by Sean Michael
Table of Contents
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
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Copyright
Bases Loaded
By Sean Michael
Can they survive the off-season and keep from striking out?
Baseball player Brett must get rehabilitation for his shoulder if he wants another season in the Major Leagues. He and his partner, Benj, take off to the boonies to stay with physical therapist Ralph, a tough-talking, routine-setting guy, and Jean, Ralph’s Cajun lover, who cooks as well as he loves.
Brett and Ralph butt heads from the beginning. Ralph wants Brett to be more in touch with his feelings; Brett wants Ralph to give him his therapy and leave him alone. Benj and Jean get along far better, with Jean showing Benj around the kitchen and reassuring him when things with Brett get strained.
Before Ralph can even begin to work on Brett’s shoulder, though, Brett faces an even more difficult physical challenge, one that does more than threaten his career. He and Benj have to work through some tough issues, making decisions that will affect the rest of their lives together. Their gradual friendship with Ralph and Jean helps them through the bad times, but even that might not be enough to pull them through.
Prologue
BENJ WIPED down the kitchen counters one more time and then filled the watering can. He carefully checked each plant and added a bit more water to most of them.
It probably wasn’t necessary—Jennifer was coming by once a week to give them some loving—but it kept him busy while they waited for the limousine. It also gave him an excuse to come into the den where Brett was flipping channels, swirling amber liquid in a glass. Benj stopped a moment to stand and watch.
His lover was a beautiful man.
They’d been young when they’d first met, Brett the up-and-coming ballplayer, a good-looking hotshot, all stud. Benj had fallen hard.
The years had been kind to Brett, the man in his prime now.
The shoulder injury that had halted Brett’s meteoric rise to the top, however, had not been so kind.
Lines in Brett’s face were becoming more pronounced, his trim mustache no longer neat, cared for. Two operations had left Brett almost skinny and his shoulder still not good enough to continue playing, hitting, doing what he did so well and loved so much.
Benj put down his watering can and went over to stand behind Brett’s chair, slide his hands down to stroke over Brett’s shoulders. He combed his fingers through blond hair long enough to curl around Brett’s neck for the first time in all the years they’d known each other.
“The limo should be here for us soon, love.”
“I’m surprised the club sent one. Usually the down-and-outers only rate a cab.” God, that bitterness never went away these days. Never.
Benj squeezed Brett’s shoulders, carefully working his fingertips over scars and tissue he knew were still sore, despite everyone’s best efforts. “They want you back, love. You know that. Mr. Chives himself set up this retreat for you.” He didn’t need to mention it was their last hope.
“Yeah. The whole off-season in the fucking boonies. You going to be able to stand it?”
To get his Brett, his kind, generous, stud of a man back, he’d spend more than just the off-season in the boonies. Hell, he just wanted Brett to be happy again.
“I’ll manage, love. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn to love nature.”
That got him a soft chuckle, almost a real laugh. Almost. “I’d like to see that.”
Benj smiled and rubbed his cheek against the top of Brett’s head. “Yeah? Maybe you should buy me one of those flute thingies and a pair of hooves, and I’ll dance about like Pan.”
Oh. Oh, that was a real laugh, deep and hard and long. Oh God. Yes. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and he let a chuckle out and then another, and it felt so good to laugh with Brett.
“Love,” he murmured, kissing the top of Brett’s head.
“Yeah. Yeah, Benj. I love you, huh? Still.”
“I know, Brett.” He did. It was the reason he was still here. Why he wouldn’t give up on his lover, even when Brett told him he should.
“I’ve done some research into this place we’re going to,” he said softly. “I really think they can help us.”
The tension started creeping back into Brett’s shoulders. “It’s my last chance. If I can’t play, it’s over.”
Benj massaged, working at the tension, trying to fight it. “Your ball career is over if you can’t play, love. Not your life. Besides, if the club didn’t believe the retreat could help you, they wouldn’t have asked you to go.”
“I hope you’re right, baby.” Brett finished his drink, poured the last couple of fingers left in the bottle. “I hope you’re right.”
Benj tilted Brett’s head back and took a soft kiss, ignoring the burn of the alcohol as his tongue dipped in for a taste of his lover. “I am.” The alternative sucked too badly for him not to be.
Brett touched him but kissed him back with little heat, a lack of passion that broke his heart. These days, all Brett did was rage or despair.
The buzzer sounded while they were kissing, and Benj slid his tongue across Brett’s lips one last time. “Come on, love. Help me take our bags down.”
“You sure you want to do this? You sure you want to spend the winter away from everything? Away from family?”
“I’m sure I want to spend the winter finding you again—finding us.”
The buzzer sounded again, longer this time.
“Come on, before they think we’ve changed our minds.”
“Okay. Go get the door. I’ll grab the bags and shit.” Brett stood, finished his drink. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”
“’Kay, love.” Benj smiled and nodded, loving the flashes of the old Brett he’d get now and then, those flashes keeping his hope alive.
He went to the door and pressed on the intercom button. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
“I can help with your bags if you have any, sir.”
“Oh, no thanks. We’ve got them.”
Brett came rolling the cart with the duffels and the odds and ends. “You got everything you need?”
Benj fluttered a moment, mind flying through the packing job he’d done. Twice. His heart pounded. “I think so?” He resisted the urge to open the bags and double-check. God, he hated the lead-up to going somewhere. He’d managed to avoid a lot of the last-minute stress by focusing on Brett.
“Hey. Baby.” Those bright green eyes met his, suddenly sure, warm, strong. “Whatever we forget, I’ll get you.”
Oh. Oh, there was his man. He melted against Brett, holding his gaze. “Okay, love.”
“Downstairs.
Let’s go.” Brett looked around, shaking his head a little. “Let’s get out of here.”
Benj nodded and locked the door behind him, hand sliding into Brett’s as they headed for the elevator.
God, he hoped this worked.
Chapter One
JEAN STIRRED the pot, singing “Zydeco Gumby Ya Ya” at the top of his lungs. Hoo boy! Gonna get them a new boy tonight. A pure-D challenge too. Nothing he loved better than a challenge and a good, hard fight.
He added some okra, shaking his ass before he checked on the bread and the gâteau de sirop. Hoo boy. Sweeten Brett McCallister’s frowning little ass up for him and his beau. Speaking of. “Ralph? Cher ’tit chou? You here?”
Jean was needing him some kissing.
Ralph’s deep chuckle sounded from the mudroom. “Just taking off my boots and washing my hands. I know better than to track mud into your kitchen.”
“Gar ici! The man can learn.” He hooted and spooned up some gumbo. “Wan’ a taste, you?”
“I do.” His big lover came in, wrapped large hands around Jean’s waist. “Of you.”
Oh yeah. He wanted him some of that. Jean leaned up, purring low at his beautiful one. “Anyt’ing you want, mon cher. ’M yours.”
“I want a big old sloppy kiss, Jean. Maybe two. Maybe even three.” Ralph’s blue eyes twinkled at him.
Jean pushed right up, taking Ralph’s mouth good and hard, and tasting a hint of chocolate, stolen from the stash Ralph didn’t think he knew about.
Ralph opened wide, tongue twisting with Jean’s, a low sound vibrating between them.
Oh, fuck the gumbo. Jean crawled up Ralph’s long body and wrapped his legs around Ralph’s waist. Ralph’s hands slid around to Jean’s ass, cupping it, supporting him.
“Maybe more than three, yeah?” Ralph said.
“Maybe, yeah.” Jean kissed Ralph again and again. “I made y’all some bread, some sweet.”
Ralph was backing up, only stopping when he hit a wall. “It’ll keep, yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah. We got us some time, now. We do.” Jean arched back, rubbing, eyes closing. Fuck, he loved that, the heat.
“Good.”
One of Ralph’s hands slid into the back of Jean’s pants and grabbed a big handful of his ass. “That’s mine now.”
Oh, more. Jean wanted more. Right now. “You better have the other one too, then.”
Sure enough, Ralph popped the button on Jean’s jeans, pulled down the zip, and pushed that second hand down the back to grab the other cheek.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Jean grinned, feeling a little wild. He didn’t hate being just the two of them in the main house, with Gillian and Wes only stopping by once a day.
Ralph rubbed Jean against his muscles, squeezing Jean’s ass enthusiastically.
“Gonna make me spoil your clothes, cher. Gonna.” Jean moaned, tongue sliding over his lips, wetting them.
“They’ll wash, babe.” Ralph’s tongue followed his while Ralph’s fingers slid along Jean’s crack.
“Mmm… wash ’n wear.” They chuckled together, the heat still good after five years of living together, working together. Still strong.
“Come on, babe, give me a reason to need to wash.”
Jean shifted his hips, moved just enough so that his balls caught on the seam of his jeans, making them burn. “Oh. Oh, cher ’tit chou. Soon, yeah? Soon.”
“Yeah, babe? Show me? Show me how much I make you feel.” Ralph’s voice got that little hitch it got when he was close, his eyes shining for Jean.
Jean nodded, bucking like a pony. The seed poured from him, spraying up over Ralph’s belly. Ralph closed his eyes and shook, and Jean knew his lover was coming too, just like that—for him.
“Mmm… c’est bon, oui? So good, us. So good.” He melted.
“Yeah, babe. We’re good.” Ralph chuckled, the sound happy, sated. His strong arms didn’t falter, though, Ralph holding on to him.
“You ready? This new one, them says he’s a gros chien, you know? Piss and vinegar. On the bottle too.” The food part was his job. No one would have believed a gui-gui like him would be telling peoples how to eat.
“Aren’t they all, babe?” Ralph was working on his neck, pressing soft, wet kisses along his skin. “This one have a wife to bring?” Ralph usually only read the files after meeting their clients, something about not wanting to prejudge.
“The boss man, he says ‘partner,’ with a sigh and a warning to keep the camera folks out. So I’m thinking no.”
One of Ralph’s eyebrows went up. “We don’t get many like us here.”
“I know. Interesting, yeah? Ours ’til March. Six months.”
“At least we don’t have to walk carefully all that time, yeah?” Ralph’s stomach growled, and he chuckled. “They’re coming in for dinner, so I’d better go change. There’s not having to walk carefully, and then there’s coming to dinner with a mess in your pants.”
“I need to put the filé in the gumbo and set the table.” He took another kiss, breathing out as he climbed down.
Ralph gave him yet another kiss and patted his ass. “They’ll be here soon. I’ll just be two shakes, babe.”
“No dawdling. Turn the music on, yes?”
“Don’t you worry, Jean, I won’t leave you alone with the sore-pawed bear.” Ralph swatted Jean’s ass this time, and then Jean was treated to the view of his truly fine man moving away.
“Lord, lord, lord, I do love me some of that ass.” He grinned and went back to cooking, singing with the radio.
RALPH SHOWERED, changed, and went to double-check that the two rooms that made up the “blue wing” were ready for occupants. He blessed Gillian for the small fire going in the fireplace. She took good care of them.
As soon as he heard the doorbell, Ralph hurried downstairs, eager to meet Brett McCallister before he formed any more impressions based on what he’d heard, what he’d read in the papers. It was important he didn’t prejudge people, didn’t think he knew them before he did.
He opened the door wide. “Hello, hello, welcome.”
He got a short nod in reply from a man whose eyes were bloodshot and unhappy. “Hey. Brett McCallister.”
“Ralph Swaney.” He met McCallister’s eyes and offered his hand.
“Swaney. Hey, Benj, come on. I’ll deal with the fucking bags.”
“You can call me Ralph. Six months together, we’ll be getting to know each other well enough, I’m sure.” He smiled past Brett to the man behind him. “Hello there. Welcome.”
“Oh hi. Benj. I’m Benj.” This man’s eyes were unhappy as well, but more tired and worried. “Six months at the longest, yeah. Where should I put the bags?”
“Just leave them by the door, and I’ll bring them up for you after dinner. It’s late enough you both should be hungry.”
Benj nodded, brown hair framing a slender face and wide brown eyes. “Starving, actually.”
“Welcome, y’all! They gumbo, she’s on the table. Come. Come.” Ralph’s Jean came in, black eyes shining and hair bouncing, smile bright as the sun.
Ralph beamed at his lover. Jean made him happy, as simple as that.
“This is Jean. He’s our cook, and a damned good one at that.”
Benj smiled. “It smells very good. Doesn’t it smell good, Brett?”
“Cook, nutritionist, herbalist, all-around bonhomme, oui?”
Jean beamed, and Brett sighed. “Nutritionist? I’m not eating weird shit, Benj.”
Benj reached for Brett’s hand and squeezed it briefly. “He said gumbo, love. I know you like that.”
Ralph watched closely while pretending he wasn’t.
“I do.” Brett sighed again, nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
Benj beamed like Brett had been effervescent.
Ralph got everyone seated, sitting across from his Jean. “We’re lucky to have Jean,” he told their guests. “He’s magic in the kitchen.”
“Oui. Three meals a day, except Sunday. Sunday,
she is our day off.”
“We’re going to get spoiled,” murmured Benj.
“I’ll miss your cooking, baby.” Brett ate listlessly, eyes on the table.
“I’ll still burn food on Sundays, I imagine.” Benj’s hand fluttered for a moment, obviously wanting to touch. Benj didn’t, though he did fuss, suggesting salt or pepper, passing over some of his meat.
Ralph ate quietly, his attention split between watching the newcomers and smiling at his man.
Jean chattered idly, discussing the features of the place: the pool, the weight room, the batting cage, the lake, the track. Or, as Jean said, “De poo’, dat dere room wit’ da weights, da cage du ball, de lac, de runnin’ track.”
“Sounds great, doesn’t it, Brett? You’ll be back in regular shape in no time.” Benj was trying; you could see it.
“Yeah. When do we start?”
“First thing in the morning. I’ll see you first, check out your shoulder, put together a regimen. Then, as long as it’s not still too early, Jean’ll interview you, talk to you about your diet—you’d be surprised how different types of foods can help the healing process.”
Half New Age medicine, half Cajun voodoo, Jean’s diets had a magic all their own.
“Oui. Then Michael comes to shrink your head, and Dr. Trelaine comes. And Benj? You have the television, the movies, the run of the place while your man, he is busy.”
“Do you have a library?” Benj asked.
“There’s a few books,” Ralph answered. “I don’t know if you’d call it a library. There’s board games as well. Dominoes are my game, but Jean will beat you blind at rummy.”
Jean grinned, nodded. “I like playing. Well, I like to win. The playin’, she is a necessary evil.”
“Brett’s pretty good at card games.” Benj gave his lover a smile, and you could see the love there, worn right on Benj’s sleeve.
“Is Benj short for Benjamin?” Ralph asked suddenly.
“Yeah, but no one ever calls me anything but Benj.”
Brett finished eating, watching them all. There were deep lines around his mouth—pain or anger or frustration or all three.
Benj ate slowly and put down his spoon almost as soon as Brett was done. “That was very good, Jean. Thank you. I’m going to get fat if all the food’s as good.”
