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LEVI

October

I thought that the energy in our house would match that of the field during the World Series.

Turns out, I was wrong.

Stetson and Barrett were closer than ever. They launched into pre-game prep, pushing each other to be the best versions of themselves. Both of them were up before the sun to spend hours in the gym. Shocking the hell out of me, Barrett took Stetson under his wing in the kitchen, teaching him to cook and how to use his smartwatch app to track his macros, whatever those were. I wasn’t even allowed in the kitchen when he was cooking.

You ruin one white sweater…

The night before the first game, I stood in the entryway watching them make dinner. It was the closest to the stove Barrett would let me get, but I didn’t mind. It provided the perfect view. Every now and then, one would hip check the other, or reach over to steal a kiss. Even facing down the biggest moment in their careers, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Lucky for us, their respective teams making it through to the final round worked in our favor. The press shifted gears and instead of focusing on Barrett being a no-good cheater or Stetson a homewrecker, they were instead calling the two of them inspirational. Our love story had been labeled a modern-day Montagues versus Capulets—with some tweaks of course.

Barrett’s press conference had been all the sports community could talk about. Major League Baseball, along with most professional sports, had been open and accepting of queer players for years. Every league had their own version of a zero-tolerance policy for any sort of harassment or discrimination. But this was different.

Fortunately, the league supported us at every turn. I had a few concerned clients come to me with questions but for the most part, things couldn’t be better.

If someone had told me six months ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face. I loved Barrett with every fiber of my being, but even after so many years together, we couldn’t shake the fact that something was missing—either of us. Watching him fall in love with Stetson along with me made all the pieces fit together. It felt as if we’d been walking along in a daze, and Stetson put everything into focus. He slotted into our lives like a needle in a groove.

“Daddy?”

“Hm?”

I snapped back to reality to see both my men staring at me.

“Where’d you go?” Barrett asked me.

Before I answered, I stepped into the kitchen, ignoring Barrett’s warning glare. His lasagna would survive. I walked around the island, moving in close behind them. I put an arm around each of their waists, nuzzling into Stetson’s hair. He was small enough to fit perfectly under my chin, and I loved it. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have both of you.”

I kissed Stetson’s temple, and Barrett leaned in to stamp his lips to my cheek. “What brought that on?” The question was followed by a dish being thrust in my direction, a silent instruction to carry it to the table.

“Things could have gone in a whole other direction when I met a certain someone.” I succeeded in my mission of getting the food onto the table without dropping it, then pulled out their chairs for them. As Stetson dropped into his seat, I ruffled his hair. “But the two of you fell for each other even faster than I could imagine, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“How did it go when you first brought me home?”

Barrett answered for me. “It didn’t. You were passed out drunk in the guest room.”

“Bear…”

“What? It’s true!”

“All right,” Stetson interjected. “Like the two of you never had any wild nights out.” Then he looked to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Or can you not remember that far back?”

Barrett choked, and I narrowed my eyes. Stetson gulped. “Uh oh?”

“Yeah, ‘uh oh’ is right.” Filing that little remark away for later, I turned to the other man at the table. “Don’t think you’re off the hook either. Do I need to tell him the D’usse story?”

Barrett sobered, the blood draining from his face. “Don’t you dare!”

My lip quirked. “Want to try me, sweetheart?”

Stetson’s attention ping-ponged between the two of us, fork poised halfway to his mouth. I don’t think he’d ever seen Barrett drink. Likely because he hadn’t picked up a bottle since that fateful night. “Wait! Now I have to hear it!”

“No you don’t,” Barrett argued.

I sat back in my seat, amused. It wasn’t often that Barrett let things get under his skin, and seeing him nervous was fucking adorable. “What if I let you punish our boy for that age comment?”

Barrett took a bite of his dinner, narrowing his eyes as he weighed the risk. Truth be told, the night in question wasn’t that bad, but it was definitely out of character for Barrett. Everyone loved it, but when he woke up and saw the evidence the next morning—not to mention the horrific hangover he nursed for days—he swore off alcohol.

Stetson piped up, ignoring my offer to Barrett. “Was it better or worse than belting out nineties music and puking your guts out in an alley?”

“Worse,” Barrett and I both said in unison.

“He threw up all over me ,” I continued.

“You did not!”

“Levi! Oh, my God.” Barrett groaned and hid his face in his hands.

I took that as permission to launch into the story. Despite every weird twist and disgusting turn, Stetson latched onto it like a kid at story time. Barrett turned a deeper shade of red as the minutes passed. He tried to distract himself with his food, but eventually shoved his plate away.

I met Barrett when he was a college player, and he was a bit of an underdog. I was warned left and right not to sign him. He wasn’t on anyone’s radar, his stats weren’t good enough, he wasn’t determined enough. At least, that’s what some said. Everyone seemed to have their opinions on why he wasn’t good enough for the majors.

But he was perfect for me.

I took a chance and offered to represent him. He graduated college, and the Hellbenders took interest. He’d be the first to admit that his rookie year was a struggle, but he made it. He proved himself and soon enough, he was their star player. “The D'usse Incident,” as we would come to know it, happened once he finished that first year. It mortified him to even think about that night, but I could pinpoint the precise moment I started to fall in love with him.

It was the first time I saw the rookie nerves fade away, and the true Barrett emerged into the spotlight. As I talked, I studied the ink winding over his arms and around his wrists. Those weren’t there when I met him but by the end of that night, he would have his first tattoo.

* * *

We hadn’t intended on going out together that night. I didn’t even realize he was in town. Most pro athletes relocated to their team’s state, even in the off season. I was meeting a coworker for drinks, and Barrett happened to be in the same place. After a few, my coworker left to go home to his family. With nothing better to do, I ordered another and, feeling emboldened, sent Barrett one as well. When the bartender set a large shot glass in front of him and filled it to the top with cognac, I was impressed. I didn’t know many cognac drinkers, much less ones who drank it by the shot. But Barrett met my eyes over his shoulder, winked, and threw it back like it was nothing.

He slammed the glass back down on the counter, wiped his mouth, and pushed off the stool. I barely had time to process what was happening before he plopped down across from me and blurted, “I’m into you.”

Stunned, all I could offer was. “Excuse me?”

The cocky little shit crooked a brow at me. “Am I not speaking English?”

In the grand scheme of things, eight years wasn’t all that much of an age difference but back then, it felt four times as drastic. Desperate to have the attention off me, I changed the subject. “How many have you had?”

He scoffed. “Irrelevant. I was attracted to you the moment we met. You want to get out of here?”

My face was on fire. I’d met some confident men in my life, but I could honestly say I’d never been propositioned so… openly. And from a client at that. I cleared my throat and spun my drink around on the table. “Um, Barrett, I’m flattered but I’m your agent.”

“So?” He slid his chair around the table and moved in close. Our thighs brushed and he dipped a hand between my legs to tease at the seam in my jeans. Heat trailed behind his finger, lighting up my nerve endings like the Fourth of July.

Damn, he was not making this easy. I shot a hand down, stopping his fingers before they found my very evident erection. Gently, I placed his hand back in his own lap, as much as it pained me to do so. “Let me clarify,” I told him. “This isn’t me saying I don’t find you attractive, or that I don’t want to. I’m your agent, and any sort of intimate relationship between us would be inappropriate. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything by sending you that drink and if I did, I apologize. Do you understand?”

Bleary, hazel eyes searched mine. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and damn it if my gaze didn’t snap right down to watch. I felt pressure on my hand, and it was then that I realized I was still holding his in his lap, dangerously close to his— “I understand,” he finally said, releasing my hand and getting to his feet. “But don’t think I didn’t see that. I’ll have you before you know it, Levi Grant.”

I was too shocked to respond. Instead, I dipped my gaze into my drink. I definitely wasn’t watching his ass as he strutted away from the table.

* * *

“I got a call about an hour later from the owner of a tattoo studio.”

“ What ?” Stetson snapped his attention to Barrett. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh, he did. Show him, Bear.”

His cheeks still tinged pink, Barrett smiled at me. As embarrassed as he was about that night, he remembered it just as fondly as I did. He’d been shredding his napkin to pieces, and he dropped the scraps to the table. “You owe me so much for this.”

Barrett rolled up his shirt sleeve and moved in close to Stetson. Over the years, Barrett had covered nearly every inch of his body in ink. His first tattoo was buried in the intricate lines and swirls decorating his upper arm. Stetson searched the tattoos and I knew the moment he saw it. He smiled wide, and that precious dimple popped out. “Oh, my God.”

There, nestled between a tribal tattoo and a realistic-looking moth was a small word in shitty script: my name. Considering most artists won’t tattoo someone if they’ve been drinking, Barrett stumbled into a pretty shady place that night. He was so drunk, he practically bled all of the ink out. It was faded and blue, but still there. The artists working around it were creative in making it part of their art without covering it up.

“He won’t let me cover it,” Barrett said. “I’ve tried so many times.”

Stetson traced over the lines with his finger, and Barrett shivered. “What happened when the artist called you?”

Barrett met my eyes across the table, returning to his meal. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Happily. He passed out in the chair and refused to wake up. The artist fished his phone out of his pocket, searched for my name, and said if I didn’t come get him that he would call the police. I knew that night that I was done for.”

That time when I met his gaze across the table, Barrett gave me that grin that made me fall for him in the first place. “The rest is history,” he said, reaching out for my hand. I slid mine into his palm, and he held the other out for Stetson. “Then we met you. Stetson, no matter what happens on that field, please know that we want you here. We need you here. You took an amazing love story and gave it the most beautiful epilogue. We love you, and the outcome of a baseball game isn’t going to change that.”

Damn, Barrett took the words right out of my mouth. My two men shared a look over the table, and my heart soared. Stetson then crooked a brow. “Even if that game is the World Series?”

Barrett gave his hand a squeeze. “Especially then. Baby, we’ve already made it. No matter what the outcome is, we’re the best players in the league. When we walk into that stadium tomorrow, all eyes are going to be on us.”

Our boy relaxed, his mouth easing into a soft smile. “About that. I had an idea.”