Chapter 10 RYAN
RYAN
Fuck. I love this new Ozzie. He’s not that scared and shy rookie I used to know. He’s fuck-around-and-find-out Ozzie now. I look back to Henderson.
“We’re done playing your fucking game. We’re gay and proud, and you can’t stop us for being us,” I said, my voice echoing in the small office.
I didn’t even look back at Henderson anymore as I grabbed Ozzie’s hand—properly this time, fingers interlaced—and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go, baby.”
“Ryan, wait—” Henderson called out, his voice cracking, but we were already gone. Fucking loser. He had what was coming.
We didn’t go back to our rooms. We didn’t hide in the stairwell. We walked straight to the hotel’s “Player Lounge,” a large suite where the guys gathered after games to play cards and decompress. I could feel Ozzie’s hand shaking in mine, but he didn’t pull away.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah, baby?”
We both stopped walking and Ozzie looks at me. “I love you too.”
I lean down and kiss him. “Me too, my rookie. Now let’s go see those boys and tell them about us.”
We continued walking and when we pushed open the double doors, the room was loud. Miller was leaning over a poker table, a beer in one hand, while a group of pitchers were crowded around a gaming console. The music was thumping.
As we walked in, the room didn’t go silent immediately. It happened in ripples. First, the guys near the door saw our joined hands. Then Miller looked up, his jaw dropping as he saw me—the Captain—standing there with my rookie, our fingers locked tight.
The music was cut. The only sound was the hum of the city outside the window.
“Listen up!” I shouted, my voice commanding the space the way it did from the pitcher’s mound. I felt Ozzie step up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “There’s a video going around. You’ve all seen it. You’ve all been chirping about it.”
I looked Miller dead in the eye, then scanned the faces of the men I’d bled and sweated with for years.
“It’s not a joke. And it’s not a ‘distraction.’ Ozzie and I are together. We’ve been together. And Coach Henderson just told us he doesn’t fucking ‘tolerate’ people like us on his team.”
A low murmur broke out, but I cut through it.
“I’ve spent five years leading this team.
I’ve put my arm on the line for every one of you.
And Ozzie has played his heart out since the day he got called up.
If you’ve got a problem with who we love, say it to my fucking face right now.
But if you’re here to win a pennant, then you stand with us.
Because we aren’t fucking hiding anymore. ”
The tension in the room snapped like a broken bat, replaced by a roar of laughter and cheers that nearly shook the walls.
“Son of a bitch! I fucking knew it, didn’t we boys!!” Miller shouted, slamming his hand down on the poker table so hard the chips jumped. He surged to his feet, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I knew it all along!!”
He marched over to us, and for a second, I braced for the worst—but he just wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me into a rough headlock, before doing the same to Ozzie. The rest of the guys were hollering, whistling, and throwing towels.
“You guys are the worst liars in the league! We knew you were gay!” one of the relief pitchers yelled from the couch.
“We saw you two ‘practicing’ in the cages at midnight. Who practices bunts for two hours?”
“And the bus?” another guy chimed in. “Ryan, you looked like you’d seen a ghost every time Ozzie walked past. We were just waiting for you to grow some stones and admit it.”
They fucking knew all along?
I looked at Ozzie, and the relief on his face was so pure it made my chest ache. The fear that had been clouding his eyes for days was gone, replaced by a bright smile. He wasn’t the “replaceable rookie” anymore. He was one of us. And he was mine.
“So…” Miller said, finally letting us go but keeping a hand on both our shoulders. “If Coach Henderson has a problem with the best middle-infield duo in the league, he’s got a fucking problem with all of us. Right, boys?”
“Damn right!”
“Not on our fucking watch!”
“Lindson and Ford for life!”
“We play for the jersey, and we play for each other,” Miller said, his voice turning serious for a split second. “The front office can say what they want, but they can’t win games without us. We’ve got your backs. Always.”
* * *
For the first time that night, I wasn’t afraid if people heard Ozzie and I have sex as boyfriends. The fear and the lingering doubt that had plagued me for so long, had finally dissolved, replaced by a fierce, possessive joy.
I love this man. And I’m not afraid to say it.
Ozzie lay beneath me, his skin slick with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.
His eyes, usually bright, were now glazed with a mixture of lust and surrender.
The dim light of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across our hotel room, highlighting the curve of his back, the taut muscles of his thighs.
He was beautiful and tonight, he was mine.
“Come for me, baby.” I rasped, my voice thick with desire, thrusting my dick into his ass. The sensation was a perfect fit. “Be a good boy and come for me.”
I could feel the tension building in him, the tremors that ran through his body. His breath hitched, his fingers digging into the sheets. He was on the edge, teetering to release.
Ozzie obeyed, his body arching, his back straining against the mattress. A guttural moan escaped his lips as he spurted cum, a hot, thick stream that pulsed against my cock. The sound, the sight, the feeling of his climax against me, sent a jolt of pure pleasure through my own body.
“That’s my fucking good rookie.” I whispered, my voice raw with satisfaction. I held him close and savoring the moment of just us.
After we cleaned up, the air still thick with the lingering scent of sex and sweat, I wrapped my strong arms around his waist on the bed.
His back was pressed against my chest, his warmth seeping into me.
The rise and fall of his chest against my own was a comforting rhythm.
This is perfect. Just him with me, and my heart complete.
I kissed the back of his neck, my lips tracing the curve of his ear. He shivered. I loved the way he responded to my touch, the way his body seemed to anticipate my every move.
“You okay?” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his voice muffled against my chest. “Yeah. More than okay, Cap.”
I tightened my grip around him, pulling him closer. I love you, Oz.
* * *
I woke up. The sun hasn’t been fully up the Chicago skyline before my phone started exploding. It wasn’t just sports blogs anymore; it was everything. News outlets, celebrity gossip sites, even the morning news.
CHICAGO SKY NEWS: Viral TikTok video from @OzzieFord has homophobic people shaking in their seats! The LGBTQ+ community is now standing with the Beavers and are fighting against discrimination of sexuality in the national baseball league!
TikTok video?
I rolled over in bed, going on the TikTok app, and then I saw it. Ozzie had done more than just save the recording; he’d burned the bridge and used the embers to light a fire with a video. I look at his caption.
@OzzieFord: “This is what happens behind closed doors when you’re just trying to play the game you love. We aren’t going anywhere.”
The TikTok video already had ten million views. It was the audio of Henderson’s gravelly voice—“I don’t tolerate queer players”—played over a montage of us playing together, turning double plays, and that slow-motion clip of me brushing the dirt off his cheek.
Ozzie risked his career for me…
I looked over at him on the bed. He’s sleeping peacefully besides me, his hair messy and looking innocent.
God, I love this man…
* * *
By 8:00 AM, the official statement from the Rock Hills Beavers front office hit the wire: “Effective immediately, Head Manager Bill Henderson has been relieved of his duties. The Beavers organization is committed to an inclusive environment…”
“He’s gone, Oz. Thank god.” I whispered, showing him the headline. “You really went out of your way to post that audio?”
Ozzie sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looking at the chaos he’d unleashed with a single ‘Post’ button. “I had to, Ryan. If we let him keep his job, he would have spent the rest of the season trying to sabotage us. Now? Now he’s the one who’s replaceable.”
I smile and lean in to kiss his forehead. “My good boy.”
* * *
The hotel lobby was a sea of flashes. Usually, we’d duck our heads and hurry to the bus, but today was different. I looked at Ozzie—really looked at him. No more hiding. No more “Wingman Protocol.”
I reached out and took his hand, my fingers interlocking with his.
“You ready for this, babe?” I asked. “The second we walk through those doors, everything changes. No more secret bus bathrooms or anything else.”
Ozzie squeezed my hand, his chin lifting with that same grit he showed when a 98-mph heater was coming at his head. “I’m ready, Lindson. Let’s go give them something to talk about.”
“I love you, Oz.” I said, looking in his eyes.
“Love you more, my Cap.”
We walked out of the hotel doors together.
The wall of noise was deafening—reporters screaming questions, fans cheering, cameras clicking like a thousand insects.
But I didn’t let go. For the first time in my career, I wasn’t just the “Captain.” I was just a man standing next to the person he loved.