Page 23

TUCKER

“N othing fancy,” I said to Josh as I walked to the catcher's spot with my glove.

His dark eyes were glassy, fixed somewhere far away. His whole body had looked like it might curl into a ball when Mr. Shore laid his hand on him. I braced for a snapped comment or an angry remark, but Josh stayed quieter than I’d ever seen him.

He threw the ball without a word, he barely even set up, but he put his hand in the air as the crowd's chorus of boo’s turned to cheers for him. We needed them on our side, and I appreciated the effort he was putting in despite clearly being very uncomfortable.

I did the coin toss after the national anthem played, before making my way to the rowdy dugout with the rest of the team. I looked over at Josh, but he avoided my gaze and continued to bother with the laces on his glove.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Cael, sliding down onto the bench beside him.

“No idea, but whatever it was, it’s got him in knots, and that’s not good for us. This game was already going to be a hard win… without Josh in focus…” Cael’s tongue ran along his bottom lip, and he pushed up from the bench. “We’re going to have to play a lot of defense today.” He nodded.

Unfortunately, he was right.

I needed to give Josh a reason to loosen up. I needed smug, asshole Josh for this game, not whatever tangled ball of yarn he had turned into since stepping on the field.

“Hey.” I passed by Josh, then stopped. “Come here.”

“What?” He scoffed at me, his brows coming together in confusion.

“Stand up, tough guy,” I said; a feeble attempt to push his buttons.

“You’re getting on my nerves today, Tuck.” He pushed from the bench, making his way over to me, and his eyes trailed my arm to where I was pointing into the stands.

Mark stood with Zoey, who was decked out in Hornets’ gear with a bright smile on her pretty face. The introduction had gone perfectly and Mark was more than willing to ‘ keep Zoey entertained’ for the game. They both waved down at us and Mark gave Josh an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“You brought him down here?” Josh said, not taking his eyes off Mark.

“He said he’s never seen you play,” I replied, still looking at Josh.

His brown eyes watered but were quickly blinked clear as he turned to look at me.

“Thank you,” he said tightly, and despite the lack of enthusiasm, I knew that Josh meant the gratitude this time.

“Yeah, so don’t embarrass yourself,” I teased with a smile. “It would be a shame if you lost today in front of him.”

“You’re an asshole,” Josh growled, but that smug smile formed on his face.

“Say it like you mean it, Logan,” I murmured, leaning in until only he could hear me above the noise.

“You’re an asshole, Dean.” His voice dipped lower than I’d ever heard it, but the sound of my actual name on his lips was like a balm to my fried nerves. The heat coming off him was intoxicating, and it took everything in me not to get even closer.

“Ouch.” I clutched my chest playfully and finally looked away from him. “Now go pitch a perfect first inning. Give them something to love you for, because once they see how big of a dickhead you are in post game interviews they’re going to need a reminder.”

“Ha,” Josh barked and flipped me off. Stepping out onto the field, the resounding chorus of disgruntled fans returned, but he didn’t seem phased this time. He was ready to prove himself.

“Good work, big boy. I think you might have cracked Josh’s concrete heart,” Cael said as he followed me out onto the field. The groaning turned to cheers and the guys all shook out their tense spring nerves, replacing them with excitement and focus.

Josh closed his eyes on the pitcher’s mound and rolled his neck out before palming the baseball and staring down the pipe at Jensen, behind the batter. I lowered my stance and Louis, on second, followed suit. Cael inched to his right, his shoulder lining up with Josh’s, and his eyes widened ready for the pitch.

Ritchie Levson was their lead off, and for a damn good reason.

He hit hard and had the disgusting capability of dropping balls into tiny gaps left in the outfield.

Josh inhaled one more time before angling his body backward in a fluid motion as he shifted his feet and threw the first true pitch of the season.

The sound of the bat meeting the ball was loud and followed by chaos.

No one was talking to each other.

Josh turned to track the ball, and I shifted off base to prepare for Mitchell’s cannon from his scattered position.

“First!” I called out, but he couldn’t hear me and the sound of the crowd drowned out any echo that might have followed. The ball hit the turf in center field, just beyond Todd, and had Van sliding through the grass to collect it in his long arms.

Ritchie bulleted past me onto second and Louis wasn’t ready.

“Second!” I barked, but instead of putting his glove up, Louis turned to look at me. “What are you doing?” I pointed as the ball ripped past him, bouncing hard into the sand and rebounding upward toward Josh’s glove.

He turned on his heel, but it was too late for Taylor on third.

Ritchie was gone, cheering and hollering from home as he scored the first run off the first bat. I shook out the frustration, slapping my hand into my glove a few times.

“It’s alright just…” I huffed and got louder for them, “talk to each other!” I ordered. Louis gave me a pained look that was more of a silent apology than anything else.

The instruction fell on deaf ears. We let in another three runs before Josh found his groove and managed to shut down batters in the box with some strikes.

The guys were frustrated, and rightfully so; Philly was mocking us with loud laughter and big smiles. They were under our skin and it showed.

“Alright, hold up.” I shoved Cael back down into the dugout, even though he was called to bat. “We didn’t come out here to let some last place team push us around. Start communicating. I don’t care if you’re screaming about the grass tickling your fucking ankles, just give something more than silence!”

“Yes, Cap.” Cael tapped his chest, his voice booming through the dugout, and scooted past me to take lead off while the rest of them swallowed the order.

With Cael’s boisterous cooperation, the team seemed to find their footing. Nerves had taken the first half of the inning, but it was clear they weren’t going down without a fight.

We scored to even the game and took the field again; out of breath and riding on adrenaline. The communication that had formed so stiffly at spring camp reappeared, and as the game went on we worked out the kinks. Cael and Josh became a single thought, contributing to nearly half the outs between the two of them.

It was in the second half of the game when things started to go downhill. Down a single run and in desperate need of a winning push, Philly started to get chippy.

Noah Hudson was up to bat, a second string shortstop with a violent attitude and a habit of running squeeze plays. With a player on third, it was clear what was about to happen. Josh flicked his dark eyes to me, and I knew he was on the same page as he leaned back and let go of the ball in a straight, fast line toward Hudson’s bat.

The bunt dropped toward Josh’s feet, but he scooped it up fast and threw it even quicker to force the ball in my direction. I caught it before Hudson could blink and tagged him out as I hurled the ball toward Jensen.

“Out!” The ump called twice, back to back, and the diamond erupted.

“Nice catch, faggot,” Hudson growled from beside me, and my entire body seized up at the sound. I had become desensitized to the word, but in sports it was everywhere. Especially when guys got angry. It was what we were raised on; our dads used it, theirs before them. It was as common as asshole and prick, but it felt worse.

Most ignored it, brushed it off, but for me, it sank deep into my bones and reminded me that they thought I was disgusting, that they saw me as nothing more than something to tease each other about. My sexuality, my life–I was a slur to them, not a human. It was the first word they went for, and there was nothing I could do against it, because if I argued it, then I was one.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Josh stepped off the mound as Hudson started back to his dugout, and I remained silent. My shoulders were pinned back as I tried to ignore how the slur rolled down my spine.

“Piss off, Logan!” Hudson waved him off and kept walking, but Josh wasn’t satisfied with the answer and picked up his pace.

His hand wrapped around the back of Hudson’s jersey and tugged him backwards. “What did you say?” He snarled, as Hudson shoved him off.

“I said, nice catch fa—-”

Hudson wasn’t given the chance to finish his sentence. The word died on his lips as the sound of flesh on flesh echoed out, followed by a quick, nasty crunch.

“You’re not so tough with a mouthful of blood. Say it again, pussy!” Josh demanded as Hudson attempted a retaliation swing. The ump tried to get between them but the dugouts flooded onto the field and soon both teams were locked in a massive, uncontrollable fist fight, fueled by the chanting of a bloodthirsty crowd.

Coach was the first to interject himself, grabbing Van by the waist as Arlo caught Cael by the collar of his jersey and dragged him back.

“Go!” he barked at Cael, who had a thick stream of blood running down from his nose, filling his smile and making it red.

“Dean!” Cael yelled over Arlo’s shoulder, spitting the collection of blood in his mouth to the dirt. "Dean!” He yelled again when I didn’t move. “Get him!” He demanded and Arlo turned around to find me frozen.

“Go.” He shoved Cael’s chest, causing him to stumble back on his feet, but he listened and grabbed Baker by the jersey, pushing him toward the dugout.

“Hey, Tucker.” Arlo’s hand slapped against my neck and gripped me tightly to break me out of my dissociation. "Snap out of it, dumbass, before you get smacked around!”

I wanted to, but my eyes stayed on Josh—still looming over Hudson, still swinging, and I knew I couldn’t leave. I pushed past Arlo and shoved through the violent mess of players to get to Josh. I grabbed him roughly by the arms, hauling him off Hudson as he fought against me until he realized who it was and he kicked away, brushing himself off.

“Get off me!” He snapped, shoving me back.

“It’s me!” I stepped forward, our chests brushing together as Josh’s pulsed rapidly.

He had a nasty cut across his freckled cheek, and his pupils were blown with rage as Hudson climbed from the ground with a busted lip and a bloody nose.

“Keep your faggot away from me!” Hudson snarled, and at first I thought Josh might go in for another round, but it was Arlo who whirled on the player that time. I half expected him to hit him, but instead he grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up until his toes were dragging on the ground, and hurled him backwards into a group of his own players.

“Get out of our stadium,” he snapped, stepping forward when the Philly coaches came to the defense of their players.

“We have an inning to play, King,” their head coach said.

“Play it on your bus ride home, this game is over.”

“You don’t have the authority to end games. You’re an assistant coach!” They hollered at him.

“He doesn’t, but I do.” Coach Cody pushed forward, controlled rage engrained on his face as his jaw ticked. “Take your team home, Albie. Teach them some fucking manners before you come back or I’ll report you to the committee.” His voice dropped low.

“For what?” The Philly coach was red in the face, his hands balled at his side.

“You know what.” Coach smiled at him but there was no humor in the action.

“If you end it here, Ryan, it’s a forfeit. Philly gets the win,” the ump warned.

“Let them.” He shrugged, turning his back on Philly. “It’s the only win they’ll get this season.”

Arlo laughed and followed Coach back to the mess of players still pushing and shoving. "Harbor. Locker room. Now.” He didn’t yell, but we moved anyway—a loose line of battered and bruised faces in the dugout.

“You alright?” Cael asked as I stepped down into the dugout, and I nodded my head in passing. “Hey, hey!” He grabbed me and stopped me from going any further. “Are you sure?”

“I’m alright, Cael,” I answered him properly that time and curled my fingers into his jersey for balance as my adrenaline rush crashed through my bloodstream. “Not a great start to the season,” I grumbled, but a smile formed on Cael’s stupid face. “What are you smiling about? We lost,” I scowled at him.

“Look around, Deano.” The guys stood shoulder to shoulder in blood-stained jerseys, with bruises blossoming and big grins. “We’re a team, that’s better than a pre-season win.”