Page 29

TUCKER

J osh was waiting in the garage, damp dark hair curling against his forehead, wearing the same dress shirt he wore to games. I had been so worked up in the shower that my muscles were still cramping across my back, but seeing him standing there was like someone had found the pressure point and rubbed out all the knots.

He looked good, he always did, even in a cheap shirt and pants he had probably owned most of his life. It never mattered because he looked at me with all the confidence in the world, determined to prove himself past the assumptions.

I could learn lessons from Josh.

But not today, there was too much going on inside my mind to take notes on how he handled adversity. Today there was only crippling anxiety and incoming heartbreak.

“You look nice,” I said, and he rolled his eyes.

I tossed on a plum sweater that Mom had given me a few Christmases ago that was too tight around my shoulders and a pair of slacks. It was impressive that Josh even thought about dressing up.

Or even offered to come.

Which I had assumed was what he was doing by standing there.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Please don't back out now.

“Get in the car, Tuck.”

I watched him wander around to his side and climb in, the motion was becoming normal and I liked it. I liked Josh Logan in my Jeep, at my side, in my life.

Shit.

“It’s a Jeep,” I reminded him as he shut the door in my face, but the jab was enough to get my feet moving.

The entire front seat smelled like cinnamon, and it was distracting as I threw my arm over the seats and pulled out of the garage in one quick motion. Josh stayed silent the entire drive to my parents’. They lived on the other side of Harbor, and while it wasn’t a long drive, the silence made it feel like it was.

I pulled up the driveway and swallowed tightly, staring up at the three-story brick townhouse. Unlike most of the guys on the team, I was Harbor born and raised. I had never known anywhere else, these walls had protected me and nurtured me growing up but now they were a cage.

“You should feel guilty,” Josh said as the sounds of the engine died.

“What?” I turned to look at him, but he was staring up at the house.

“You want to be angry, but…” he paused, body rigid. It made me want to reach out and comfort him but that would only make it worse. “Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere,” he said.

“You aren’t making sense,” I sighed, I would never understand why none of them couldn’t just tell me straight what they meant. I hated riddles.

“Your guilt, that’ll get something done. You can use it to fix problems, but anger doesn’t solve anything. Guilt can. Even misplaced guilt.”

Josh finally turned in his seat.

“ They may hate you for this.” He pointed at the house without looking at it. “But there are easily a hundred other kids that need someone like you.”

I stared at him and tried desperately to understand where he was coming from.

“Feel guilty because you grew up with every opportunity to be something and you’re sitting here scared and ready to throw it away because of the opinions of your out of touch parents,” he said and ran a hand through his hair to fix all the little waves that fell out of place.

“I…” I opened my mouth and closed it again.

He was right, this shouldn’t be that hard. I had everything I ever wanted, and if they couldn’t see that, what did it matter?

“They’re family, Josh. They’re my blood. It matters,” I argued half heartedly.

“You have a family, Tuck. It isn't about blood. Whoever is behind that door is an insult to the Brady Bunch,” his voice was tight and quiet. “Even if you all participate in cult activities, at least they have your back.”

I offered him a tiny laugh.

“If you think they’ll pull their punches tonight just because you came with me, they won't,” I warned him. My parents were the kind of rich that didn't believe in consequences for the stuff they said. Josh wouldn’t be able to buffer their conversation, it was going to be rough.

“You saw my Mom’s drug den,” he whispered, and I know there was a joke in there somewhere, but he barely got it out without a snarl. “I think I can handle your nuclear family dinner.”

“Alright,” I said. I wanted to tell him that his mom was sick, she wasn’t in control of herself, but somehow I knew the sentiment was futile. My parents were of sound mind and body, they were just cruel and unwavering in their hatred. I was still worried that he didn’t quite understand, but I tried to get my breathing in control before I nodded, ready to go inside and face the wolves. He waited for my cue and only climbed from the Jeep when I was sure I wanted to go inside.

Looking back at him as his feet connected with the pavement I had a wave of gratitude wash over me. Months ago if someone had asked me about Josh, I’d have a handful of nasty things to say about him. I would have taken pleasure in shredding him apart, piece by piece. But now…

Josh looked up from fixing his belt, and our eyes met.

Those sable brown eyes were usually hard, angry.

But today, they held a softer concern that spoke volumes about the guy that Josh actually was beneath all the anger. Sure his jaw was tense and his hands were usually balled into fists, but he was kind, and intelligent. I just hoped he knew that he wasn’t just his anger and trauma.

Lately, I felt like it was up to me to show him… but it would have to wait until after we got through dinner. I couldn’t manage the two things at once, and as the front door swung open, my fight-or-flight response was triggered, and nothing else was as urgent.

“Franklin.” My father stood in the doorway in a navy sweater, his glasses low on his nose and his lips pressed into a tight line. “We’ve been waiting.”

“Practice ran late, sir,” I said quickly. I apologized with my head down. I stepped to the door, and it was only then that he noticed Josh behind me.

“Walt Tucker,” he held out his hand to Josh, and I bit down on my tongue as Josh stepped forward and extended his hand.

I looked down at his palm and tensed. The lengths he was going to, just to be here, didn’t go unnoticed.

“Joshua Logan.” He shook my father’s hand without a fuss, but I could tell that his palm was itching from the unwelcome skin-to-skin contact.

“The new pitcher,” my father noted.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I don’t have any family in Harbor, and Dean is doing his captain duties by dragging me along for Sunday dinner,” Josh said. His diplomatic tone made me uncomfortable, but it was impressive enough that my father smiled and let us into the house.

“We’re happy to have you!” My father said, his voice more chipper than before. “We have more than enough food and are proud of Franklin’s new status,” he added, the words more clipped that time.

Josh didn’t look over at me but I could feel how uncomfortable he was as we were led back past the large staircase to the living room. The townhouse was old, hundreds of years old and was laid out in tight hallways with too many rooms for afternoon tea and gentlemen hours. My fathers study was across the hall from the living room, and the kitchen was at the back of the house, connected to the massive dining room.

“Can I get you a drink?” My father asked Josh, and before I could tell him no, Josh politely declined. “Sober for the season, I get it. Baseball is hard on the body.”

He wandered around me as I sat down on the couch, and his fingers dug into my shoulder in passing before he sat in his chair at the head of the living room. I could hear Mom moving around in the kitchen, surprised she hadn’t come to check on us yet, but too scared to go see if she needed help. I closed my hands in my lap and tried to slow the tempo of my racing heart.

Josh sat on the couch next to me, leaving a gap between us like always, but his foot pressed against mine on the floor, and I inhaled slowly, grounding myself to him.

“How are you settling into Harbor?” My father asked and I couldn’t tell if the mundane small talk was welcome or not, I almost wanted him to flip out and get it over with.

Whatever the hell he was doing felt like he was playing with his food.

“It was an adjustment, they do things a little differently than Lorette, but good. The team is ready for the season, and I’m excited to pitch,” Josh answered. He was so unbothered and smooth with every answer. I was jealous of his ability to just be himself.

“They do, don’t they?” My father said, his head slowly turning to look at me.

There it was.

The other shoe.

“Can we just have dinner?” I asked him as he lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips.

“We will, and you’ll sit there and listen to every word your mother has to say and then you’ll thank her for dinner just like you always do,” he said, no doubt having more to add but there was a knock at the door.

It opened before he could get up, and Harvey piled in with his kids and wife. The noise volume in the house exploded as everyone barreled through the hallways to the kitchen, where my mom’s voice echoed with laughter.

“Franklin.” Harvey stopped in the hallway and shoved his hands in his pockets as his wife rounded the corner with a flip of her hair and a disgusted look on her plastic face.

“Harvey,” I responded. "Lianna,” I nodded to her, but she just looked me over and disappeared in her heels toward the kitchen. Most likely to gossip with my mother about me before we all sat at the dinner table, so she could berate me in front of everyone.

“Is Anna coming?” My brother ignored me and Josh to look at my father.

“No, she’s stuck at work, it’ll just be us.”

“Stuck at work or couldn’t stomach it?” Harvey sneered, and Josh tensed on the couch.

“I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Josh.” He stood off the couch and approached my brother, who stared him down before slowly taking the offered hand in a firm shake. “Harbor’s new starting pitcher,” he said, and smiled at my brother.

I could feel my father watching me instead of them, and I turned to look at him, only to be slapped with all the judgment in his cold, old stare. Awesome . Even though I knew it wouldn’t protect me from my mother, my brother and father seemed to be swayed into silence by Josh’s confident presence.

They talked around me for a little while longer before dinner was called, and we all made our way into the dining room. Josh introduced himself to Lianna and all the kids before turning to my mother.

For a split second, I watched the anger bubble to the surface behind those brown eyes, but he plastered on a sweet smile and shook her hand before taking his spot at the table beside me. I wasn’t extended the same kindness from her; she ignored me most of dinner, chewing her food and asking Harvey weird questions.

Josh ate his food without hesitation, the roasted chicken and potatoes smelled delicious but my stomach was tight with anxiety and all I did was pick at it as everyone talked around me like I didn’t exist. It was when she set her fork down and stared at me from the other end of the table that I knew I was about to hear it.

“Are you going to explain yourself or sit there and eat our food like nothing is wrong?” She asked.

Our food.

I was already being talked about like I wasn’t a part of the family.

“What do you want me to explain?” I asked politely as I pushed around the barely eaten food on my plate. “You haven’t asked me a question.”

“Watch your attitude,” my father interjected, and I chewed on the inside of my mouth.

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded, turning to my mother. "I’m sorry,” I said to her tightly and I felt Josh’s mood shift beside me. “I’m feeling a little cornered about this entire thing.”

“Cornered? When you received the mantle of captain, Franklin. We expected you to make us proud, but imagine how I felt when I opened the newspaper to see your name in bold letters heading an article about your homosexuality,” my mother said.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I repeated, because I didn’t know what else to say to her.

“You’re sorry?” She sighed but didn’t relent. “The words you’re using, you’re making yourself a victim, Franklin. Are you the victim here? Do you know how hard it was to walk into the club the next day when everyone was asking me questions about my gay son? How dare you do that to me, to this family. We’re the victims. We gave you everything, supported every dream you had.”

“I know, Ma’am, I’m sorry.” I swallowed the copper tang of blood, my teeth tearing into the inside of my cheek just to keep from puking or screaming.

“Did you not receive enough love? Enough attention?” She questioned, her tone becoming harsh and tight. “Did I not love you enough? Is this punishment for something?”

“No, Ma’am.”

I wanted to scream yes , that she had never shown me an ounce of love. Not in the way that I needed, only in the way she deemed fit for her perfect little son. But I wasn’t who she raised, not in her eyes. I was now nothing but a disgusting sin, a stranger sitting at her dinner table, sharing her last name but not her sick, homophobic ideals.

Harvey was thriving in the tense atmosphere with a smile on his stupid face. His wife, Lianna also seemed to be enjoying the way my mother tore into me. The kids all ate unbothered, frankly it wasn’t even a family dinner if Mom wasn’t ranting about something. I had just never been the subject at hand.

“You’ll hold a press conference,” Harvey said in his office voice, and Mom looked pleased with him. “Tell them that it’s rumors, that you’re not… gay .” The word rolled off his tongue like it stung him to say it, and I tensed. “I’ve spoken with Mom and found three suitable rehab centers, all specializing in your illness.”

Conversion therapy.

My heart sank.

“You’re sick, Franklin, and I’m sorry it took me so long to notice but we can help you get back on a proper path. An acceptable one,” Mom said, reaching out to touch my hand.

It was still clenched tightly around my fork, I could feel the silver digging into my palm, and it was the only thing keeping me from lashing out. They wanted to send me away to a conversion facility because they thought I was mentally ill. You’re sick.

“They’re the best centers in the state, they have an eighty-eight percent success rate,” Lianna chimed in like she knew what she was talking about.

My mind was spinning; in fact, the entire room was. I felt like I was going to be sick, and the feeling of my mother’s touch against my hand was hot and sticky. I choked back a gag and did my best to inhale quietly as they talked about me like I wasn’t even there.

“One is only a few hours away,” Harvey explained.

A few hours?

“You see, Baby, we’ll fix this together.” My mother’s voice scraped down my spine like razor blades.