Playing Ball

by Kerry Freeman

  “I do.”

  Mikko kissed Jake’s forehead. “One of these days, we’re going to have to talk about what all this means.”

  “I know,” Jake said. “Not tonight. But very soon.”

  “Okay.”

  Jake nodded. “Okay.”

  “Can we order that pizza now?”

  Epilogue: San Diego

  Wilson Returns to Throw First Pitch

  SAN DIEGO—Jake Wilson, former San Diego second baseman, looked over the field. He hadn’t been there since he retired last year, and he’s proud he’s been asked back to throw the first pitch of the first home game of the season.

  His son Johnnie, a baseball standout at the University of Oklahoma, and his daughter Erin, a member of the Nashville Predators front office, were back in the clubhouse catching up with the players and their children. But Wilson wasn’t on the field alone.

  With him was his fiancé, Mikko Niemi.

  Three weeks after retiring, Wilson stunned the baseball world with his decision to announce his bisexuality. Two months later, he attended his first public event with Niemi, a chemical engineer from Savannah, Ga.

  Not all the reaction was pleasant or even polite, but Wilson and Niemi felt safe enough at the stadium to hold hands.

  “I used to watch Jake play when we were in college,” Niemi said as he tells their story.

  “And I used to watch Mikko sitting in the stands,” Wilson added.

  It’s the classic story of reuniting with a first love, with a little baseball and marriage equality thrown in.

  “We could get married while we’re here, but we’re hoping we’ll someday be able to marry at home in Georgia,” Wilson explained. “It’s going to happen. I believe it.”

  Players from both teams came up to Wilson and Niemi, eager to shake their hands and offer support. A few players obviously avoided them.

  “Will an active player come out? I hope so,” Niemi said. “It would be better if people could feel free to be who they really are.”

  Wilson agreed. “I hope that someday no one has to feel like I did before I came out. That no one feels like they have to make a decision between love and baseball.”

  About the Author

  KERRY FREEMAN was born and raised in Alabama and she grew up swearing she was going to get the hell out of Dodge the instant she could. Turns out Dodge ain’t so bad, and she never left. Alabama’s version of a city girl, she married a country boy, and the couple lives in a small town with their two socially awkward dogs.

  Kerry loves to write about love, and it turns out most of the voices in her head are men. She also loves to write about the South, so most of her stories end up there, one way or another.

  A tomboy and a geek from way back, Kerry has a day job but dreams she will one day write full time. She has a weakness for yaoi, Japanese stationery, YA, and ginger-haired singers from Britain. She owns an impressive t-shirt collection. Nowaki & Hiroki are her homeboys.

  Website: http://kerryfreeman.com/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/kfwritesbooks

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorkerryfreeman

  WILD PITCH

  MARGUERITE LABBE

  Dedication

  To my son Christian and his constant companions Moosie and Angie. You taught me what unconditional love truly means.

  Chapter 1

  “WHY’RE you here today?” Alan Hartner asked as he came into the batting cage lobby, toting a large equipment bag. “I thought you wanted to get the kids’ rooms ready.”

  A sick flash of acute disappointment and hurt went through Ruben Martell like a barbed spear. He saved his file on the laptop, shut the lid, and forced a smile. “It can wait. How was practice?”

  “The kids were on fire today. It took a while to get them settled and focused.” Alan gestured to one of the occupied cages and the kid swinging at the machine pitched balls with fierce determination. “I see Tyler beat me here.”

  “Yeah, he knows he barely made the cut, so he’s trying to get in extra practice whenever he can.”

  Alan opened the equipment locker, set the bag down by the bench, and began to put everything away. Ruben watched him, sweaty from being out in the sun for a couple hours, his skin flushed red. A wave of intense longing washed over him. He wanted to go to him and pour his heart out. He knew Alan would listen, be supportive. He knew Alan would understand exactly why he was hurting and how much. He was also afraid he’d end up telling Alan everything that was eating at him and he wasn’t sure Alan could deal with that.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Alan said, checking over the spare bats as he drew them out of the bag. “We’ve done pretty well for ourselves in the past year. Now that I have you with me full time, maybe we should consider expanding.”

  Ruben’s gaze drifted over the batting cage with its concrete walls that kept it cool in the summer and chilly in the winter. Three separate cages lined the back wall and all were occupied. There was a small arcade and vending area off to the left, and a room for parties on the right next to the tiny office they shared. Ruben stood at the glassed-in counter that held baseball cards, Todd McFarlane action figures of baseball players, and even a few signed balls they’d gotten from the last game they went to.

  “Did you have any specific plans?” Ruben could think of several options, from adding a couple more cages to expanding the arcade.

  “Well, Sylvia is thinking of retiring and selling the salon. We could take over the space, knock out the wall, and put extra cages there.”

  “I don’t think she’s going to sell in the next year.” Expanding would mean investing even more into this enterprise he’d fallen into. He couldn’t deny they were successful or that he enjoyed his new career. He just wasn’t sure it was enough anymore.

  Alan studied him with a thoughtful expression, and Ruben’s masochist heart skipped a beat. “Maybe not, but we could still consider the possibility. What would you like to do with the space, if we had it?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Since when have we been anything but honest with each other?”

  “I’d move the arcade into the new spot, add a cage, then open up that side and put in a practice pitching area.”

  “Huh,” Alan said thoughtfully, turning to look around as if he were trying to picture it. “That’s a possibility.”

  Ruben opened his laptop again as Alan returned to dealing with the equipment. He needed something to occupy his attention to pull him out of his brooding thoughts and to keep him from watching Alan like a lovesick teenager.

  CRACK. The sound of a bat connecting just right with a ball filled Ruben’s ears, followed by the chink when the ball struck the chain-link fence of the batting cage. He glanced toward Tyler and noted how the kid had his hands positioned on the bat with a sense of satisfaction. About time he listened.

  “Good one, Tyler, keep it up,” Alan encouraged as he finished wiping down one helmet before setting it away with the others. It might’ve taken Ruben and Alan a couple of months to get Tyler to loosen his death grip on the bat, but it had paid off. “See what happens when you don’t overthink it?”

  Ruben’s gaze lingered on Alan as his friend turned his attention back to the task in front of him. The familiar sounds of practice were a comfort, though none of them as much as Alan’s voice. Ruben could pick it out anywhere, whether they were in a crowded locker room, or hanging out after the game in a bar, or even now amongst the clamor of a dozen kids scrambling to get extra practice in as the Little League All-Star season started.

  Alan’s voice stood out amongst all that not because he was loud or obnoxious, but because over the past fifteen years, he had been just about everything to Ruben: Teammate. Best friend. Rival. And now business partner. And despite all that, Ruben couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.

  He was staring at Alan again, just as he had all those years ago when they’d played for the Red Sox. Alan’s fire had mellowed some since then. The drive to be the bes
t batter and outfielder in the American League had transformed into the drive to be the single parent of four young sons and coach of one of the local Little League teams. He had a few new lines around his blue eyes and the hair on the back of his head had started to thin, but he was still damn beautiful.

  A car horn blared and Ruben peered out the window at the familiar sedan that had pulled up in front of the batting cage. Mrs. Netty waved at him and he lifted his hand in return. “Tyler, your mom’s here.”

  “Okay!” Tyler stuffed his batting gloves in his duffel bag and set the bat back in its rack. “Hey, Mr. Martell, I got a question.”

  “Shoot.” Ruben checked to make sure he had the right scrimmage list, handed him a flyer with the schedule on it, and then watched Tyler cram it in his back pocket where it would be forgotten. Ruben made a mental note to tell Alan to follow up with an e-mail to his parents.

  “Why’d you leave Boston the first time?” Tyler asked with curious, wide eyes. “Couldn’t you have stayed? I bet Coach Hartner wanted you to stay.”

  Ruben had no idea how many times he’d been asked that very same question, often with expressions of accusation or betrayal. At least for Tyler it was so long ago that at his age it was nothing more than a curiosity.

  “I’ve been asking him that for more than seven years,” Alan spoke up. Ruben didn’t have to look at Alan to know his friend was watching him with that penetrating gaze of his.

  The old, familiar regret washed over him. He had faced that question from Alan the most; often with hurt in those blue eyes, sometimes anger. The anger he could handle; the hurt was something else altogether. Lately, though, the question had become more probing, and it was a whole can of trouble Ruben didn’t want to open up again. Not after what happened last time.

  “I needed a change of pace.” It was a bullshit answer then and it was a bullshit answer now. Looking back on it, he wouldn’t have made the same choices. But damned if he knew what choice he would’ve made. He’d done the best that he could to make things right and sometimes it felt like he’d failed on every point.

  Tyler grimaced and stuck his cap on backward. “But why go to the enemy? Dad says you’re a traitor.”

  “I’m a traitor, huh?” Ruben laid his elbows on the long counter and tried not to smile at Tyler’s earnest expression. Kids could be amazingly blunt at times.

  “Yeah, but he forgives you, ’cause you didn’t trash talk,” Tyler assured him.

  Alan snorted and Ruben finally lifted his eyes to meet Alan’s gaze. There was a challenge there, one Ruben hadn’t seen in years, and it left him flustered. What the hell did Alan want? He knew why Ruben had left. It might have been unspoken, but he damn well knew why. And if Alan wanted to hash it out after all this time…. Ruben tamped down on the little spike of hope before he let himself start dreaming again.

  “There was plenty of trash talk on both sides, but not in public—just between friends,” Ruben said. “As for why, they made me an offer, a good one that I would’ve been a fool to pass up. And Tampa was closer to my family in Puerto Rico.”

  Ruben could see another question forming on Tyler’s lips and he waved him off, gesturing to where his mom sat in her car. “Go on. Your mom’s waiting, and don’t forget to give her the schedule.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tyler shifted his bag onto one skinny shoulder, and Ruben felt his moodiness lift a little. He’d been like that once, spending his endless summer days practicing, playing, and reveling in the heat and sweat of the game with dogged persistence. He had to admit he’d enjoyed teaching another generation the love of the game. It wasn’t where he’d thought he’d be at this point in his life. Until recently he was sure he was right where he belonged, but now he had doubts.

  “You keep hitting the cage the way you’ve done today and you could be the next Nomar,” Ruben said as Tyler got to the door.

  “Who?” Tyler gave him a blank look over his shoulder.

  “Kid, you’re breaking my heart. Get out of here.” Ruben shooed Tyler out again and watched him get into the car with his mom.

  “I think he’s a little too young for Nomar, Ruben. He has other baseball heroes.”

  “I’m surprised it’s not you,” Ruben shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “He definitely had a bad case of starry eyes when he first started coming here.”

  “I think I’ve given him enough hell over the state of his equipment that the hero worship has tarnished.” Alan grinned, a wicked curve of his lips, and his eyes glinted with challenge. “You do realize your team doesn’t stand a chance against mine, don’t you? I have the best batting lineup in the county.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Hartner. With Sammy and Adam pitching on my team, your boys won’t even get a chance to hit.”

  Alan snorted a laugh and Ruben’s heart did a little flip like he was in high school all over again. Alan’s square face was framed with the start of a beard several shades lighter and redder than the shaggy chestnut hair that threatened to fall into his eyes. Alan needed a haircut more often than not and Ruben’s fingers itched to brush it back. And his eyes drove Ruben crazy. They were an intense, crystalline blue that made it seem sometimes like his gaze was cutting right through the bullshit to the heart of the matter.

  Ruben went back to fussing over the flyer for the pitching camp he was running at the end of the season. Three days on an island in the lake with a bunch of eleven- and twelve-year-olds. What had he been thinking? Last year had been a logistical nightmare, even if everyone had fun. He wished he could summon up the same enthusiasm this year, but it was buried deep under a mile-high pile of disillusionment.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet all day,” Alan said as he returned to putting away the equipment. “What gives?”

  “Nothing I want to get into at work.” Ruben shut down the program before he got so fed up with the flyer that he erased the whole thing. “I’m going to go tinker with the pitching machine that keeps stalling. We might have to think about getting a new one.”

  “Hey.” There was a wealth of concern in that one word. Ruben paused and looked back at Alan, who studied him with his brows drawn together. He didn’t press and Ruben was grateful. He didn’t feel like getting into all of the drama and bullshit right now. Ruben had never been very good at hiding anything from Alan, and it irked him sometimes. “Do you want to come by for dinner tonight? The boys want me to break out the grill.”

  Ruben hesitated. He wasn’t good company, he knew that, but the thought of being at the big, empty house alone tonight daunted him. He should’ve found a smaller place when Karen moved out with the kids. At least Alan and his boys would fill up the silence for a time. “Sure. I’ll bring the beer.”

  FROM the backyard, Ruben heard the roar of a major battle taking place, the high-pitched gleeful shrieks of young boys mixed with Alan’s shouts of defiance. He grabbed the six-pack from the passenger seat and went around the side of Alan’s house to investigate. It might be safer to take refuge on the deck and watch the chaos until they noticed he’d arrived.

  Ruben slipped through the gate and stopped with a laugh at the sight of the full-blown water war taking place. Alan had barricaded himself behind the picnic table turned on its side, and his three older sons were attempting to swarm him with water guns. None of them saw Ruben come in. The boys were too intent on getting to their victim and Alan in holding them off.

  Alan jumped up with a roar, water balloons in both hands, and Brett, Mikey, and Seth scattered with another round of shrieks. Alan tossed his first round of ammunition, catching both Mikey and Seth, though Brett danced out of reach with a taunt before Alan reached down to grab his second round.

  Ruben grinned, setting the beers and his phone on the deck with a wicked sense of bubbling anticipation. It pulled him out of the downward spiral of nagging regrets and the sense of hopelessness that had dogged him for the past couple of weeks. It was impossible to remain depressed around Alan and his sons.

  The youngest bo
y, Matt, was with Alan, attempting to carry the water balloons off one by one. He was soaked to the skin, breaking most of the balloons as he hugged them to him while trying to toddle away. The only one not wet was Alan, and that couldn’t be allowed.

  Humming to himself, Ruben unwound the garden hose from its neat coil under the back faucet. Matt grabbed another water balloon, caught sight of Ruben, and let out a crow of delight. Ruben held a finger to his lips and beckoned to him as he turned on the water. Oh this was going to be so good.

  “Unca, Unca!” Matt yelled, dropping the water balloon and waving his chubby hands as he toddled toward Ruben as fast as his short, fat legs would take him.

  Alan twisted around, looking for Matt, and his gaze fell on Ruben as he pointed the hose at him. He had just enough time for his eyes to widen before Ruben turned the nozzle on full blast with a wicked laugh. The stream of water caught Alan square in the chest, and he shouted as the boys whooped in delight.

  “You double crossing—” Alan cut himself off before he let loose the slew of curses that would’ve once dominated his tirade. Ruben snickered and kept the hose on him as Alan’s boys came in with their water guns to finish him off.

  Alan grabbed a water balloon and threw it at Ruben, who sidestepped it with a chuckle. “Your pitching sucks, Hartner,” Ruben taunted.

  “Yeah? Dodge this.” Alan grabbed more ammunition and barreled forward with the burst of speed he’d once used to steal bases.

  “Whoo-hoo!” Brett shouted, turning his water gun on Ruben. “Get Uncle Ruben too!”

  Ruben cursed under his breath and took a step back even as he knew it was too late. Alan pelted him with the water balloons and then tackled him to the ground. Of all the fantasies he’d had over the years of Alan taking him down like this, none of them had involved water balloons or four shrieking boys in the background.