Chapter 9 A Classic American Love Story
A CLASSIC AMERICAN LOVE STORY
TWO WEEKS LATER
“All this is really true?” Sam asked, lowering his glasses. “You’re not playing some kind of prank on me, correct?”
Cash, Sawyer, and I sat primly in Sam’s office, our expressions about as innocent as they could get.
“No, sir, it’s no prank,” Cash said smoothly, ever the gentleman. He was clear-eyed, clean-shaven, polite.
There was absolutely no evidence of the way he’d pressed me face down into the mattress last night and fucked me like a villain while ordering Sawyer to watch.
I crossed and re-crossed my legs, knowing the sight of my bare thighs in these shorts was going to give both men ideas. The kind of ideas I’d only benefit from later.
“It’s all in there,” I added. “The truth.”
Sam held up the document — an editorial piece written by Sawyer Knight and Cash Barlow titled ‘A Classic American Love Story’.
In it, they describe meeting and falling in love on Hart’s Island, their time in the minors hiding their relationship, and then meeting me while I profiled their first month in the majors.
Meeting me and falling in love with me. As I was writing about and falling in love with them.
“Look,” Sawyer said, “Cash and I have got people in our hometown who made it clear what they thought about us being together. Whether any of them are gonna launch some kind of homophobic smear campaign against us, who knows. Frankly, we no longer care.”
Cash dropped his elbows to his knees. “We didn’t want this story to get out from a place of hate or disgust. We wanted it to come from us, from a place of love.”
We’d spent the past couple weeks exploring the boundaries and edges of our newfound love, spending every second we could together. It was delightful and sexy and thrilling. And with every passing day, we knew we couldn’t abandon this freedom.
So I helped them tell their story on their own terms. And while they did that, I thought about my own. What I’d be giving up if this published and I lost my job.
Being a writer was all I’d ever known and all I’d ever wanted. And I understood, deep down, it couldn’t really be taken from me. Whether I was a reporter or not didn’t change that.
Sam’s gaze darted to mine. “The entire time you were writing about them, you were in a relationship?”
I cocked my head. “I was developing feelings for them, yes.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “I guess it was kind of obvious.”
Sawyer snorted. “If it helps, we were being pretty obvious too.”
“I know what kind of position this puts the paper in, but I think you should run it,” I said. “We’ve spent the past two weeks discussing the risks and everything we could lose. We’re prepared for any outcome.”
I leaned forward to tap Sam’s desk. “But this is one hell of a story. And I think you know that. It’s got everything: friendship, perseverance, teamwork, forbidden love.”
Sam looked down, rubbing his jaw. “People will hate you.”
“Some people already hate us, sir,” Cash said. “This article doesn’t change that. And some people will love it. Some people might feel the same way we do.”
“And a whole lot of people won’t give a shit,” Sawyer said with a grin. “They just wanna watch a ball game.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” I said with a laugh.
Sam was quiet for a long time but I refused to fidget. All three of us had hidden parts of ourselves for so long, had been made to feel small and insignificant.
We weren’t going back now.
Sam looked up but he was smiling. “You know. This will either sell like hotcakes or close down the entire paper due to loss of readership.”
I matched his smile. “So why not give it a shot?”
Four months later
This was the game that would decide if the Philadelphia Revolution were heading to the playoffs, something they hadn’t achieved in five long years.
The entire city was in the audience. The night was cool and clear, the air thick with held breaths and thrumming heartbeats. I wasn’t here tonight as a reporter, though. I was here to cheer on both of my boyfriends, who I was so wildly in love with I now wore a permanent smile.
The Sentinel did print Cash and Sawyer’s editorial and the reactions were as we’d predicted. We got a decent amount of hate mail. Lost some readers. Were featured on some scandalous television shows.
A lot of people plain didn’t care.
But Cash, Sawyer, and I also received letters from readers in similar relationships. Or readers who wanted to thank us for being so brave. For not being afraid. Queer baseball fans who thought they’d have to hide forever.
Cash and Sawyer being public wasn’t going to eliminate homophobia from Major League Baseball overnight. But they had full support from their team and the city. Two other major league players had come out, plus one in retirement. It was slow progress, but it was steady.
The stands were still filled with marriage proposals for the both of them — but they also rippled with a multitude of glittery rainbow flags.
I’d gotten the promotion, and while I sometimes still heard whispers behind my back from the other reporters, there was something about going home to two men who’d lick and fuck me for hours that made me just…not care.
In the center of the field now, Cash and Sawyer shone with a more nuanced confidence than before – no longer brash rookies, but leaders. They’d certainly struggled, but they had beaten back the exhaustion and the pressure with a fury.
And now it was the ninth inning and the Revolution were up by one. No outs. If this inning ended with no runs scored, the Revolution would be going to the playoffs.
There was a runner on first base who’d been mouthing off to Sawyer for a full minute. Sawyer merely shrugged and laughed, tossing amused glances at Cash.
The runner on first danced off the base, taunting. Trying to steal. And there was a runner on second, doing the exact same thing.
Everyone in the audience seemed to go quiet at the same time.
Cash’s gaze slid toward Sawyer’s for the briefest of moments and something electric crackled between them. There was movement all across the field: two runners trying to steal, an on-deck batter swinging away, members of the outfield darting back and forth.
But Cash and Sawyer were still as statues.
My blood roared in my ears, pulse pounding. Suddenly, Cash’s arm exploded with motion.
Crack went the bat against the ball, which flew back toward Cash. He caught the ball easily, swinging to his right and firing the ball at Sawyer, who caught the ball with a grin, reaching down to tag out the first base runner who’d thought he’d steal, but panicked and ran back.
I blinked. Then Sawyer executed a perfect throw to the third baseman, who tagged out the stealing second-base runner with ease.
Ten seconds. Three outs.
The Philadelphia Revolution had won.
There was a heavy pause. Then a lion’s roar of sound. Fans were screaming and the dugout was going wild, but I only had eyes for two men.
Sawyer threw his glove up in the air and let out a victorious whoop, before running and launching himself into Cash’s arms. For a moment, as if they weren’t surrounded by people, the two hugged each other tightly, laughing and crying. Love so evident between them I wanted to cry too.
After all this time together— I had wanted this victory for them.
Plus this was my hometown. The Revolution was my team, and I’d been cheering for them since I was old enough to understand the beauty of this game.
Cash and Sawyer seemed to pick up on my emotions, because they turned suddenly and spotted me in the stands. One of their teammates leaped up from the dugout and dragged me onto the field. I was surrounded by a dazzling joy. Confetti shot into the air. Camera crews raced out to get interviews.
But Cash and Sawyer had zeroed in on me. They stalked forward like they were preparing to rip my clothes off and fuck me senseless in the middle of that field.
And I would have let them.
“What are you—” I started to say, holding my hands up, but Sawyer scooped me up into his arms and twirled me around, laughing uproariously. I could see Cash, laughing into his hand, and cheering himself hoarse.
Sheer euphoria wrapped itself around my heart, and I let go. Let myself scream and cheer as Sawyer kept spinning, all three of us alive with the glory of winning.