Page 28 of The Way We Swing

I laughed out loud. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“No joke. Happened when I was ten, twelve, fourteen, and fifteen.”

“You might be the most anti-clutch person I’ve ever met,” I laughed.

“Tell me about it. At least here that reputation doesn’t precede me.”

“Remind me to have Coach pinch hit for you if you could be the last out of my high school career.”

“If you do that and he takes me out, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Be more clutch, then.” We laughed as we continued our never-ending conversation about our pursuit of winning a state title next spring.

When I saw the sign that said we were fifteen minutes away from home, though, I glanced in the rearview mirror again. Gavin was still asleep, his head slumped against the door with the seat belt pressed against his face.

My muscles wouldn’t settle. I kept catching myself gripping the wheel too hard, clenching my jaw. Every time I started to relax, something in me would snap tight again, like I was bracing for a hit that never came.

“Listen, Easton—” I started.

“You need to stop, Tanner,” he said, voice sharp with panic. He turned toward the back before facing me. The highway lights strobed across his face, carving lines into his fear. “I’m not gay,” he whispered. “I can’t be.”

It was the same lie I told myself over and over.

I couldn’t face him. Not because I was angry. Not because I didn’t understand. But because I did.

Instead, I said, “Okay.”

It came out cracked, barely a breath. But he needed to hear it. He needed me to let him off the hook.

So, I did.

But the silence that followed wasn’t quiet—it echoed. His words bounced around inside me like a ball I couldn’t catch, hitting all the bruised places I’d tried to protect.

Everything that had happened this weekend confirmed what I already knew. I’d broken my one rule. I’d flown past it, really.

He couldn’t be gay.

And I couldn’t unfeel any of it.

CHAPTER 11

Ididn’t get a chance to talk to Easton in the two weeks after the tournament. Around everyone else, he acted like nothing had changed—until we were almost alone. Then he’d rope Gavin into hanging out longer or beg Zach to stay up late for another round of pool.

I spent the first couple of days after the tournament on edge. Every time he talked to Zach, I braced for the sound of my name. At practice, I hovered near his conversations with Silas and Maddux, half expecting him to out me in the middle of a joke.

As the days went by, the fear started to fade.

But it was replaced with frustration. At myself, for kissing him. At him, for pretending it had never happened. I still couldn’t figure out what he was getting at.

I was good enough to be around, just not enough for more. But wasn’t that the rule? No teammates. No mess. So, why did it still feel like rejection?

“I think it’s time for bed,” Zach said. “I’ve got to be back up at seven tomorrow for football.” The Friday sun dipped behind the trees as we stepped out of the pool. Water dripped down our bodies, now covered with deep, even tans.

I waited for Easton to grovel, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I’m so glad I don’t play football.”

“Not that your scrawny butt could take it,” Gavin giggled before Easton picked him up and threw him back into the water.

“You three have fun,” Zach laughed before heading to his room.