Complete Game: The League, Book 1

by Declan Rhodes

  I asked, “So living in a house like this is like a whole new life?”

  “It’s a completely new life, but, you know, it’s kind of fun, too. I feel like this week I’ve just caused one disaster after another, but I’ve learned a lot.”

  I turned the steak over in the pan and enjoyed hearing the hot sizzle while I said, “That’s the important thing. Learning from our mistakes. I know that I’ve made a few.”

  Blake leaned back against the sink in the kitchen. I couldn’t help but take a long look at him from head to foot. His legs weren’t particularly long for his height, but he had a long, lean torso. That was a perfect build for baseball. It meant that his arms were long, and he could put plenty of power behind the softball when he threw it. Those arms would also give his swing of the bat a lot of power when he finally figured out how to connect with the slow pitch properly. It also made me want to just cuddle up into his arms with them wrapped tight around me.

  I shook my head briefly and returned to the steak on the stovetop. It was close to being finished to a nice medium rare. I asked, “Do you have any butter in the refrigerator?”

  “I think I have one stick left,” said Blake. “Let me grab it.”

  He handed me the butter on a plate with a knife. I dropped a small pat on the top of the steak to finish it off. Blake looked over my shoulder and then he leaned in lightly rubbing his body against mine.

  He didn’t say anything, but there was obvious touch. I took a half step back to increase the contact. I didn’t really think about it. I just did it, and I was curious what kind of response I would receive from Blake. I wondered if he would nervously bolt to the opposite side of the kitchen.

  Blake didn’t move. I thought I could hear his breathing quicken slightly, but he held his ground. I could feel his light exhaling on the side of my neck. It made the tiny hairs behind my ear stand on end.

  Finally, I said, “It’s almost finished.” I pushed a thumb against the meat and said, “You can tell how done a steak is by feel.”

  Blake stepped back and said, “That’s good to know.”

  When I turned around, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and there was a smile on his face. Something was going through his mind about me. I thought my suspicions about Blake might be true. He was probably a little less straight than he let people think. I fought to keep my concentration on putting together great plates of food instead of wondering how Blake’s lips would taste and what his body felt like beneath his shirt.

  I chopped up the frozen french fries and stirred in the sour cream making something sort of like a twice-baked potato. The green beans were cooked simply with garlic, salt, and a hint of the butter. As I composed the food on plates for each of us, I was pleased with what I saw. “Would you open the wine, Blake?” I asked.

  I was wiping the edges of the plates when I heard the satisfying pop of the cork from the wine. He asked, “Can we have a toast before we sit down to eat?”

  I said, “Of course.” Blake pulled wine glasses from the cupboard and poured the deep red pinot noir for each of us.

  Blake raised his glass and said, “To good friends and softball.”

  For once, he didn’t sound nervous. He simply sounded genuine, and it made me smile. The glasses clinked and I said, “To good friends and softball.” Then we both drank, and I watched as his Adam’s apple rose and fell.

  We set our glasses on the small table in Blake’s kitchen next to the plates of food. I started to sit, and Blake exclaimed, “Oh! Almost forgot…” He dashed to the refrigerator and returned to the table with a plastic bottle of ketchup. As he began to sit, he said, “I always have it with my steak.”

  Deep inside I winced, and I asked, “Would you be willing to taste a bit of the steak without the ketchup and tell me what you think?”

  Blake nodded and said, “Oh sure, of course, but I’ve been eating ketchup with my steak since I was a little kid. We had it on burgers, steak, grilled cheese, bologna, french fries. It really goes with almost everything.”

  I thought of heavy red glops on all sorts of quality food. My own theory was that most people used ketchup initially to disguise poorly cooked food. Then the use of it became a habit, and they never did learn how the food was supposed to taste when cooked properly.

  I watched as Blake cut into the steak. He frowned. I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  He said, “It’s not cooked.” Then he looked up at me and asked, “Is it?”

  I said, “It’s medium rare. How do you order your steaks in a restaurant?”

  Blake said, “Almost always well done. I know that’s probably not the way I’m supposed to, but it’s what I’ve always eaten.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “There’s no supposed to, but would you be willing to try this? It’s medium rare. Just give it a try.”

  “Without ketchup?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Without ketchup.” Then he popped a bite into his mouth while gazing across the table at me. He chewed slowly at first and then his lips curled up into a smile.

  After Blake swallowed that first bite, he immediately started cutting into the steak for a second. He said, “That was really good, Ian. I don’t think it needs any ketchup. It was just…really good.”

  I wanted to reach across the table and cover his free hand with my fingers. A genuine, warm friendship was already developing, but I was struggling against instincts to want to push it forward to something more. Shoving those thoughts away, I said, “I’m really glad you like it. I can teach you how to cook it that way sometime.”

  “Do you ever cook outside on a grill?” asked Blake.

  I said “I have a gas one in my back yard.”

  He said, “Oh, maybe I can come over…” Then he stopped himself, and he blushed. “I shouldn’t be inviting myself over.”

  “I didn’t hear it that way, Blake. That would be fun. You could come over, and maybe I could invite Reggie and some of the other guys and we could have a nice little party.”

  “That sounds like fun,” said Blake. “I think I moved into the right neighborhood.” He dug his fork into the green beans and smiled again as he tasted them. Finally, he gingerly took some of the potato concoction on his fork. It was obvious that it made him nervous. That made his big smile after the bite even more rewarding to me as the cook.

  “Is it all good?” I asked.

  “It’s all really good. You really should be a chef, Ian. What kind of work was it that you said you do?”

  I said, “I’m an accountant. I have a number of private clients. It’s good work.”

  He said, “You know, I’m going to need to be looking for a job sometime soon. I had a nice little nest egg that was a combination of money from my grandfather on my dad’s side, he owned his own company, and I got a decent signing bonus when I was drafted into the minors. That’s all running low, so I’m going to need to get a real job. It makes me a little nervous. I’m not sure exactly what I can do.”

  7

  Blake

  The first game of the season came quickly. Two days before, Ian brought over my uniform. We wore royal blue pants indistinguishable from baseball pants with bright red striping down the outside of the legs. Our jerseys were the same color of blue with lettering in red. Our team name was the Soft Serves, and I smiled at the name Powell placed in an arc on the back. Ian even arranged to give me the number 38 which was my number in the minors. Finishing up the uniform was a royal blue cap with a red bill.

  Reggie piled into the car with us, and, when we arrived at the softball field, most of the team was already there. The other team was dressed in bright green. It was going to be a horrible clash of colors on the field.

  Slipping my glove on my left hand, I jogged out to the outfield where the rest of the Soft Serves were warming up tossing balls around. Antonio turned as I crossed the foul line into right field. He threw his arms up in what looked like a touchdown signal.

  Antonio said, “Wow, you look so handsome, Blake. I
mean, you always do, but…wow!” He jogged up to me and threw his arms around me offering a huge hug.

  Antonio looked entirely different himself. He looked like a real ball player. The neon colors were gone, and in their place was a perfectly fitting uniform that made him look like an athlete.

  Billy, on the other hand, let his long dark hair stream down the back of the uniform such that it obscured most of the name Alvey. His piercings glistened in the sun.

  Ian joined Antonio and me and said, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Blake, but I’m going to start you batting third in the lineup. I know you’ve still been struggling a little with the bat, but I’m convinced you’ll pull out of it. The pressure of a game situation can do wonders.”

  Antonio waved his hand and said, “Yeah, he’ll probably hit a home run his first time up.”

  I balled my right hand into a fist and jammed it into the webbing of my glove saying, “I can’t make any promises other than I’ll do my best. Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  As Ian jogged on to speak to other members of the team, Antonio wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said, “We will all still love you regardless of what happens in the game, Blake. As long as you look good, that’s really what’s important.” He looked me in the eye and then he burst out laughing before he said, “Just have fun. That’s what it’s about.”

  The game was a close one. The other team had a few solid hitters, and then the rest of the team matched the skills of most of our players. It was a whole lot of fun. I was used to such cutthroat efforts at winning. Instead, each team actually cheered for the other when there was an outstanding fielding play or a really impressive hit.

  Some of the players on the other team had a tendency to strike a flamboyant pose on the field, but most of their players were just like ours. They were ordinary guys who just happened to be gay and really liked playing softball.

  I got my fair share of applause for plays that I made at third base. I made one diving catch of a line drive with my feet actually leaving the ground. The guy that hit the ball marched out to me on the field and winked as he said, “I think I should protest. This guy must be a robot in disguise. Human players don’t make plays like that.” Then he laughed and gave me a big hug before trudging off to his team’s dugout.

  Antonio made his own impressive catch of a line drive, and then, on the next play, he dropped a ball thrown to him from the first baseman. His shouted, “Oops!” could be heard across the entire field.

  Reggie looked like a real catcher when a ball dribbled off the bat of one of the opposite team’s players and landed about five feet in front of home plate. Reggie threw off his mask and fearsomely chased the runner on third back to the base before throwing the batter out at first.

  I came up to bat in the fourth inning with the game tied and runners at second and third base. We had two outs, and, for the first time in the game, I was nervous. My batting was getting better, but it all still felt unpredictable to me. I hit a solid single in the first inning, but I was nervous about trying to perform in a clutch position.

  I let the first ball go by, and it was called a ball. Then the second ball looked like the kind Ian said could be turned into a solid hit. I swung at it and then cursed myself because I was far too early. The bat only caught air, and the ball landed in the catcher’s mitt.

  My team was cheering from the dugout. I heard Billy’s distinctive deep voice above the rest shout, “Murder the ball, Powell!”

  I twisted my back foot in the batter’s box and crouched deep in preparation. I was set to put my team ahead and help us all sail toward our first victory of the season. Then the pitcher released the ball. I watched it make a big loping arc and I pulled the bat off my shoulder.

  I connected with the ball, but it was all wrong. It ended up dribbling down the first base line, and the first baseman simply picked up the ball and stepped on the base. I was out and the team was down for the inning leaving both teams still locked in a tie. I could hear a collective sigh rise from the dugout.

  We were down by two runs when we entered the seventh and final inning. Before we took the field for the opposing team to lead off the inning batting, Ian gave us all a pep talk. He also advised the outfielders how to play the opponents’ best batter who was coming up second in the inning. We all huddled and shouted, “Soft serve sweet!” It was our rally cry that Antonio came up with sometime in the previous season.

  The inning seemed to be going well with their first two batters out quickly. Just like Ian predicted, their second batter hit a long ball into right center field, and Lowell was right there to catch it. I could hear the groan from the opposing dugout when he hauled it down.

  Unfortunately, the next batter hit a triple giving them a threat to score another run with two outs. The runner grinned at me and said, “You’re a new guy aren’t you?”

  I said, “Yeah, this is my first game.”

  He glanced at my crotch and said, “Well, you are a lot of fun to watch…if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  I said, “Awww…thanks for the compliment,” and I turned my attention back to the game.

  The last out was easier than I expected. The batter popped the ball up behind home plate, and Reggie made the easy catch.

  The final inning gave me one more chance to be hero. There was only one out when it was my turn to bat, so I wasn’t the team’s very last hope, but we had guys on second and third and I was determined to bring them home. We were down by two runs, and it didn’t take much calculating to realize that a home run could be the walk off hit that would give us a victory to start the season.

  Before I left the dugout, I heard Reggie say to Marshall, “I don’t know if we’ve ever won the first game of the season. We’ve got a real chance here.”

  I looked at the gap between second and third base as I stood at the plate, and I was determined to at least plunk a solid hit in the gap and score the guy from third.

  That was my aim until I saw what looked like a perfect cream puff served up by the other team’s pitcher. I leaned on my back foot and gave a hard swing aiming upward. I caught the ball right on the meat of the bat.

  The pitcher instantly turned away from home plate to watch the trajectory of my hit. It sailed far into outfield, and I jogged toward first as the center fielder raced toward the fence. Then their first baseman threw his glove in the dirt when he saw the ball just barely clear the fence. The neon green ball disappeared into the tall grass on the other side.

  Both their second baseman and third baseman high-fived me as I circled the bases. I was sure they were disappointed to lose, but we were all there for fun. My team mobbed me at home plate. Marshall threw his big powerful arms around me and briefly lifted me off the ground.

  Most of the team planned to head to a favorite gay bar on the edge of downtown after the game. Ian turned the offer down citing a heavy load of work that he needed to do the next morning. Antonio threw an arm around my shoulder and said, “You’re going, aren’t you Blake?”

  I played the straight guy and said, “I’m not quite sure if I’m up to the gay bar scene quite yet. I’ll get there later in the season, but I think I’m just gonna go home and celebrate with a bottle of wine.”

  Antonio gave me a solid swat on the ass and said, “Okay, we understand, but make plans for the next game.”

  I grinned and said, “I will. You guys are the best.”

  Reggie went with the team and received an offer of a ride home after. That left just Ian and me in the car on the way home. As he pulled the car into our neighborhood, he said, “Well, it looks like my recruiting paid off.”

  “I guess so. It is a lot of fun being the hero, but after I dribbled that ball down the first base line earlier in the game, I knew even getting on base was far from a sure thing. I was actually nervous.”

  Ian laughed and said, “Hell, I’m nervous every time I step up to the plate.”

  He pulled the car into the driveway and I said, �
�Well, you know, it might sound a little odd, but after awhile when you play day after day in the minors, a lot of that nervousness goes away unless it’s a really clutch play. It really is a lot more like a job, I guess.”

  Ian turned toward me and said, “It’s a lot of fun having you on the team, Blake. I mean that sincerely.” He reached out his arms for a hug.

  I leaned awkwardly across the front seat and we pulled each other close. I looked into Ian’s eyes, and then gut instinct took over. There was some sort of sparkle in his blue eyes. I guess that it might have been a reflection from the street light outside. At the moment, he looked perfect and I leaned forward with my lips lightly pursed.

  Ian met them and we kissed. It was electric. It was only the second kiss ever from a guy, and this one was even better than the first. He reached his hand up to the back of my head, and then I pulled back. Breaking the kiss was instinctive, too.

  I suddenly felt incredibly awkward. I stumbled over words saying something like, “It really was a lot of fun, Ian, thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

  Then I pushed open the car door and stumbled out hanging my foot up on the edge of the seat and nearly falling on the ground. I trudged up the concrete steps to my house without turning back. I heard the car door close just as I turned the key in the lock on my front door.

  8

  Ian

  Three steps forward and two steps back. Maybe in this case it was more like two and a half steps back. I don’t really know whose idea it was to kiss. It genuinely seemed to just happen, and, from my point of view, it was perfect. I naturally wanted to slide my hand up the back of Blake’s head and just hold him there in the moment with me, but it was too much.