameras, and the pale city moon.

I should kiss him . An item that was easier to recast as part of his to-do list, something to be checked off neatly.

Akiva should kiss him, brief enough to be all business, long enough to be convincing, then begin his journey home.

So he cupped Eitan’s neck, brushed the short hairs there, the skin tanned from hours in the sun. “How come you don’t wear a necklace?” Akiva asked, because most players rocked elaborate chains and pendants.

Eitan’s laugh vibrated Akiva’s fingers. It was hard to keep business as business when Akiva knew how that felt.

“It’s distracting,” Eitan said, and Akiva was about to remove his hand, to give Eitan the barest peck good night, when Eitan continued, “Having a necklace on. Even after I take one off, I can never un-feel it.”

Briefly, Akiva tightened his hand on Eitan’s neck.

Eitan’s eyes widened. Akiva pressed his fingers ever so slightly and watched a puff of air exit Eitan’s mouth.

Surprise, possibly. Do you like when people do that?

A question Akiva couldn’t ask standing out on the sidewalk.

Do you like when I do that? A question Akiva definitely couldn’t ask on the sidewalk or anywhere else.

Instead, Akiva did a sweep of the surrounding street. “Is Dave watching us?” he asked.

Eitan didn’t so much as glance from side to side.

“Probably.” He stretched up to kiss Akiva, and Eitan was the least shy person Akiva had ever met, but there was something almost hesitant in that kiss, like a question mark sitting on the end of Eitan’s tongue that stayed firmly, appropriately, infuriatingly in his own mouth.

“You want a ride home?” Eitan asked, after.

“You don’t have to.”

For that, Akiva got another kiss, a playful nip of Eitan’s teeth. And when he clasped Akiva by the wrist and pulled him toward the parking lot, Akiva let himself be led.

Inside the lot, Eitan backed Akiva up until he was almost against the passenger door, then reached around him to unlatch it as if Akiva couldn’t do that himself. “You know you don’t have to do that either,” Akiva said.

Eitan’s forehead momentarily wrinkled. “Because you’re a man?”

Because this isn’t real . Even if the reality of it felt as unavoidable as the door behind Akiva’s back. “Because you don’t need to go out of your way.”

“I know. But I want to.”

Flirting was easy when you didn’t mean it or when you really, really did. “Is that all you want?” Akiva asked.

Eitan didn’t answer, not directly, just clasped the front of Akiva’s shirt between his fingers and tugged him down.

“I don’t think anyone’s watching here,” Akiva said.

Eitan’s smile glowed under the garage lighting. “They could be.” And drew Akiva to him.

This is a bad idea. Seven years ago, Akiva had gone for a run on a warm Arizona evening.

Halfway into it, a thick mat of clouds knitted themselves overhead and proceeded to squeeze out all their water.

He ran back in that rain, feet sloshing in his sneakers, then burst triumphantly in the door of his shabby Fall League apartment, his pulse racing with effort.

Kissing Eitan, he was reminded of that rain, of how everything in his body condensed to the next step, the pleasurable burn in his lungs, the work of his muscles. His hand found the back of Eitan’s neck. A distraction except for how Eitan looked up at him, dark brown eyes wide and focused.

When he smiled, Akiva bit his mouth just to hear him moan. “Shh,” Akiva admonished as if someone would overhear—as if the entire point of this wasn’t to be overheard—then bit him again.

Eitan’s tongue slid back into his mouth; his hands wrapped the span of Akiva’s ribs. “You’re too thin,” he muttered.

Akiva laughed. “You gonna take care of me?” He wanted another kiss, for Eitan to pull him into the backseat of his vehicle and do just that.

Not what he actually got: Eitan’s blink. His adamant, “Yes.”

As if that was what this entire thing was about—his pity at Akiva’s situation. Akiva’s head cleared. It was late. He did have to work. He hadn’t been lying about any of that. He just wanted to not care about it for a little while.

“You should…” Akiva pulled together the remnants of his good judgment. “Take me home.”

“Upstairs is closer,” Eitan said.

Upstairs was closer—Akiva could imagine the messy sprawl of Eitan’s bed, mattress long enough to accommodate someone much taller than Eitan.

Upstairs was both closer than Akiva’s house and not close enough for the particular kind of impulsivity reverberating through Akiva’s body.

He’d spent the last seven years doing what he’d needed to do, no matter how arduous.

Doing what he wanted to do wouldn’t last the course of the elevator ride skyward before common sense took over.

So he reached behind himself, tugged the door ajar.

After a moment, Eitan stepped back. “Home it is.” But it didn’t sound like a concession. No, it sounded like a promise.