Page 4 of Catch Me (Becoming Us #4)

Roman

As I worked on my fourth beer, I tried to distract myself. With one earbud in, I put on a playlist that didn’t exactly help.

My stepbrother, Tilian, used to play music in his room, and it wasn’t loud since he hated to draw attention to himself, but my room was next to his, so if I listened, I could hear it.

When a song came on, I’d add it to a playlist, which eventually became filled with the ones he’d played for two years.

Was that weird? Yeah, it definitely was.

It was when I listened to this playlist as a teenager that I’d lose myself and go to his room at night.

I knew it didn’t mean anything to him, and I hadn’t wanted it to.

When we left for separate colleges, though, some ridiculous, weak part of me tried to convince me that it did.

I wasn’t gay, but we’d fucked around back then. I didn’t know why. It just happened sometimes. I was bored in high school. Sex was sex, right? I always topped him, so it wasn’t a big deal. Except for one time, but I tried not to think about that. I didn’t know what had come over me that night.

When I looked at him, he was leaning back against his boyfriend, Brooks. The guy was good to him from what I’d seen. He was a dick to me at Alex’s birthday party, but he’d obviously seen me and Til glaring at each other. I guess he was protective or some shit.

Til turned around and rose on his toes to kiss Brooks. His fingers brushed through his long, curly hair, and I wondered what he saw in the guy. Was it his looks? Maybe it was because Brooks’ family had money. I’d seen his Audi at my mom’s place in March, which told me he was loaded.

Or they were actually into each other on a deep level. The way Brooks looked at him...The way Til looked at him...

I tore my gaze away and focused on the music. Bring Me the Horizon was one of his favorite bands, so there were a lot of those songs in the playlist. This was the third one in a row. Pulling out my phone, I switched it to something else.

I should just delete the fucking thing, honestly. I’d do it later.

It was dumb to come today, but I was in town and my mom invited me to see the Mariners in the World Series. How could I say no? I wasn’t really watching, but whatever.

Moving my gaze to Travis, I considered taking the seat next to him again. He’d acted friendly to me, but I hadn’t been aware that he was gay. How was everybody here fucking gay? The math didn’t make sense.

Pushing away my pride, I grabbed my tablet from my backpack and returned to my seat.

It wasn’t like someone often got an opportunity to watch the game from one of these suites.

I’d always wondered about them, but I never would’ve thought I’d be here, especially with Travis McKinney.

I wished my dad was here, because he was a fan.

Then again, he’d probably boycott the team if he knew about Travis’ sexuality.

It was probably better if he didn’t find out or I’d never hear the end of it.

He’d go on about how his favorite team was ripped away from him.

I already listened to him bitch about my mom marrying Ross, who had a gay son and a trans son.

It had pissed me off, and more than once, I had to tell him not to speak down on her.

Travis glanced at me briefly when I sat down. I ignored him and pulled up an app on my tablet.

Earlier, I’d been working on a piece I’d planned for my time here. Looking at pictures wasn’t enough, so I was going to take advantage of having the field in front of me. I already had the foreground finished, but I wanted the background to be perfect with every detail I could manage.

It was difficult in this position, and I definitely wasn’t making it a masterpiece, but I could get it down, then redo it when I got back to the house. I had a really good memory, and it wouldn’t be too difficult. I just needed the vision.

Pausing the motion with my stylus, I looked over at Travis. He was watching me, and when he saw me staring, he offered me a smile.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

Ignoring him, I glanced out the window, then down at the screen. He’d broken my concentration, and it took me a minute to get back into it.

“That’s really good,” he went on. “Amazing, actually.”

“I know.” That probably made me sound like an asshole, but I knew that my art was good and I didn’t want to be interrupted to get complimented.

“Can I see the pitcher?” he asked, his slight southern drawl tilting the last word.

My eyes closed briefly as I took a deep breath. “Why?”

He shrugged. After grinding my teeth, I zoomed out and turned the screen toward him. His head cocked as he studied the image. Regardless of my art being good, my foot began to tap while I waited for him to be done scrutinizing it.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I turned it toward me and looked at it. The nose wasn’t right. Maybe. It definitely needed adjusting.

He pointed at the screen. “It’d be really cool if you put the Mariner’s logo there, but not super obvious. Like, you have to actually look to see it blended into the image. Sorry, I don’t know if that’s possible. I just saw it in my head, but I’m not an artist.”

I tilted my head a little and pictured it. It sounded like a pain in the ass to inlay something subtle like that, but I had to admit that it could be cool.

“Are you in school for art?”

“Yeah,” I replied without looking at him.

“Do you take commissions or anything?”

“I do some on a freelance site when I have time. Gives me extra money. ”

“What about something bigger?”

This time, I turned to look at him. His amber eyes were locked on me in a way that made me want to tell him to fuck off. When he smiled, I relaxed a little. He seemed like a really nice, genuine person, but I didn’t want to get close to him. I couldn’t, really.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like a whole team.” When my brow furrowed, he crossed his ankles and leaned back.

“We’re doing a calendar. Overrated, I know.

Who uses wall calendars anymore? Anyway, it’s always just professional photos, and I think it’s boring.

I bet if I pitched the idea of art, they’d go for it.

Everyone loves supporting indie artists. ”

“I don’t know . . .”

It sounded like a huge project. Expensive too, if I had to travel to Georgia. If I could do it in one trip, maybe it’d be manageable, but I didn’t think I’d be able to swing that. Art couldn’t be rushed.

“Your name would be on it,” he said. “And it’s not just physical calendars. There are digital ones, then sometimes, the same pictures are used for other things. Could be a good opportunity, plus it’d pay well.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Can I broach the idea with our manager? Just to see if he’d be into it?”

“Yeah, that’s cool. And then, let me know, I guess.”

He smiled again before he passed me his phone. “Add your number, and I’ll text you when I know.”

Cautiously, I took the phone. His wallpaper was a picture of him and a golden retriever. He was crouching beside a river in just a pair of shorts. It looked like a selfie, and since it was up close, it showed how drenched he was, as if he’d gone for a swim with the dog.

I navigated to his contacts and plugged in my information. After I passed it back to him, I focused on the tablet.

He was right about the commission. It would be huge to create something for a Major League Baseball team.

My art could be displayed in people’s houses or on their phones.

I’d also get to meet the whole team, which was insane to think about.

My dad would be jealous. He’d also tell me that I’m wasting my potential on frivolous pieces of art when I could be putting it on people’s skin instead, like he did.

I looked to the left, trying to be inconspicuous. Til was sitting in Brooks’ lap with his face tucked into his neck. After a second, I realized that he was sneakily puffing on a dab pen. I pursed my lips to smother a laugh.

Before I returned my attention to the art, I looked at the side of Travis’ face. He was wearing a baseball cap, and his sandy brown hair came out the bottom of it. If it was the same length as in his picture, it covered his ears on the sides and reached the back of his neck.

When I realized I’d been staring for a while, I tore my gaze away and considered how feasible his offer was. I didn’t even know if they’d be interested yet, so it was pointless to start feeling hopeful about it. He’d text me when he got an answer, so I’d just wait to hear from him.

*****

“How’s school?” Ross asked.

I pushed my fork through the green beans on my plate absently. My stepdad was nice enough and he was good to my mom, but we’d never really connected. Maybe it was because I’d bullied his sons when I was a teen.

Really, Til should’ve just punched me in the face if he wanted to get me off his back, but he was too unassuming.

He had horrible anxiety, but I also knew that his antisocial ways were mostly a choice.

He showed the world his middle fingers at all times and wasn’t afraid to fuck shit up.

He was always high as fuck, so maybe that was part of why he stayed pretty chill.

The way I pushed him should’ve bothered him more than it did, but he’d just roll his eyes and tell me he was going to sacrifice me someday. It was kind of funny.

“School’s good,” I replied. “My professors have been really helpful this quarter.”

“You should show us what you’re working on lately. Are you still making the same things? For the cartoons.”

“Yeah, and it’s character design, not really for cartoons.”

I pulled out my phone and showed them one of the pieces I made for a class. The typical compliments went around the table.

So talented .

That’s amazing .

As we started eating again, I tapped on the messaging app, even though I knew that I hadn’t received anything new.

It had only been a day. Travis might still be in Seattle, hanging out with all the guys.

The group was strange, and I wasn’t sure how he fit into it, but they seemed close.

I wondered how they’d met. Maybe he used to date one of them or something.

Navigating to the piece I’d been working on, I thought about what he’d said. Nobody but my teachers had ever made recommendations or asked to look closer. He’d studied it like he was taking in each individual part and seeing it as more than just a picture on a screen.

If he told me they wanted to do the commission, I might actually take it. The amount of work I’d have to put in would be worth it. As long as I could schedule things around my classes, I’d be able to manage my time and make it work.

I started imagining how I could make the subtle logo around the pitcher’s mound. Nothing was sticking, but I wanted to figure it out. Maybe I’d show it to him when I got it down and see if it matched what he’d envisioned.

What he thought about it didn’t matter, so I shook away the idea. It was only to commemorate my first time going to the World Series. It was for me, not anybody else.