Inside the club, everything was chaos. The space was packed with people. The band was raucous, blaring out fast-tempo jazz. Skip had to shout to cut over the sound of dozens of people chattering away. A mixed crowd of men and women was on the dance floor, doing variations on the Charleston. Servers in bow ties zoomed around, handing out cocktails in tall glasses.
“This is intense,” Mickey said, echoing Skip’s thoughts.
They spent the first half hour or so mingling. Skip mostly shadowed people he knew; he followed Joe and Estelle around for a while, and then he teamed up with Mickey. He danced with a couple of girls he didn’t know. He was congratulated by a few members of the press on an outstanding rookie season. It felt like he was trapped in a whirlwind, but he was enjoying the positive attention.
Then he saw Walt.
It was too much temptation, having Walt in the room with him. He wanted to talk to Walt like he wanted to take his next breath, but he knew couldn’t, not here, not with John McGraw just over there and that lawyer Thompson talking to Rogers Hornsby. Not with most of the Giants’ owners and managers, the very people who wanted to keep Skip and Walt separated, making their way through the crush. And yet Walt had been invited to this party, like the apple on a tree full of serpents.
That was when Skip decided he’d just about had it. This situation was devastatingly unfair. He’d finally found someone who really saw him, who thought he was smart and talented, who made him feel like those things were true, but they couldn’t even simply talk to each other in public?
Skip was temporarily paralyzed by anger and indecision. Mickey walked over and said, “Hey, whoa, you all right there, fella?”
“I’m all right.”
“Good. This is quite a blow. You ever seen anything like it?”
“No. Can’t say I have. Will you excuse me?”
He paused for a moment to screw up his courage. He glanced toward the door, wondering if he could make a getaway if he had to. He scoped out the locations of each person who might object to him being seen with Walt. It felt a little like strategizing before an at bat, figuring out where each player was and what his limits might be in terms of visibility, speed, and skill. Then he took a deep breath and walked forward.
Walt was holding a highball glass and speaking with a woman Skip didn’t recognize. She was pretty enough, but out of luck if she wanted something more than conversation with her companion, Skip couldn’t help but think.
Walt saw Skip coming. When they made eye contact, Walt’s expression turned wary. He leaned toward his companion and said something. She smiled and left.
If Skip’s calculations were correct, they were pretty well hidden from most of the Giants’ leadership, given that one of the grand columns that dominated the room was currently between them and John McGraw. Skip cared less about that as the minutes ticked by, however, so if someone saw them, he would figure out how to deal with the consequences.
“What do you think of this party?” Skip asked.
“It’s hopping,” said Walt.
“I, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For everything you did this season.”
“You’re very welcome.” Walt sipped his cocktail. “Is this a good-bye?”
“No, not at all. Far as I’m concerned, this is just the beginning.”
Walt grinned. Then he darted his gaze around the room. “Are you, ah, sure it’s even a good idea to talk to me?”
“Best idea I had all night.”
Walt guffawed. “That can’t be true. Seems to me you’re taking a pretty big risk even saying hello.”
Skip nodded. He whispered, “You’re worth the risk.”
“Your career is not worth risking.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
Walt frowned. “I want to talk about this later.” He looked around. “Although, really, I want to get out of here. This party is pretty stuffy, and I get the distinct feeling the press isn’t very welcome, despite getting invitations. Or maybe I specifically am not welcome.”
Skip shrugged. That was certainly possible.
“So, I think I will head home shortly.”
“Me too,” said Skip.
Walt nodded. “You’re… Thanks, Skip.”
“You’re welcome.”
WALT had been home about half an hour—his heart racing the entire time—when Skip showed up. The first thing Walt did when he opened the door was grab Skip by the front of his shirt, haul him inside, and plant the kiss to end all kisses on him. Skip put his hands up on Walt’s shoulders.
“You’re crazy,” Walt said when he came up for air. “This is crazy. Why did you come talk to me at that party?”
“I had to.”
“You did not have to do any such thing. Why would you jeopardize your career like that?”
Skip pulled away and walked across the room with a huff. “Don’t you get it, Walt? What I’m telling you?”
“Apparently, I don’t.”
Skip crossed his arms. “Fine. Then here it is. I have never in my whole life met anyone who makes me feel the way you do. Did you know that? Not once in my whole life has anyone looked at me and seen anything but a worthless, stupid bum. But you look at me and see a genius.”
“Everyone else is wrong.”
Skip nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that I believe it when I’m with you. You’re the first person in my whole life who really sees me. You see the whole me, see right through into the center of me, and you see the real me. I’ve never had that before.”
Walt’s stomach flopped. It was a goddamned tragedy no one had ever seen the real Skip before. Skip deserved to be seen, to be loved. He was a phenomenal man, a smart and kind man, a man Walt very much wanted to spend more time with.
“I think….” Skip looked at the floor. “I think I love you, Walt. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want to give that up.”
Walt’s heart shattered then. It was like someone had taken a hammer to his chest and made everything break into pieces with one swift pound. He had never expected this man to fall in love with him. He’d never expected to fall in love with this man. And yet that was what had happened, hadn’t it? In all the time they’d been spending together, be it in bed or in a speakeasy or just sitting in this very room laughing and talking, Walt had fallen totally, irrevocably in love with this strange man from Ohio.
“I love you too,” Walt said.
“You do?”
“I truly do.”
“What about all those other men?”
“What other men? There are no other men in the universe. There’s just us. Wasn’t that obvious?”
Skip tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You were with a lot of men before you met me.”
“Sure. But I was looking for you the whole time.”
Skip winced. “That’s a terrible line.”
“I know.” Walt grinned. “It’s true, though.”
Skip laughed and put a hand on his forehead. “Well, then, surely you know now what I was thinking. I stood in that club and I thought, that man right there is the best thing in my life, but I can’t even talk to him in a room with two hundred other people? That’s ridiculous. So, phooey to what McGraw and Thompson say.”
Walt didn’t like that Skip was likely feeling especially impassioned after an intense night and too much liquor. At the same time, his heart soared to hear Skip talk this way. “You don’t mean that,” Walt said. “No matter how great that thought feels, no matter how much I love hearing the words, you can’t really mean that you’d risk throwing your whole career away just for me. Nor do I want you to. I want to find a way for us to be together that doesn’t keep you from playing baseball.”
Skip dropped his hand and walked across the room. He slid his hands around Walt’s waist. “You’re right, of course. But I thought…. I don’t know what I thought.”
“We’ll find a way, Skip. We will.”
“But just so you know, if I really had to choose between lo
ve and baseball, I’d choose love. It’s even better than I thought it could be. You make me feel like a complete person, Walt. Without you, I’m not all there. You make my game better. You make all my nonsense thoughts go away. Without you, I don’t think I even could play baseball.”
Walt kissed Skip, really kissed him, with tongue and teeth. He licked into Skip’s mouth and tasted him, and he put his arms around Skip and held him close. He couldn’t fathom someone making that kind of sacrifice for him, but he wasn’t about to turn it away.
“You are certifiably insane, you know that?” Walt said.
Skip smiled. “Sure. You are too.”
About the Author
KATE MCMURRAY is a savvy New Yorker and voracious reader and writer. Her books have won several Rainbow Awards. She is currently serving as vice president of Rainbow Romance Writers, the LGBT romance chapter of Romance Writers of America. When she’s not writing, Kate works as a nonfiction editor. She also reads a lot, plays the violin, knits and crochets, and drools over expensive handbags. She’s maybe a tiny bit obsessed with baseball. She lives in Brooklyn, NY, with a pesky cat.
Website: http://www.katemcmurray.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/katemcmwriter
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/katemcmurraywriter
HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE
SHAE CONNOR
Dedication
Thanks to D.M. Grace for beta, and to my coauthors for sharing baseball and friendship, two of the best things in the world.
Home Field Advantage
“HEY, Toby!”
Toby looked up from where he was picking up another discarded towel, just in time for a wad of athletic tape to bounce off his forehead, thrown by one of the other clubhouse staffers.
“Funny, Charlie.” Toby grabbed the tape and dunked it into the trash can next to him with one hand and, with the other hand, dropped the towel into the large rolling laundry basket he’d been pushing around the room. The clubhouse was a wreck, as it usually was after a game, but Toby and the rest of the staff would have it back in shape in no time.
“So, what are you doing over the break, Tobes?”
The question came from Marty Boynton, the assistant team trainer who’d become a mentor of sorts to Toby. Toby grinned. “As little as I can get away with until Tuesday,” he said. “And then it’s back here for two days of prep work.”
Marty shook his head. “Don’t know why you do it at all, when you could be sitting in box seats in Phoenix Tuesday night if you wanted.”
Toby shuddered. “Who wants to sit in Phoenix heat this time of year? Besides, you know the clubhouse gets an overhaul during the All-Star break. You’ve been here almost as long as I have.”
“Yeah, but I don’t share a last name with the team owner.”
Toby sighed. “And that’s why I’m down here, and you know it.”
They’d had this conversation before. Yes, Toby’s grandfather was Ray Macmillan, who’d owned the Atlanta Braves for almost thirty years. And yes, Toby himself would soon own 30 percent of the team, left to him in trust when his parents died almost ten years earlier. For Toby, all that meant was he had to work twice as hard to make others believe he wasn’t some rich-kid slacker. That was why he worked with the clubhouse crew and the team trainers while in college, and not in some cushy desk job in the front office—or worse, no job at all.
Marty laughed. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time, kid.”
Toby snorted and tossed two more towels into his basket. “‘Kid’? What are you, all of thirty?”
“Thirty-one, and that’s still ten years older than you, kid.”
A noise at the door caught their attention before Toby could respond. He looked over to see a (cute, his mind noted) man stick his head inside, blinking blue eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Um…. Hi,” the man said. “I’m Caleb Browning.”
Toby blinked. “Oh, hey, we weren’t expecting you yet.” He dropped another towel into the basket and headed toward the door. “Come on in. I’m Toby. Did you come straight from the airport?”
Caleb nodded as he stepped inside, looking distinctly uncomfortable, his pale skin lightly flushed. “I got the first flight I could out of Jackson.” His voice was raspy, making Toby wonder if he’d napped on the plane or if it was always like that. “Kinda hoped I’d get here before the game ended, but I guess not.”
Toby smiled. “Nope. But I can give you the buck tour before you head home. Or to a hotel, I guess? Does the front office know you’re here?”
Caleb shook his head, that enticing blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “No. I didn’t call anyone. I just…. I guess I was so surprised to get the call that I figured I’d better get here fast before they changed their minds.”
Toby had to laugh at that. He might not work in the front office, but he did keep up with the goings-on of the franchise, including the farm clubs, and he knew about Caleb Browning. One of the rare players who’d finished his degree before heading to the minors, he’d spent the past few seasons as a good defensive catcher with too much tendency to strike out at the plate. This was his first cup of coffee in the majors, all the way up from Double-A in Mississippi, and Toby couldn’t blame him for finding it hard to believe he’d actually made it.
“We’ll take care of you,” Toby assured him. “I’ll give you a lift over to the Hyatt. We have a team account with them, so unless they’re booked up, they’ll get you a room without you having to pay an arm and a leg.” Taking a half step back, Toby gave Caleb a teasingly appraising look. “You might need those come Thursday.”
Well, Toby had intended the look to be teasing. From the flare of heat in Caleb’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure he’d succeeded. Half expecting Caleb to get the wrong idea (well, technically the right idea) and lash out, Toby took another step back, but Caleb just nodded, gaze locked on Toby’s.
“Sounds good” was all he said, and Toby let out a soft sigh of relief. He kept his sexuality under wraps around the ballpark, even with the way things had been loosening up over the past couple of years. If nothing else, his grandfather didn’t know, and Toby didn’t want to tell him until it became unavoidable. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation one bit.
“Let me get the last of these taken care of”—Toby waved toward the pile of dirty towels in the basket he’d left behind—“and I’ll be right with you. Feel free to have a seat.” He nodded toward the small grouping of padded leather seats near the doors, set up during the last renovation as a place for quick postgame clubhouse interviews.
“’Kay.” Caleb let the duffel bag over his shoulder slide to the floor, next to the rolling suitcase he’d pulled in, and lowered himself to the cushioned seats as Toby went back to work. Toby rolled his eyes as he gathered up the last of the used towels that lay discarded in front of lockers, despite the open basket he’d left sitting near the showers all day. Ballplayers were generally nice guys, but most of them were used to having someone else clean up after them, especially at the ballpark. Which, of course, was part of why Toby and his coworkers were there.
The last few towels corralled, Toby pushed the loaded laundry cart into its usual spot right outside the showers and gave the room one last look. The other crew members had finished up their tasks and were headed out the door one at a time, a few pausing to speak to Caleb or give him a nod of greeting. Toby suppressed an urge to do one last walk-through, as he often did when they had another game the next day. Thanks to the All-Star break, they didn’t play again until Thursday, and the whole place would get a thorough cleaning and restocking before them. He could leave with a clear conscience.
Besides, Caleb was waiting for him.
Toby gave himself a mental shake. Caleb was off-limits for many reasons, not least of which that Toby had no clue about his sexuality. Toby could enjoy Caleb’s eyes, his body, the shy smile he was giving now as Toby walked back toward him…. But that was all he could enjoy.
&nbs
p; “Do you have a car? I mean, obviously not with you, but….”
Caleb nodded as he pushed to his feet and reached for his bags. “I didn’t try to drive out because I figured I might not be here long. I left it with my roommate back in Pearl.” He named the tiny town outside Jackson where the Braves’ Double-A affiliate played.
“Okay, well, if you call the office in the morning, they can probably set you up with something, so you’re not spending all your new salary on cabs.” Never mind that the major league minimum salary of nearly half a million was probably ten times more than Caleb had made in his entire career to this point. As Caleb noted, he might not stick around long, so he’d better bank all he could while he had the chance.
“Yeah.” Caleb slung his duffel over his shoulder and, dragging his roller bag behind him, followed Toby out the door and down the passageway toward the staff parking lot. “I just kind of threw everything into my bags and went when I got the call. Didn’t think about what would happen on this end until I was in the air.”
“Understandable.” Toby waved to the security guard next to the entrance as they stepped outside and then shot Caleb a quick grin. “I keep up with things. I know how long you’ve been waiting for this.”
Caleb gave him an inscrutable look. “Yeah, I guess you’d keep up, since you work here.”
It hit Toby that he’d never mentioned his last name, so Caleb likely had no idea who he was. “You could say that,” he admitted, leading the way to the parking space that would give him away anyway. When Ray Macmillan was out of town, Toby sometimes used his reserved space. He knew the moment Caleb realized where they were headed, because the man stopped in his tracks.
“Macmill… wait a minute.”
Playing Ball Page 8
