Page 54

LOGAN

A n angel–that was Dean Tucker in all his glory. He wore tight-fitting dress pants that hugged his thighs and a sheer shirt that outlined every muscle in his arms and back like a work of art. His hand pulsed in mine as we turned back to the stairs, the team cheering behind as we started the terrifying descent to the field.

With each step, I felt him tense—his breath slow and methodical as he fought to control the panic. Nearly everyone on the field had stopped to watch the team enter the party, and while the support was loud, furious even at our backs. The quiet judgment was pounding in my ears, and I knew that Dean felt the same because his throat bobbed roughly as we stepped out onto the field with every eye on us.

“Breathe, Tuck.” I squeezed his hand, and he let out a strangled breath before inhaling again and setting his jaw.

“Dean.” Coach met us at the bottom and offered his hand to him. His dark blue suit jacket stretched as they shook hands. “Logan.” he turned to look at me with a nod. Silas’s mother was close behind, and she offered both of us a small, caring smile.

“You both look very handsome,” she said. “It’s nice to see the hair out of your eyes, Joshua.” She complimented me before turning to Coach. “We should find our table,” she said to him, and he cleared his throat, nodding to Silas and Arlo before leading her off in a different direction.

“You’re sitting at that table,” Silas leaned down over his shoulder. "Follow them…” he instructed, and Dean started moving again. It was like he had never done any of it before, even though he had more than one Gala under his belt.

When Dean went to follow I stopped, "I'm going to go get us some drinks, I'll be there in a minute." Dean's eyes widened, terrified to be on his own but I had something I needed to do before I keep good on that promise. "You need it," I said, my tone grumpy. Silas watched me carefully as I walked toward the bar but it wasn't for the drinks.

Mr. and Mrs. Tucker stood watching us and I could feel their eyes on me as I made my way carefully through the crowd. It was clear that they had come tonight with one objective, to speak to Dean in a place that he couldn't easily escape from without making a scene. I tapped the bar and ordered a drink for Dean before turned toward the two of them.

"He's accepting an award tonight, did you know?" I asked them when the silence dragged on.

Mr. Tucker's eyes found mine, "You did, good." I nodded, "tonight is a very important night for him."

"We know, Mr. Logan. You don't need to lecture us," Mr. Tucker sighed, a tight frown forming on his old face.

"I think I do," I corrected and that gave me his full attention. "I want you to know if you speak to him, if you make him uncomfortable in anyway, if you even think about ruining tonight for him. You will have to deal with me. I will not be as respectful and calm as I am right now and I will not call you sir or ma'am. I grew up on the other side of the tracks, where we don't have manners and deal with bullies the correct way, Mr. Tucker."

"Are you threatening a professor, Mr. Logan?" His body language turned rigid as the band started to quiet and everyone took their seats.

"I am," I confirmed, and from the shocked expression on his face he had expected me to be so bold.

"That's a serious offence," he started but I cut him off.

"I know what it is, and I meant every word." I took the drink in my hand and started back toward Silas.

"You can't keep me from my son," he warned, his voice like nails down my spine. I turned back to look at him, eyes narrowing on them both as my jaw ticked tightly in controlled anger.

"He's not your son," I said, "you made that very clear."

Mr. Tucker went to open his mouth but stopped as Silas appeared at my side, "I'll show you to your table," he said over my shoulder. His eyes glaring at the Tuckers. "You look lovely tonight Mrs. Tucker, enjoy dinner." He said politely before he led me to the table. I knew the chances of me getting to sit with Dean were low, but surprised to find my name at the table between him and Silas. “You’re his date, kid,” he huffed and pulled out his chair to sit.

Dean still looked on edge, but when he realized I wasn’t leaving his side, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Everyone took their seats, and Coach made his way to the stage after a long, dry introduction from one of the committee members. He waited for Sylwia to accompany him, letting her take the stairs slowly until they were both at center stage looking out over us. Coach looked more uncomfortable than anyone, hating every second of being out of his gym shorts and t-shirts and into dress clothes and combed hair.

“We wanted to sincerely thank every member of the Harbor Organization for joining us today for the seventh annual Harbor Athletics Gala,” Sylwia said, her voice like honey and the light catching the sequins of her navy dress as the crowd clapped. “The money raised from tonight's events goes to fund the many scholarships and programs that trickle down through the department here at Harbor University, and without your generosity, many students wouldn’t have the opportunity to further their education. Your kindness has helped many Harbor athletes grow and flourish into incredible members of society.”

Coach clapped from beside her as she stepped aside and let him take the mic. “Every year, the athletics department chooses one student who has displayed exemplary values on and off the field here at Harbor University. Last year, before graduating and being drafted into Harbor's beloved NHL team, Kenji Carter was awarded this honor for his kindness and his leadership of the Harbor NCAA team.”

Dean stilled, his chest barely rising, his breath going silent. He was so nervous, and for no reason, the award they were giving him was an honor, it was holding him in the highest regard. And yet… he didn’t want the accreditation.

“I have been a part of the selection process here at Harbor for eight years, and the decision is always difficult because we’re blessed at the University to have so many wonderful athletes. For those of you who don’t know, the coaches come together mid-way through the year with a folder full of nominees that we believe would make the best candidate for the award. It usually takes us a week of coffee, donuts and complaining before a decision is made. This year, Coach Allerson of the women’s basketball team,” Coach said, pausing to let them clap as the light shone on the coach, she waved and smiled at everyone awkwardly.

“Whiskey… and water.” I nudged it toward Dean, and the command reached him on a minute-long delay before he reached out for it. I pressed my knee against his under the table and looked around, catching a glimpse of his parents at a table in the corner near the secondary bar.

Coach told Dean he was receiving it three days ago at practice. " I think you earned the heads up, you’ve had to pull one too many surprise press conferences out of your ass.” He said it like it was going to comfort Dean, but it only riled him up more.

We spent hours writing the speech on his phone, and I wasn’t even sure he was going to be able to get through it without puking. If he makes it up the stairs at all … I thought, feeling his leg shake against mine.

“Coach set a folder on the table with all the nominees and, like many times before, we opened it, but it was closed five minutes later, and a decision was made based on an incredible show of bravery and leadership. I wouldn’t be up here if the chosen athlete weren’t a Hornet—obviously,” he grumbled, and a few of the audience laughed at his horrible, tense joke. “This player has gone through hell and looked down the barrel of a press video camera more than once this season, all while defending what it meant to be a Hornet and, more importantly, defending what it meant to be a man. I’m honored to present this award to Dean Tucker—captain and first baseman of the Harbor Hornets—for his unshakable morals and ability to endure struggles no young man should ever face.”

Coach turned to look at Dean as the light panned to him at the table.

“Stand up,” I cleared my throat and urged him upward. His knees buckled a little, but he stood as the cheers from the team rumbled through the party louder than ever. Screams and whistles echoing around swallowed up any doubt he was feeling. He looked down at me and our eyes met, his full of raw fear as I nodded, encouraging him to move toward the stage. “You can do this,” I said.

Dean’s eyes flickered shut—and if I hadn’t been standing beside him, I might’ve missed it—but the fear dissolved, and he summoned that golden boy smile. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the spotlight, but he waved, shaking hands with Silas quickly and putting on the best show he could for the clapping crowd.

“Bets on puking?” Cael appeared at my left, squatting in his suit as his massive blue eyes watched the stage.

“He won’t,” I said to him, not looking away. And I knew, without placing a single bet, that I was right. He wasn’t going to be sick, he could get through this.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he whispered. “He’s pretty determined when he wants to be.”

“He sure fucking is,” I said before holding my breath as Dean shook Coach’s hand and kissed Sylwia on the cheek.

Dean reached out, adjusted the microphone with a sharp screech, then stepped back and cleared his throat. He had been handed a crystal plaque, no doubt engraved with his name, and he looked down at it like he might cry. His jaw quivered, and his hand wrapped around the wooden podium to brace himself as the silence dragged on.

“Show us that boyish charm, Tucker!” Van yelled, and Zoey’s giggles could be heard, but the outburst helped, and Dean smiled, looking up and squinting into the lights shining on him.

I whirled around in my chair quietly and barked under my breath at Cael. "Tell them to turn that shit down.”

Cael understood, darting off bent over to avoid blocking anyone’s view and before long the lights dimmed a little on the stage. Dean looked around, finally able to see everyone and relaxed even more. he set his phone on the podium and took a quick second to find himself before starting.

“I’ve been playing baseball since I could run,” Dean said. "I was always the biggest kid on the field, Elementary school was a riot when I was as tall as some of the teachers. Being that big, from a respected family… I had every opportunity I wanted when it came to sports. Coach Andrews has tried to get me to join the football team more than once,” he laughed, and so did a few others. “But baseball was always where I belonged, the sunshine, the dirt, the camaraderie…” he sighed. “The family.”

The team erupted again, and Dean laughed, a true smile forming on his lips.

“I’ve also been gay my whole life,” he said, gripping the podium tighter. “Which apparently wasn't a surprise to the team but I definitely figured it out watching Saved by the Bell.” Everyone was quiet, but a few of the guys hollered to encourage him through the silence.

“Fuck,” Silas swore under his breath. "He’s losing it.”

“No,” I said. "He’s fine, just let him get through it.” Dean’s eyes found mine like he knew I was talking about him, and I nodded for him to keep going.

“Being gay shouldn’t be as difficult as it is most days, but it’s especially taxing on an athlete playing at a high level. I knew accepting the captain position would shake things up at Harbor, that I could handle the pressure of leading the team to victory.” He licked his bottom lip, his throat no doubt dry. “What I wasn’t confident in was my ability to be myself and be proud of who I am. When the majority of the league still finds comfort in slurs used in jest, directed at me unknowingly, it’s difficult to navigate. Remaining quiet, letting the moments pass, pretending that I was just one of the guys just to get through the games.”

Something crashed from behind us and the spot where Mr. Tucker was sitting was empty, leaving Dean’s mother, the color of a tomato, staring up in anger at her son.Good.

“The beginning of the season was rough,” he said, digging something out of his pocket. A small piece of yellow paper, along with a folded white one that looked like it had gone through the wash. “I’ve gotten pretty good at talking to the press. It was a team effort writing this press statement,” he held it up, still folded. "But I never read it because I was scared. I didn’t want to disturb the status quo.”

I smiled up at the stage, proud of Dean for everything he was standing for.

“It sucks, keeping the peace,” Dean shook the award in his other hand. "But I didn’t get this for keeping the peace. I got this for being brave and unshakeable in my morals.” He held it up higher. "But it was only because of a teammate, a friend…” he stared at me, those blue eyes burning through the darkness. “Someone I love and respect looked at me when I was at my lowest this season and told me that those people didn’t deserve peace. That I had to step up because there are kids like me all over the country that need role models, the kind that I needed growing up. They don’t need peace—they need a voice when the noise gets too loud. They need gay baseball players. Gay captains. Gay men. In the original statement, it was written that I will not apologize for my personal life. And that stands true. This award proves that the articles and gossip will not change who I am, or how good I am at baseball.”

A smug smile formed on his face, and in that moment, Dean Tucker glowed the brightest shade of gold. A true beacon of disrupting the normal, stepping outside his comfort zone to be what so many of us needed.

The team stood, cheering and hollering for him in waves of unbreakable noise.

Dean smiled at the crowd. “So thank you to the athletics committee—but this award doesn’t just belong to me. It belongs to the Hornets.”