“Just give me two more minutes,” he pleads into my chest.
I indulge him. My own arms travel to his back and grip onto his lats, loosening when he only tightens his hold on me.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I wanna soak up as much Nick as I can. Let me burn you into my brain.”
Shit, I shouldn’t have said the last part—Nick’s voice fucking breaks on an exhale as he sucks back a sob, and I don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be. My solution is to run my fingers along his lower back, instantly relaxing his tense posture, and as promised, I soak up as much of him as I can.
His phone rings.
He ignores it.
The ringtone sounds again.
“Ian,” he tells me. “I asked him to keep time while he waits in the car.”
“Nick, I’m sorry, but you need to go,” I insist. “I don’t want you to, but?—”
“You’re right,” he mutters. “It sucks, but you can kiss it better, and then I’ll leave.”
I do, and thankfully, I don’t have to shove my endearingly-but-inconveniently clingy boyfriend out of my apartment.
He leaves of his own volition, not that him doing so makes any of this easier. Not at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NICK
“Jesus fuckingChrist,Russell. Save some energy for the regular season!”
My new teammate Solomon Guaidó purses his lips into a tight smile, nodding in approval. If there’s one thing I’m good at, that’s also helped by the clouds occupying my thoughts, is absolutely yeeting baseballs across the field.
“Who says I’m not already holding back?” I reply, managing a friendly smile.
Solomon’s taken it upon himself to be the much-needed rookie mentor, sticking by me and Jax, the other new guy who joined at the start of the preseason.
As promised, the new training grounds here in Arizona are freaking sweet. The Detroit organization moved their major league and farm teams over from Florida starting this season, and hell if I don’t love how fresh everything is. My short stint of enjoying WMU’s renovated facilities spoiled me for anything else.
That gives me some kind of relief from the whiplash I’ve experienced over the past week and a half. It’s nice and warm here, and my new Lansing Lemurs teammates are all amazing, but everything happened soquickly.
Ian dropped everything so he could drive me to the airport, and for the whole drive, we managed to pretend like I wasn’t about to fly across the country. Just two guys bro-ing it out, at least until we faltered at the drop-off zone and dude-hugged each other for so long, his car almost got ticketed.
Hell, even finding a replacement for myself in the apartment backin New Hampshire was a breeze. The Kappa house found a black mold problem and left my high school buddy Cam without a place to live, so now Jeremy gets to live with yet another sweaty athlete.
Everything’s working out, except for the one major issue ofme missing my damn boyfriend.
The auto-pitcher beeps and fires at me, prompting me to swing hard. I connect with the fastball, and the familiar, sharp sound of splitting wood pierces my ears. My eyes slam shut out of instinct, and I only open them again once I’m certain there aren’t any more stray splinters still flying.
Solomon walks up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Easy there, man. Take a break so you don’t pull your shoulder before we’ve even had a chance to see you play.”
Nodding, I drop the bat fragments into the designated bucket and head for the dugout. Solomon sits next to me as I grab a much-needed water, and we’re both silent—I’m chugging, and he’s…just silent.
“Something on your mind?” he asks once I’ve emptied my water. “I know rookies usually want to prove themselves when they first join training, but you were swinging at those balls like they were robbers at three in the morning.”
I chuckle, running a hand down my sweaty face and re-adjusting my hat. “Nothing much. It’s just adjustment jitters.”
Solomon purses his lips into a knowing smile. “I know what you’re talking about.” He pauses, but only for a second. “You left a girl back at college, didn’t you?” Then he blinks. “Or…a guy. Or anyone. We don’t care here. But you left someone back there, right?”
We don’t care here. Awesome. The Detroit organization’s owners are gay and married to each other, but that confirmation is still relieving.
