by Shae Connor
“Hey, Tobes,” Marty called. “Can you help me out here?”
Toby sighed and changed direction. Work first; then he’d corner Caleb for a chat.
After helping Marty with a recalcitrant ice pack, Toby went looking for Caleb again. He picked up towels and trash as he went, but after a complete circuit of the clubhouse, Caleb was nowhere to be found. The showers were empty, and Toby wasn’t going to turn stalkery enough to check the toilet stalls, but he couldn’t find Caleb—
“Toby.”
Toby spun on his heel at the rough, familiar voice, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Caleb. I was just—”
Caleb gave a crooked smile. “Looking for me, maybe?”
Toby hesitated long enough that he saw the shift in Caleb’s eyes as he realized it. “Yes!” Toby forced out. “I just….” He cleared his throat and stood straighter. “I wanted to check on you. I mean, be sure you were settling in okay and all that.”
The half smile fell away. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”
Caleb stepped back, but before he could leave, Toby reached out to grab his arm. “Caleb,” he said, keeping his voice low. He could hear the pleading note in his voice. “I’m sorry. I am. I’d like to be friends, at least.”
Caleb looked at him, looked down at his hand, and then moved away, leaving Toby’s hand hanging in midair. “I don’t know if I can do that.” He gave Toby one long, heated stare, making it very clear what he wanted to do, and then he was gone, leaving Toby alone with his insecurities.
Toby closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Well, he thought, that went well.
“Trouble in paradise, Macmillan?”
And that’s just the capper to this week, Toby thought.
Grimacing, he opened his eyes and turned his head to meet the gaze of one Barry Knight, the new intern backing up the team’s regular beat reporter. Matt Sussman had been covering the team for well over a decade and was well liked by everyone, but as Toby knew from experience, Barry Knight wasn’t half the man Matt was.
“What do you want, Barry?” Toby didn’t even try to make it sound friendly. He wasn’t anything officially but a clubhouse peon, and if Barry tried to make it sound like Toby was speaking for the team, he’d get laughed out of the newsroom. Toby and Barry had gone to high school together and had been friends for about five minutes, five years ago, when Toby’d been a starry-eyed sophomore harboring a secret crush on the senior Big Man On Campus Barry had tried to be. Toby had been crushed when he’d figured out Barry’s only interest had been in Toby’s family connections, not Toby himself.
Barry snorted. “Just cleaning up after the losers,” he snarked. “I was gonna talk to the new guy, see if there’s some dirt to dig there, but looks like you beat me to that.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t know a good story if it bit you on the ass.” It was true, too; Barry had ego and ambition to spare, but not half the talent or drive he needed to make it as a big-league reporter. Toby shoved off the wall before Barry could wind up for a retort. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us around here have actual work to do.”
Spinning on his heel, he headed off to do it.
With division-leading Philadelphia in town, the Saturday game had been picked up for television, which meant an unusual 4:17 p.m. start time. Toby hated that crap. Games should start between 7 and 7:30 p.m., except Sunday afternoons and occasionally a day game during the week. He knew purists would scoff at him; baseball was made to be played in the sun. But it wasn’t baseball tradition that drove him. He just wanted things to be consistent.
Totally off his game, so to speak, Toby got to the clubhouse fifteen minutes later than usual, though still a good five minutes before he actually needed to be there. A handful of players were already in the clubhouse, but Toby would bet one or two would arrive late because they’d forgotten about the time change.
Toby dove into his usual pregame routine, pausing a few times to exchange pleasantries with players—in the form of insults and teasing, as in most locker rooms. He thought about that while he was tossing some trash away and realized that, over the six years he’d been working here, the flavor of the clubhouse talk had shifted. Sex was less of a focus in general, and in particular, comments about players’ sexuality had become much more rare. The team had done an anti-bullying video during Spring Training for the It Gets Better project, so maybe that had contributed.
But things had been changing long before that. The world was changing. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal if the players knew he was gay. Or even for Caleb. Players had come out after retirement in several of the big professional sports, and a few open players had actually played. Maybe Major League Baseball was ready for its gay members, on and off the field, to stand up and be counted.
Toby just didn’t know if he was ready to become number one on that list.
Toby heard the door clink open and looked in that direction automatically. He frowned at the sinking sensation in his stomach when he saw it was just the pitching coach, Carl Zambronsky, but then a hand caught the door before it shut completely, and Toby’s heart lifted when he saw it was Caleb.
And then his heart dropped right back down when Caleb’s gaze skimmed over Toby as if he wasn’t even there.
Toby sank back against the wall as Caleb moved toward the locker he’d been assigned. Well, that was apparently that. Caleb didn’t want to be friends, and Toby couldn’t be more. So they’d be nothing at all.
Resigned, Toby pushed away from the wall again and got back to work.
The atmosphere in the clubhouse after they lost was completely different from the previous two nights. Sure, it was just a game, but these were people who lived and breathed baseball. A dark cloud hung over the clubhouse. Players sat slumped in front of their lockers in the quiet or plodded silently to the showers. The manager stood in the corner by the door talking to the press, taking the loss on his shoulders to keep that weight off his players.
On his usual task of gathering up used towels and bits of tape that seemed to land everywhere except the trash cans, Toby jumped when he turned and Caleb was standing right behind him. “Um…. Hi.” Articulate, Toby thought, but it was all he could get out.
“Hi. Um…. Can we talk?” Caleb looked uncomfortable, eyes darting around as if they were being watched, which might well be the case, for all Toby knew. But if they were going to be in the same place at the same time for a while, as it seemed they would be, then they should probably figure out how not to be this completely uncomfortable around each other.
“Yeah.” Toby nodded. “Probably should. When we’re done here?”
Caleb bit his lip, and all Toby could think was how that felt when he’d been the one doing the biting. “Meet you outside?”
Taking in a shaky breath, Toby nodded again, and Caleb wandered away. He looked a little lost, and Toby couldn’t blame him. Caleb had gotten his first big-league hit tonight, but he wasn’t able to celebrate the way he wanted because the team had lost.
Maybe Toby could help. He could buy Caleb a drink, or a more appropriate cup of coffee. A combination peace offering and reward for his milestone.
By the time the clubhouse had emptied out and Toby finished up with the never-ending dirty towels, he’d settled into the idea of being friends with Caleb. Sure, he was still going to be attracted to the man, but he’d had plenty of friends he found attractive, even a couple he’d messed around with. He could do the same this time.
Toby pushed the cart full of towels toward the door, where Caleb sat waiting for him. Toby smiled. “All done,” he said, bringing the cart to a stop. “Let me grab my keys and stuff, and we can head out.”
Caleb didn’t say anything as they walked to the staff lot. Toby’s grandfather had been at the game this time, so Toby had parked in his usual place, which was farther away, of course. The night air was steamy, thick with humidity from the day’s heat, and by the time they got to his car, a light sheen of sweat covered
Toby’s skin.
“Hop in and I’ll get the AC going.” He popped the locks and slid into the driver’s seat as Caleb did the same on the other side, and within a few moments, the car’s engine hummed to life and cool air began pouring from the vents.
“I swear, July in Georgia is why air-conditioning was invented.” Toby threw a grin in Caleb’s direction, but Caleb simply stared straight ahead, brow creased as if deep in thought. Toby cleared his throat and tried again. “Any place in particular you’d like to talk?”
Caleb lifted one shoulder. “Whatever. In the car is fine.” He turned his head, and Toby almost recoiled at his furious expression. “You fucking used me,” Caleb spat out. “You got your rocks off and ran for the hills because you were too spineless to be honest.”
Toby opened his mouth, but Caleb cut him off before he could even try to respond. “I get what it means to be gay and have to hide it. God knows I’ve gotten to be an expert at it. But hiding it and running from it are two different things.” Caleb paused and blew out a breath. “Shit. I told myself I wasn’t going to attack you over this. Because I do get it. But dammit, Toby, I’m not a sex toy. I’m a person. And I deserve to be treated like one.”
Toby’s face flushed and his stomach turned over. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know it’s not enough to apologize, but you’re right. I treated you like crap, and I’m sorry.” He slumped against the seat. “I’ve known I was gay since I was fifteen. Hell, I started fooling around with one of my classmates before that. But I’ve lived and breathed this game since I can remember, and after my parents died…. I have to have baseball. I can’t live without it.”
Caleb reached out, and Toby let him cover his hand where it lay on his thigh. “I get that. My parents know about me, but they’ve never been happy about it. I’m probably lucky they haven’t cut me off. They’re pretty conservative.”
Toby’s laugh was hollow. “My grandfather is about as conservative as it gets. And he owns 60 percent of the team. My father left his share in trust, and I’ll inherit that when I turn twenty-one, but that’s only 30 percent. Ray has twice that. He could cut me off so easily.”
Caleb squeezed his hand. “I won’t blow smoke and tell you he wouldn’t do that. But with your parents gone, maybe he’d at least think twice.”
“I wish I could be so sure.” He slid his hand away from Caleb’s and shifted into reverse. “Let’s get you home. Day game tomorrow, and then you’re on the road.” He managed a small smile in Caleb’s direction. “You’ll have to tell me where I’m going.”
Caleb studied him for a long moment, and while he didn’t return the smile, it did seem he’d burned off the anger. He started giving directions, and Toby felt himself relaxing. Maybe they could be friends after all. He’d like that.
He’d like more, but that just didn’t seem to be in the cards.
Sunday was…. Well. After it was over, Toby felt like he’d been through a war. Three players hit by pitches, one on-field brawl, six ejections—and on top of it all, Atlanta lost. Good thing it was a getaway day and the team headed for the airport almost as soon as it was over. Toby had seen the aftermath in the clubhouse from a game like that, and it wasn’t pretty.
As it was, the mess the disgruntled players left in their wake took a good half hour longer than usual to clean up. If they hadn’t had a ten-day road trip ahead of them, it would’ve been even worse. Thank the baseball gods that the clubhouse staff had plenty of time to restock and reset for the team’s return, so Toby just made his usual towel-and-trash rounds and headed home.
He found a note stuck under the windshield wiper of his car. Frowning, Toby pulled it free and slid inside before opening it.
Toby—
Hotel rooms on the road are bad enough with a roommate. Looks like I’ll be on my own for this trip, so I could use a friendly voice to talk to. Give me a call if you want.
Caleb
Underneath Caleb’s name was his number, though Toby already had it from Caleb’s call earlier in the week. Toby smiled. Maybe this friendship thing could work out after all.
Instead of calling, he pulled out his phone and sent Caleb a text message: Got your note. Call or text anytime. My schedule’s light with school out and the team on the road.
His phone buzzed before he got out of the parking lot. He glanced down to read it before he pulled out onto the street.
Will do. Plane’s about to take off. See you when we’re back.
Toby smiled again and drove off into the dusk.
“A hundred and twenty-four on the field. I don’t care how dry it supposedly is. That should be illegal.”
Toby laughed and picked up another towel to fold. His phone sat beside him on a sofa cushion, speaker on, as he and Caleb talked. It was late on Wednesday night, three days into the road trip, and spending those three days in the Arizona heat had apparently been more than Caleb could stand. Even the trip on to Denver for the next series hadn’t stopped his grumbling. Toby had heard all about it during the phone calls each of the previous two nights too.
“Just wait until you get back to Atlanta,” Toby warned. “It won’t hit 124, but it’ll feel like it when the humidity kicks into full gear. Hard to breathe in that kind of sludge.”
“Ugh.” Caleb blew out a breath. “I took three cold showers a day while we were there, and I still felt like the top of my head was gonna blow off.” He fell silent for a few seconds before letting out a snicker. “Okay, that sounded way less dirty in my head than it did out loud.”
Toby felt his cheeks warm. That first call late Monday night—early Tuesday morning, really—had started out stilted, both of them treading carefully to keep things light and avoid the subject of the night they’d spent together. By the time sleep had demanded they hang up an hour later, Toby had been smiling. Call number two had been better, and tonight, he’d been looking forward to talking with a friend. Just one little innuendo, though, and suddenly all Toby could think of was spreading Caleb out on a bed and riding him hard and fast.
Shit. Toby shook his head. “Dirty mind,” he replied, after too long a pause. He tried to keep his voice light. “At least you’re out of the desert. Well, out of one type of desert and into another, I guess. How’s Denver?”
“Dark.” Caleb snickered. “But at least it’s cooler. Pretty, what I could see of it on the way in from the airport. We’ve got all day tomorrow, though, so maybe I’ll look around some before we have to head to the ballpark.”
“It’s a nice city.” Toby set aside another folded towel. “High sky. Watch out for pop flies behind the plate, and be glad you’re not playing outfield. Easy to lose a ball in all that bright blue.”
Caleb made a sound of agreement in his throat. “Gotta admit, I’m hoping to get a chance to launch one in the thin air. It’d be nice to get at least one long ball while I’m with the big club.”
Toby rolled his eyes and reached for another towel. “Seriously, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You’re doing great, and the team recognizes that. You started yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Only because it was a day game after a night game and Berrymann always gets those off.” Partly true, Toby knew. Catchers rarely started two games that close together. All that squatting was damn hard on the knees. But it was more than that.
“And you’ve pinch-hit in almost every game,” Toby pointed out. “Diamont’s been hurt almost more than he’s been able to play the past two seasons. Stay healthy and you’ve probably got the backup catcher job wrapped up for a good long while.”
Caleb blew out a break. “From your mouth to management’s ears.” He barked out a laugh. “Oh wait. You are management.”
Toby couldn’t help the grin. “Am not. I have another couple of weeks before I even get my share of the team, and that just makes me a stockholder, not management.” His grin turned as evil as his thoughts. “But you’d better behave yourself if you want to stay on my good side.”
“Oh, I can be very, ve
ry good.” Caleb practically purred his reply, and a white-hot flash of desire shot through Toby at the sound. He cleared his throat and heard Caleb chuckle.
“Stop that.” Toby managed to make it sound chiding and only a little shaky.
“But you make it so easy,” Caleb shot back, his voice back to normal and infused with more than a little humor. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time.”
It was Toby’s turn to laugh. “Oh, now that was a fastball right over the center of the plate if ever I heard one.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb groused. “Taste of my own medicine, go ahead. I deserve it.”
“Nah, too easy.” Toby flipped the last neatly folded washcloth on top of his stack. “Much as I’d love to harass you some more, it’s late, and some of us have to work in the morning.”
“Oh, wow, I didn’t realize it was after midnight already.” After 2:00 a.m. for Toby, actually, but Caleb was off in Mountain Time. “You have to go in even when the team is on the road?”
Toby rolled his tight shoulders and leaned back against the cushions, stretching out his legs. “Not all the time, but we have a staff meeting tomorrow and a couple of shipments to get put away. I’ll have the weekend off for a change, though. Maybe I’ll go to the movies or something.”
A sound in his ear confused him for a second until his realized it was Caleb yawning. Naturally, his body immediately responded to the cue. Once his own jaw-cracker ended, he huffed out a laugh. “I think our bodies are trying to tell us something. No, wait!” He interrupted whatever Caleb was about to say. “Forget I even said that. Except for the part that means it’s time for us to go to bed. Oh, for crying out….”
Caleb was laughing at him openly by then, and all Toby could do was join in. “Get some sleep, and have fun tomorrow.”
“Will do.” Caleb’s words were interrupted by another yawn. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
