Page 44 of The Battery

Cody

I t only took an hour and a half for us to get all talk of the game out of our systems. After securing our place in the pennant race, we left the following morning for a little town in southern New Hampshire.

We would spend two nights in a log cabin set on a pond, surrounded by peak New England foliage the likes of which graced calendars and post cards around the world.

We’d attend a charity event the afternoon we got back, then another charity dinner in Boston that evening.

The following day was filled with community activities at the stadium, and then we’d leave early the next day to fly to Austin, Texas.

We’d be fighting the Lone Stars for the pennant. And we would win. I was sure of it.

The drive was spent discussing tactics for the pennant. Leo, in his usual blunt manner, told me all the minor things I did wrong during the last game. I didn’t take offense (I would have earlier in my career but he broke me of that nasty habit) and listened to the expert that he was.

Our view transformed as we left the highway and hit the back roads.

Gone was the stretch of pavement and the roar of cars, we were swallowed by mighty evergreens.

Stalwart guardians denying the chaos of modernity.

The green was interspersed with majestic shades of burnt orange, red like the early dawn, and yellow the crispiest shade of sunshine.

My mouth had dropped open to take in the magnitude of colors.

I had experienced autumn in New England plenty of times, but here deep in the woods, peak foliage took on another meaning.

As pavement turned to gravel, the rough and tumble ground filled the car with noise.

Leo navigated us in accordance with the maps, driving up a slight incline as showers of leaves hit the windshield.

We pulled into a narrow driveway leading to a single-story log cabin.

We got out and stretched. The cabin itself blocked the view, the building surrounded by thick copses of trees.

I grabbed our bags while Leo hauled a massive cooler.

The primary entrance was apparently in the front so we walked along the porch that wrapped around the side of the house.

I slowed to a halt as my mouth dropped open.

A beautiful serene and placid lake stretched behind a sandy beach.

Endless reiterations of fall colors painted the horizon, reflected perfectly upon the water as if in a mirrored realm.

The sun was high, casting golden light on all it touched, like a spotlight on the beauty of autumn.

As if on cue, a pair of hawks soared across the water in search of an afternoon meal.

The cooler slammed into my back and sent me stumbling forward.

“Shit, sorry,” Leo barked. “Was caught by the view, too.” He set the cooler down to enter the code to get into the house.

I didn’t want to peel my eyes away from the vista.

The cabin sat atop a small hill, a stoney path meandering down to the water where the dock had been set on the beach, removed for the winter.

“Earth to Hill,” Leo called from inside the cabin. I finally pulled away from the view. I think he had been calling my name multiple times.

I stepped into an open floor space; everything covered in knotty pine.

The scent of potpourri hit me in a subtle way, nothing to make me gag, like a church lady’s perfume.

A short hallway led to two rooms I assumed were the bedroom and the bathroom.

A couch, probably from the 1970s given the floral pattern and sagging, took up the back left corner.

No television, which was fine with me. A cast iron woodstove sat upon a brick hearth, which Leo was already kneeling in front of with laminated instructions in hand.

I dropped our bags in the bedroom, a queen-sized bed with fresh linens was wedged into a corner with only one side accessible.

In the kitchen, I unloaded the cooler. By the time I finished, I heard Leo let out a successful shout.

I turned to see the wood stove blazing with a merry fire.

He stood with his hands on his hips, a triumphant smile on his lips.

A new kind of smile that I catalogued in my memory.

He appeared so satisfied with himself, like he had made the fire from rubbing sticks together.

“ Me make fire ,” I said in my best caveman voice.

He rolled his eyes but the smile never left his lips. I counted it as a win.

We passed the afternoon on a hike through a trail system that ran along the lake.

It was surprisingly sparse of homes, which Leo had informed me was due to a lot of the land being set aside for conservation.

The ducks hadn’t flown south for the winter yet, and we found plenty of families quacking through the day.

We chatted idly about everything and nothing, staying away from talk of the game and the more important discussion of why, specifically, we were here.

The light had waned by the time we got back, the warbling call of loons a soundtrack for the dusk.

The temperature fell to the low forties, and the woodstove Leo had fired up was emitting the perfect, all-encompassing heat when we stepped inside.

After a quick change, I grabbed us some to-go dinners Leo’s chef fixed for us.

Outside, Leo channeled his inner caveman again and started another fire.

A raised, stone firepit sat ten yards from the water line, surrounded by Adirondack chairs.

One was double-wide, the perfect spot for both of us.

I brought out a bag of supplies to make s’mores after dinner.

Dinner was washed down with chilled water, followed by no less than two dessert sandwiches each.

I took the liberty of making them with a stick torn from a nearby tree.

By the time our bellies were full, the night had settled and the only sound was the breeze in the trees and the crackle of the fire.

From my toes to my temples, I felt a kind of relaxed ease that made me melt into Leo’s side as we sat together.

He lifted his right arm to encircle my shoulders, our feet propped up on the stone wall of the firepit.

My gaze had been locked on the dancing flames when I felt Leo’s lips press delicately in my ear. “Look up,” he whispered.

Confused, I dropped my head back to his shoulder. “Oh,” I said. “ Wow. ”

An innumerable company of stars. The deep black was blanketed in sequins of silver. I had never seen so many in one sitting. There was no light pollution here at the lake and it gave sight to the impossible. Not for the first time, my mouth dropped open as I gazed at an endless field of diamonds.

And it didn’t make me feel small. I did not feel like a tiny ant in a mountainous region that was the universe.

Instead, I felt emboldened, as if the stars had shown me that each light is interwoven with the greatness of others.

Small, yes, but not impotent. I was relevant in my little space and to those that were around me.

Drunk on the ease of the day and the beauty of the night, I couldn’t help but express the words that felt emblazoned on my soul.

“Leo?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t say anything at first. I waited patiently to see if he would respond at all.

After a moment, he abruptly stood. For an electric moment I feared the worst, but he turned and held out his hand for me to take. I did so and he pulled me to my feet, then led me away from the fire to the cabin. I stayed silent, as did he.

He wants to show me his response , I realized as we stepped inside the darkened cabin, lit only by the woodstove.

We were down the hall after kicking off our shoes.

The bedroom was dark, save for the scant flickering orange glow from the living room.

Leo’s hands were on my face before I could do anything.

His lips on mine. Soft. Delicate. Slowly opening my mouth with his as his tongue slipped along mine.

His right hand stayed on my face while his left dipped down my side and pressed into the small of my back.

He forced us together gently and secured me to him by fully wrapping his left arm around me.

I had both my arms slung over his neck. He smelled like cologne and woodsmoke, two distinct scents that danced perfectly, like our lips.

Indelible. I would never forget that combination.

I let him lead. I had already confessed. He apparently was doing so as well, in his own way.

His hands were at my sides, lifting my shirt over my head.

We broke our kiss, and I took the opportunity to help him out of his shirt as well.

Bare skin touched as we reconnected, this time in a deeper, more passionate kiss.

I felt my hunger for him grow into the wild, fevered coupling I was used to.

But the serenity and calmness in his actions held that demand at bay. Clearly, he wanted to go slower.

He helped me out of my pants while our lips never left each other.

Then his came off. Our nakedness melding us together.

I could feel him drip down my thigh, the constant flow always revealing how much he enjoyed being intimate with me.

Again, the sudden urge to ravish him took over, a primal lust demanding satiation by whom I considered to be the pinnacle of masculinity.

And again, he stayed my hurried hands, even pulling away to look at me with that level gaze of his.

Slow , he seemed to say.