24. James

24

JAMES

I wake up to the sound of muffled cursing. Cracking one eye open, I spot Ethan by his side table, rubbing his wrists with a frustrated expression.

“What are you doing?” I mumble, still half-asleep.

Ethan freezes. “Uh, nothing. Just getting dressed.”

The dim light makes it hard to see and I squint at him, noticing the way he’s trying to pull the sleeves of his gray long-sleeve t-shirt down over his hands. “You’ve got all day to get dressed. Why are you up so early?”

Ethan hesitates and then sighs. “No reason. Couldn’t sleep.”

Something about his tone catches my attention, and I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Are you sure about that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Ethan shifts uncomfortably, shoving his wrists into a drawer, but not before I catch a glimpse of red marks around them. I blink, putting the pieces together.

A grin spreads across my face. “Dude, are your wrists chafed from yesterday?”

Before I can finish the thought, Ethan makes an aggravated, mortified noise. “Maybe.” He doesn’t look me in the eye.

I can’t hold it in and I burst out laughing, curling up into a ball under the covers.

“Holy shit, I seriously did a number on you,” I say, wiping my tears with a blanket that smells like Ethan.

He glares at me. “Shut up before I tie you to the bed.”

I try to stop giggling but it’s no use. This is too funny. “Hey, I’m not judging,” I manage to choke out. “I’m still getting over how filthy you got last night,” I tease.

Ethan rolls his eyes, his wrists still hidden in the sex drawer.

“ We got filthy,” he counters. “Don’t try and tell me you didn’t like it.”

Grinning at him, I catch my breath and shake my head. “I’m glad you had a good time, but if you’re trying to avoid awkward questions, you should cover those wrists up before our practice later today.”

Ethan huffs and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh too. “Yeah. I’ll figure something out.”

He grabs a roll of athletic tape from his bag, swiftly wrapping it around his wrists. “This should do the trick,” he mutters, concentrating on making sure the tape is convincing.

I lean back against the headboard, still grinning. “Smart. Just make sure you don’t draw too much attention. The last thing you need is the guys asking questions.”

Ethan finishes with the tape and fixes me with a stare that’s a mix of annoyance and amusement. “I can’t believe I’m dealing with this right now.”

I chuckle, giving him a playful nudge. “Hey, this is mostly your fault, I wasn’t the one giving all those instructions.” Imitating Ethan, I lower my voice. “James, make ‘em tighter. I can still bend my arms.”

Ethan chucks the roll of tape at me. “I did not say that,” he almost yells, looking away. He’s totally embarrassed, but I still see faint traces of a suppressed laugh tugging at the corner of his lips.

Smiling back, I pick up the tape and toss it back onto the nightstand. “Are you sure ?”

Ethan narrows his eyes, and I can see he’s trying not to laugh. “I always save those requests for the second time,” he says with a wink.

“You want that again, even though you know how mean I can be?”

He rolls his eyes, and there’s a brief pause before I sit up.

“Do you want breakfast?” I ask, changing the subject and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“Hell yeah.”

I prepare a simple breakfast for a grateful Ethan, and then we get ready before heading to practice. The late-morning sun is blazing down, Boston is buzzing, and it’s peaceful.

When we arrive at the ballpark, a few of the guys are already on the field, warming up with some light stretches and tosses. Ethan and I head over to our usual spot near the dugout, and as soon as we start stretching, I notice him trying to keep his wrists out of sight, hiding them under the sleeves of his hoodie. It’s subtle, but I can tell he’s on edge.

As expected, it doesn’t take long for someone to notice. This far into the season, injuries become way more common. Will jogs over. “Yo, Ethan! What’s up with the tape? You hurt or something?”

Ethan glances at me, then back at Will, his expression calm despite the obvious discomfort. “Nah, it’s only preventative,” he says smoothly. “Figured I’d be careful after some tightness I felt in my wrist after the game against Seattle last week.”

Will nods, satisfied with the explanation. “Smart move, man. Better safe than sorry.”

But then, Dave, one of the other outfielders, jogs over and gives Ethan a once-over, a smirk crossing his lips. “Preventative, huh? Looks like you were hitting the weights hard. Or maybe it’s something else?”

Ethan shrugs, playing it cool. “I’m only trying to stay in the game. You know how it is.”

Dave chuckles, nodding knowingly. “Sure, sure. Don’t overdo it, okay?”

I can tell Ethan’s holding back a sigh of relief as Dave jogs off, and I shoot him a reassuring smile as we start our own warm-up, tossing the ball back and forth.

“You’re handling it well.”

Ethan catches the ball and nods, tossing it back. “Thanks. I just have to keep my head down.”

We settle into a steady rhythm, the afternoon gradually warming as more players join the field. Despite the earlier tension, Ethan falls back into his usual focused state, the nerves fading as we settle into our routine.

As we end the practice, I jog over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody’s gonna ask about it anymore. Focus on the game.”

Ethan nods, a determined glint in his eye. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

We head back into the dugout to get ready for our game against Tampa. They’re good, but that’s part of the challenge.

The first few innings are tight. Our starting pitcher is on fire, sending balls that leave their batters swinging at air. I stay focused in the dugout, tracking every hit.

Ethan’s got his game face on: intense, but with his uniquely quiet confidence that I’ve come to recognize. He’s fielding like a machine as always, tracking down every ball that comes his way.

But by the middle of the game, things begin to shift. Tampa’s batters adjust, figuring out our pitcher’s rhythm. They chip away at our lead, putting runners on base. The tension builds with each pitch, each crack of the bat that sends the ball flying barely out of reach.

Then the call comes in. It’s my turn to go up. My heart races as I head to the mound at the top of the sixth.

Their first batter digs in and I size him up.

First pitch: fastball. He fouls it off. Second pitch, he chases, missing by a mile. I’m ahead now, so I go for the knockout. I wind up and fire a curveball. He swings through it for a third strike. One down.

The next two hitters don’t fare much better. A groundout and a lazy fly ball to center, and just like that, the inning’s over. I walk off the mound with a spring in my step, but the game is far from over.

We manage to erode their lead in the bottom of the sixth. Ethan comes up with two outs and a runner on second. He digs in, eyes locked on the pitcher. The first two pitches are balls, high and inside. The third pitch is a fastball right down the middle. Ethan doesn’t miss. He connects, the runner scores, and Ethan slides into second. We’re down by one.

But the seventh inning is rough. I’m back on the mound, and my arm’s feeling it, but I push through. They’re still leading by two, and the clock’s ticking.

By the bottom of the ninth, we’re still down by one. Two outs, Dave on first, Sven up to bat. I’m back on the bench, my arm wrapped in ice, knowing the team has it under control. The pitcher winds up and throws a breaking ball low and away. Sven swings. And misses. The shortstop scoops it up, tosses it to second, and that’s the game.

We lose.

The silence in the dugout is heavy. Guys are muttering to themselves, shuffling into the locker rooms with tight, frustrated movements. We fought hard, but it wasn’t enough. It’s part of the game, though. These things happen.

Ethan and I share a look as we grab our stuff. There’s no need for words; we both know what it feels like to lose. It’s only one game. We’ll be back out here tomorrow, ready to go again, but for now, it stings.

As we head back to the locker room, I give Ethan a quick pat on the back. “We’ll get ‘em next time, man.”

Ethan nods, his jaw set with determination. “Yeah. We will.”

I take a quick shower, change, and start packing up my stuff. Ethan’s doing the same, and I walk over to sit beside him. Neither of us says anything for a moment.

“Sure was a rough one,” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” I glance around the room, noticing how empty it’s become. “It sucks, but we’ll bounce back. We always do.”

He glances up at me, and beneath his usual neutral, guarded expression, there’s something else. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

I smile, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. We’re in this together, right?”

He returns the smile, small but genuine. “Yeah, of course.”

I clear my throat. “Speaking of together, do you know if the team’s admin staff are still here?”

Ethan eyes me, confused, before realization creeps across his face. “Are you saying that you want to go to PR? Now?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, mulling my next words. “I kind of want to avoid someone figuring us out and catching the team off guard.”

Ethan nods, grabs a sweater from his locker, and pulls it over his head. “Let’s do this.”

I finish getting dressed, and we head out of the locker room together toward the usually dreaded PR office. At least we’re going there by choice.

When we reach the door, I pause, then knock before heading in. We’re greeted by Ashley Morales, the head of PR. I’ve only met her a handful of times, but she seems kind, someone you want to have on your side.

“Hi James,” she says, surprised to see me. Ethan files in right afterward. “Oh, and hello Ethan. What can I do for you both?”

Silence. Ethan nudges me to say the first word, which is fair, but I’m racking my brain. “We have a disclosure,” I finally say.

Seriously? We have a disclosure ? Way to make it more ominous than it needs to be.

Ashley raises her dark eyebrows in a silent request for one of us to elaborate. Her quizzical expression does nothing to calm my nerves.

I decide then and there to just say it. “Ethan and I are together. Like, together-together. Not only living together but more than that.” I stumble over my words and kick myself mentally. The point got across, but I could have phrased that a lot better.

Ashley blinks, but I can’t see any judgment. The silence stretches for a moment, and my heart hammers in my chest, but then she nods.

“Well,” Ashley starts, leaning back a bit. “That’s great news. I appreciate you both letting me know.”

“So, everything’s okay?” I ask, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I won’t lie. Your relationship makes things complicated for the team,” she says.

Immediately, I open my mouth to speak, but Ashley puts her hand up to stop me.

“That said, we can’t regulate what you two do in your private lives. You’re both adults, and I appreciate you being upfront about being together, since that helps me do my job better,” she continues.

Ethan clears his throat, sounding a little more confident. “We wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any surprises, you know? If anything were to get out.”

“Right.” Ashley gives us a nod, reaching toward her keyboard. “I’ll draft a statement just in case. For now, I suggest doing what you’re currently doing. I’ve read those wild articles speculating about you two, but they have no actual evidence other than pictures of two friends having a good time together. It would look far more suspicious if you retreated from the public eye.”

I laugh when Ashley references the tabloids. Now that I think about it, I’ve noticed fewer articles being written about me and Ethan over the past few weeks, which I don’t mind at all. Maybe the presence of actual scandals elsewhere in the sports world are getting more clicks.

“Yeah, that makes sense. We’re not trying to make a big deal out of it or anything,” I say.

“You did the right thing. And don’t worry, the team has plans in place to deal with relationships like yours.”

My eyes shoot over to Ethan, who looks stunned. “The team has plans?” he asks.

Not looking up from her computer, Ashley laughs. “There’s a plan for everything.” The noise from her keyboard stops abruptly as she finishes the sentence she was typing and then glances up at us. “Before this, I worked with our women’s league affiliate. They’re way ahead in terms of acceptance, so I’ve dealt with situations like this before.”

“Thanks, Ashley,” Ethan says.

“Thanks,” I add, the weight in my chest easing a little.

Ashley smirks with a knowing spark in her eyes. “Hey, it benefits the team, too. We won’t have to fork out to give you separate rooms next season.”

Ethan and I exchange a glance. “Next season?” I ask.

Smiling politely, Ashley continues. “It’s just something to keep in mind. There’s nothing official yet.”

We exchange a few more words, and then we’re out in the hallway, the door to the PR office shutting softly behind us. I glance at Ethan, who’s a little less tense now, his shoulders more relaxed.

Ethan takes a deep breath. “Wow, that went better than expected.”

Smiling, I stop and turn to face him. “Yeah. It feels good to have it out there.”

“Do you think…” Ethan trails off, fixing me with a curious look. “Do you think you want to tell the team?”

“Kind of? I mean, I’m not ready to make a big announcement or anything, but I was thinking we could be ourselves and then let the others assume whatever they want.”

Ethan steps closer and brushes against my knuckles. Instinctively, I spread my fingers and wrap them around his hand, squeezing tightly. Ethan’s face softens into a warm smile, and we continue our walk out of the ballpark.

“We’ll take it one day at a time. We’ll be private, but not a secret,” I say.

“That sounds good to me,” he replies, still holding my hand.

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