Page 39

LOGAN

T he most attractive thing Dean Tucker had ever done wasn’t beating the shit out of Ian in front of everyone. It was how he was sitting at the table in the press room with his shoulders pinned back and his bloody knuckles flexed on the table for the cameras to see.

He looked like an enraged god—sweaty blond curls clinging to his neck, his scruffy jaw set tight with anguish. I wanted to make it all stop, quiet the noise, break the cameras. He hated every second of being on display, but he was doing it with a brave face.

His bright blue eyes were blown out and dark as he rode the wave of his adrenaline rush. Coach putting him out there was smart, but also torture to watch from the hall when we could barely hear anything they were asking.

Van hovered beside me, outside the door’s small window, not ten minutes after we all left the field. The sound of Dean’s fist connecting with Ian’s face still echoed in my mind as everyone, quietly and patiently, waited for the word that Dean had entered the press room.

“Josh,” Cael’s voice hissed from my left, he waved me over and I followed him down around a smaller hallway to a door that opened into what looked like another hallway but the door on the other end was open and from it we could see and hear Dean.

I snuck in quietly behind Cael as we tucked against the wall hidden by a few standing journalists. Cael’s hands found someone, and from the giggle that followed, I knew Clementine Matthews was on the other side. She wiggled her fingers at me in a little wave and went back to focusing on Dean.

From this angle I could see his foot shaking beneath the table, his entire body was vibrating as the media started to ply him with questions.

“Lawson Gall.” A stout man with a ruddy beard stood up near us. “Welcome back to the table, Mr. Tucker. Was today’s loss attributed to the distractions in your personal life?”

“What?” Dean said, his face scrunching in confusion.

“You’ve been under a fair amount of scrutiny. Was that pressure a direct result of today’s game?” He asked.

“I’m very capable of separating my personal life and the game, Mr. Gall. We went out, we played hard, but we lost our focus. Lorette has a strong team this year, we just need to figure out how to be stronger.” Dean sidestepped the loaded question with grace and a touch of anger lacing his otherwise professional tone.

“So none of it has to do with your tumultuous relationship with Cael Cody?” He asked.

“Mr. Gall, can you spell that for me?” Dean asked him, and the man looked confused, but Cael barked out a loud, amused laugh that made a few reporters turn before he ducked down out of sight again. The reporter, unaware that he had been made the butt of some inside joke, sat back down.

“Frank Keller,” the next man introduced himself as he stood. "You’ve been hiding from us, Mr. Tucker.” He smiled. "Why? Did the fight on the field today have anything to do with your avoidance?”

Dean’s shoulders tensed. "If you can call that a fight, I guess.” He flicked his eyebrow as his tongue pressed against the inside of his bottom lip.

“There are rumors that the committee have already suspended you, is that true?” He asked next.

“No.” Dean shook his head. "We have to have a hearing meeting before that happens, but you know that Mr.—”

“Keller,” he offered. “Back to the reason behind the scuffle, was it because of the comments made last conference?”

“You mean when I was outed to everyone in my life without my consent?” Dean questioned him, his voice flat and riddled with discontent.

My chest filled with pride, another new emotion that until recently I had never experienced or least never in the way I had before.

“Uh—Yeah,” the reporter tripped over his words, clearly not expecting something so blunt from the team's resident golden boy.

“No, the beating didn’t have anything to do with me being gay, Mr. Keller.” Dean looked around the room. "Do any of you have questions for me that don’t involve my sexual preferences?”

The room went silent.

His direct approach to their nonsense had sucked all the air from the room.

“Mr.Tucker.” Clementine stepped into the light in her dark skirt and tight white blouse, and it was like a blanket had been wrapped around Dean. His expression softened, and a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Clementine Matthews, Independent.” She smiled back. “We haven’t heard much from you since the season started. How has the team adjusted to Joshua Logan’s presence? That must have been quite the shake-up.”

He relaxed a little, his chest rising and falling with a long, steady breath. “Josh came to Harbor during a transition period, and losing Arlo was rough, but we gained a great pitcher, and with his help, we stand a shot for back to back titles.”

Dean couldn’t see me from where Cael and I were hidden, but I wish he could have.

“So you’re saying Josh is a better pitcher than Arlo?” Clementine’s eyebrow raised.

“Line them up,” Dean laughed, and the entire room was in the dark when Clementine mirrored his expression. He cleared his throat, and it was clear Clementine’s calm conversation was having the right effect on him. “No, Arlo was one of a kind, no one could fill his shoes, but Josh has the ability to walk in them, even in a size too big.”

Cael huffed and looked at me. “Big boy’s good with his words when he’s not saying something stupid,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“He’s tiptoeing around shit, but holding his own. I expected tears by now,” I muttered, just trying to hide the pride in my voice.

His eyes narrowed on me, and his head turned to the side. “Mm, the goo…”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I stared at him with disgust.

“I’ve seen that look before. Arlo used to look at Ella like that. It’s almost like you‘re constipated trying to hide your attraction,” Cael teased, and I wanted to shove him, but we weren’t supposed to be in here, and I wasn’t ready to get kicked out just yet.

Dean fielded about nineteen more questions once the reporters started asking about the game and not about him. He didn’t entertain anything about his personal life, shutting them down with a hard no or a walk-around joke. It was like he had climbed out of the hole he’d been hiding in to prove to the world that they couldn’t push him around.

By the time he was done, it was easy to see how exhausted he’d gotten. The adrenaline had worn off, and his hands were starting to shake. Silas followed his tail out of the room as the reporters went into a frenzy upon his departure. He noticed Cael and me on the way out and called us over, funneling us out in front of him and taking the rear. Silas whispered something to Cael that I didn’t catch because my eyes were focused on the space between Dean’s shoulder blades. It’s where he carried all of his tension, balled up and tight. I wanted to put my hands on it, to ease it from beneath his skin, but it wasn’t the time or the place.

I wasn’t even sure I could make myself do it.

But the need was violent.

Any other day, the locker room would be empty—everyone would have showered and disappeared by now. But every member of the team, including most of the coaches and Ella, was still waiting patiently for him to return. They sat quietly as Dean entered the room in his baseball gear, sweaty and uncomfortable.

Cael and I wandered around him to our lockers as he stood in the middle of the giant hornets logo and stared at the carpet with his bottom lip between his teeth.

Coach almost stepped in when the silence dragged, but Dean lifted his head and opened his mouth before it could happen. “Sorry, I just… the silence was kinda nice…” he chuckled half-heartedly. “I’m sorry about today’s game, I failed you guys as a captain, and I promise from here on out that I’ll be there, heart and head. I should have told the reporters off the day they backed me in a corner, but instead I let them cage us all up like animals because I was too scared to be who I am.”

He pulled on the collar of his jersey with a shaky, bruised hand and popped the top buttons free so he could breathe a little easier. “No more hiding, we play as ourselves and we play hard. And maybe no more fighting, but no promises,” he said with a small smile as he looked over his shoulder at Coach. "Sorry, Coach.”

“None of that tonight, Dean. You defended your home,” he said, his expression never wavering from the utmost of pride. "Enough apologies will be made tomorrow, double practice and Tucker, you and I have a meeting with the board tomorrow at noon. Showers, food, sleep, get to it, boys.”

Coach clapped his hands, and everyone moved into action, but Dean stayed frozen in the center of the blur like the people moving around him were nothing but noise. I untied my cleats one lace at a time while I kept my eyes on him, and slowly the locker room emptied. He never moved, and I knew what it was, it was paralysis from the events that had transpired over the last four hours.

He hadn’t come to the stadium today expecting to fight or sit under a media spotlight for an hour. The adrenaline of the fight had gotten him through it, but now that it was wearing off, he was stuck, replaying it all back in his mind, wishing he had done things differently.

Cael stood by the door and looked over at me, he wanted to know if I could handle it and to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could. Not in the way anyone else would have, I didn’t know Dean as well as them and I was scared to screw it up. For the first time in my life, I was wading into unfamiliar waters, scared that at any time I’d wade too far, lose my footing and slip beneath the surface.

But also curious, brazen maybe ? It wasn’t the water that scared me, it was the unknown of what was below, the dangers I couldn’t see in the depths. The only sure thought I had was that I wanted nothing more than to drown in Dean Tucker.

I nodded to Cael, and he took it as a sign that he was safe to leave his best friend in my hands. I wasn’t exactly confident in that trust, but I had it regardless. He left and flipped the lock to give us privacy before the door clicked shut and left us alone. When the locker room was finally empty, I pushed off the bench in my sweaty gear and made my way across the carpet in exactly thirteen agonizing steps.

“Tuck,” I said. "You gotta shower, you smell like dirt and blood.” I looked down at his jersey, and a messy dark red stain splattered across the Hornets logo.My hands shook, but not nearly as much as his. I inhaled, filling my lungs with a rush of air before I stepped forward and lifted my hands to the buttons of his jersey.

Dean was completely checked out as I undid each button and rolled the fabric away from his skin. I did my best not to touch him, I couldn’t battle my own demons while battling Dean’s, even if it meant holding on to the one thing that he might need from me.

“Asshole,” I muttered, not sure if tough love was the right approach but I had to try something. I’d never seen him so far gone. “Snap out of it, it’s over. The world knows, you’re free. Whatever comes next, we deal with it.”

Dean looked down at me then, his eyes finally meeting mine, and there was so much uncertainty behind him. I nodded at him, understanding the rush of emotions that was coursing through his veins. Words weren’t needed between us to convey how overwhelmed he had gotten in mere moments of slowing down and really realizing what he’d done.

“I can do it.” Dean lifted his hands as I started on his belt but stopped before he touched me. At least he was talking to me.

“I didn’t ask if you could do it,” I said and popped the belt off, pulling it out of the loops and throwing it with his jersey.

“You don’t want to do this,” Dean tried to brush me off again, his voice thick with burden.

“You need me too,” I argued and ignored the way he tried to move away from me as I counted to ten in my head and inhaled again. “It’s necessary.”

He stopped fighting it then, slipping back into his awkward uncertainty and remained quiet as I knelt to the floor and started to untie his shoes. Once he was half undressed I stepped back so he could shuck out of his pants. I walked over to the showers, disappearing out of his sight and ran one of the showers hot for him.

When I returned, he was rubbing the back of his unhurt hand across his cheeks, and he was staring away from the showers, completely naked but not unaware of my presence. His knuckles were still red and raw, and his eyes were glassy with exhaustion.

“Go clean up. I’ll wait and drive us to Dansby house,” I said to him, and pointed to the showers.