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BARRETT

Stetson’s idea was a bold one. It had never been done in the history of pro sports. Not to my knowledge anyway, but I didn’t hesitate to agree. And as I stood in the clubhouse suiting up, I only felt more secure in my decision. Though that did little to ease my nerves. There was still a chance that this could go horribly wrong. These seven games were the last ones I would ever play in the majors. Given that we had yet to win a game against the Thrashers, it was likely that they’d murder us on the field instantly.

The clubhouse was dead quiet, but you could feel the energy throughout the place. The opening ceremonies were already underway. The thumping of the music rattled the walls. I placed my cap on my head and turned as the door opened and Britney stepped in, covering her eyes. “Is everybody decent?”

“Like you’d care if we weren’t.”

She dropped her hand. “You’re right. It’s not like I can become any more of a lesbian.” Arms crossed over her chest, she leveled me with a glare. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am.” I thought I’d feel differently as I suited up for what would be the final games of my pro career, but I didn’t. The entire morning, all I could think about was doing it with the men I loved by my side. It felt almost serendipitous that we’d made it here together. The entire team filtered out of the clubhouse, but I stayed behind. “Is Stetson ready?”

Britney smiled, a rare, genuine one. “He’s had to be closely monitored so he doesn’t tip off the press too early.”

With my heart fluttering in my chest, I grabbed my cap. “Then I guess we’d better put the boy out of his misery.”

Every other member of the team went right, while I went left. I wouldn’t be announced with everyone else in the starting lineup. Stetson approached from the opposite direction, gracing me with a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms. When we’d first met, that cocky grin of his was etched into my memory. I’d seen countless press conferences, his contract signing, and numerous news reports with the same smirk on his face. But the closer we got, the more I got to know his real smile. The one that made his eyes sparkle and seemed to melt every ounce of tension from his body—and mine. That was a gesture that had to be earned. It was reserved for a select few, and my heart swelled knowing that I was one of them.

Despite the overwhelming success of the press conference, we’d been careful about PDA. Vicky had truly done a number on us. But there, in the privacy of the tunnels, I didn’t hesitate to step into Stetson’s open arms. He demanded a kiss, to which I happily obliged. “You ready for this?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” he answered instantly. There was no hesitation.

I held him there, soaking up some of his confidence while we waited. Home team was announced first, then the away. Tension built with every name called, knowing that ours wouldn’t be among them. The announcer reached the end of the home list and switched teams. Even over his thundering voice, murmurs of confusion echoed through the stadium. I glanced at Stetson, who beamed up at me with a twinkle in his eye. Who could possibly be nervous when you’re being looked at like that? So I inhaled a deep breath and took his hand, lacing my fingers through his.

It was then that I noticed we were alone in the tunnel. Both publicists had disappeared. The team coaches and managers were already on the field. It would truly be all eyes on us.

After the starting lineup for each team was announced, the first pitch was thrown. Historically, the person to do it was an MVP from previous seasons. This year, with the help of our teams’ publicists, the league decided to switch things up.

“ In light of recent events, our ceremonial first pitch is going to be performed differently this year. Since its creation, baseball has been widely known as America’s favorite pastime. We, as a nation, are changing, but there’s one thing that won’t: baseball. From Babe Ruth to Glenn Burke, the MLB has been widely diverse. Today is no different. On behalf of The Atlanta Thrashers, The New York Hellbenders, and the entirety of Major League Baseball, we extend our support to these two players. Today, the first pitch will be thrown and caught by two-thirds of baseball’s newest power throuple.”

My palm started to sweat, creating a slick glide along Stetson’s. Considering I was rooted to the spot, he took the first step toward the opening. When he threw that grin over his shoulder, my legs remembered how to move.

We emerged onto the field, and the noise was deafening. My plastered-on smile eased into something much more genuine. The stadium was decorated in color. Pride flags lit up the stands, bright, shining rainbows commanding the attention of anyone who dared challenge them. I blinked against the burning in my eyes. Stetson and I shared a quick, knowing glance. We’d done it. We’d truly done it.

We’d made a difference.

“ From The Atlanta Thrashers, batting second, pitcher, number twelve, Stetson Holloway !”

With the ball in his hand, Stetson gave my fingers a squeeze before heading to the pitcher’s mound. I accepted my glove and took my position.

“ From the New York Hellbenders, batting fourth, behind the plate, number ten, Barrett Swindon !”

The roar from the crowd was so intense that I couldn’t hear myself think. Almost as if in the distance, music filtered through the speakers: Brooke Eden’s “Outlaw Love.” The ground beneath me seemed to vibrate. I crouched behind home plate and locked eyes with Stetson. He winked, then he leisurely threw the ball in my direction. It smacked into the glove, and the screaming around us intensified. Stetson stepped off the mound and made a clear path to me. One voice stood out amongst the thousands, and I searched for Levi in the stands. Tears shamelessly danced down both cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away. I blew him a kiss, which he caught and returned. Mouthing an “I love you,” I met Stetson halfway. It was time to switch gears. I ignored the heat behind my own eyes, but reached up to brush Stetson’s cheekbones dry. I kept the PDA to a minimum, taking his hand in mine for a handshake. Shutters clicked and video cameras moved around us, capturing every angle of the two most popular men in baseball.

With a newfound confidence, Stetson and I joined our respective teams. With the first pitch out of the way, the start of the game was almost uneventful. Every bit of pressure I’d felt up to that moment faded. It no longer mattered if I got this ring or not. The only thing that did was that I got to play the game I loved, and I got to go home to the men I loved afterward. Some of my teammates may have felt differently, but I didn’t care. We got here by playing our best, and I would do nothing less now.

The first inning passed easily. The Hellbenders caught up to the Thrashers at the last second, with me crossing over home plate just as our fifth batter was tagged out at second base. I paused briefly to catch my breath, then we switched for the second inning. I had every bit of faith in my team, but that never stopped the self doubt from creeping its way in. Though as we prepared to take the field, that one run up gave me a boost of confidence. When the first batter struck out, that hope flourished. Stetson sauntered up to the plate, and I watched out of the corner of my eye. Though the chuckle from the umpire told me I wasn’t being as subtle as I thought. He let it slide, and Stetson gave me a not -so-subtle once-over as he took his place.

I made my call and when our pitcher didn’t shake his head, I considered it accepted. “Ready for me to kick your ass, Rookie?” I muttered.

He shot a look over his shoulder, and my heart flipped. “Yes, sir.”