Chapter Twenty-Five Alex
W E SAT IN the living room together while the laundry finished.
Tomorrow, Rome would fly out to Annapolis to resume playing, although he said he wasn’t sure if they’d put him on the field.
He would likely find out tomorrow on the flight.
He confided that he needed to get back out there, but would be secretly thankful if he had the continued opportunity to rest his body.
We had been… busy the last couple of days. I’m not sure he got much sleep.
I had my laptop with me, which I placed on the glass coffee table in front of us.
Rome sat at the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, while he thumbed through his phone.
Both of us hadn’t been online much since arriving at the house.
Emma texted him earlier in the morning and said he should get caught up with headlines, and to call her on the ride back to Lexington.
So together, we explored the headlines and crawled through social media.
Whatever exuberance Rome had over the last two days dissipated into a brooding silence as his thumb repeated the same scrolling motion. His chin rested in his other hand, the corners of his lips drawn down.
“It’s all questions and hearsay,” I finally said after about twenty minutes of doomscrolling. “Nobody has given anyone any kind of definitive answer.”
Rome lethargically turned to look at me and said, “Which is an answer in itself.”
I pointed to my laptop screen. I had navigated to a popular sports news site.
“Look. It’s not even the main headline. They’re talking about the Allentown Thunder making postseason.
” I made a dramatic show of scrolling down the page.
“See? You’re closer to the bottom of the page.
” The headline read, “Moretti Rumors Continue to Swirl.”
“What’s it say?” he asked.
I selected the article and read the lede. “‘Riders’ spokeswoman continues to sidestep questions regarding Moretti’s alleged sexuality and the role it had to play in the fight during the Riders v. Brawlers game on September eighteenth.’ Okay, that’s not bad. Nobody reads past the first few lines.”
Rome showed me his phone. He was on Instagram and thumbed through the incalculable number of DMs he received. I jokingly said, “Don’t you guys mostly get nudes from horny fans, anyway?”
He snickered and bumped his shoulder against mine. “Stop cheering me up. I want to brood.”
I knocked our knees together. “Impossible. You’re the least brooding person I’ve ever met.” I slapped my laptop lid closed. “Diving into all the rumors is gonna do nothing. You’ll fly out to Annapolis tomorrow, play or not play, and probably avoid answering reporters until the season is over.”
“Feels like hiding,” he said, then glowered. “I don’t like hiding.”
“You’re not hiding,” I assured him. Then, curiosity hit me. “But if you do feel like you’re hiding, then why don’t you stop?”
He spun his head to look at me, chin still resting in his palm. “What do you mean?”
I widened my eyes imploringly and looked at his phone. “Your life, Rome. Not Emma’s. Not your agent’s. Yours.”
Rome moved his hand away from his chin, grabbed my knee, squeezed, and smiled. “You’re sweet. Listen to you.”
I made a sound at the back of my throat. “Don’t patronize me,” I said teasingly. “Just trying to help.”
He crashed back into the couch, tossed his phone aside, and tucked his hands behind his head.
I had a sudden urge to drop my head in his lap but stopped myself.
“I’ll call Emma on the ride home,” Rome said.
“We can figure it out from there. I think…” Rome closed his eyes, lips pursed.
Then, “It’s already out there. ‘Rumors,’ sure, but everyone has probably figured it out.
So in a way, the truth is out there. And that’s kind of a relief, to be honest. All I have to do is confirm, and then everyone can move on.
” His eyes opened and he focused on something in the distance.
“Everyone can turn their attention on the Brawlers now and go after them for instigating this whole thing. Let them take the heat.”
A buzzer sounded from a nearby room. Rome started to stand but I pushed him back down. “I’ll grab it. You can help fold?”
After getting the hamper, I upended the clean clothes on the dining room table and called Rome. He lumbered over and together we sifted through our assorted clean clothes, folding indiscriminately.
I felt silly, but I had a sudden recognition that this was the first time we did something like this. Rome had cooked us meals aplenty and I was no stranger to keeping his house clean to do my part, but this felt so… domestic . And we weren’t even in the guesthouse he rented from Hiroshi.
We’re in his actual home , I thought as I paired two of his socks together and rolled them up. I grabbed one of his undershirts and started to fold, but slowed down as I considered our situation more.
I preferred, if possible, to do laundry before returning home.
Grabbing all my dirty clothes earlier, I offered to Rome if he wanted me to do his and he took me up on the offer.
Now, here we stood, casually grabbing one another’s articles of clothing, folding, and placing into a pile.
As if we had been doing this for years. As if we were meant to do this for years. Together, in a home.
“You all right?” Rome asked.
I realized I had been frozen with his white t-shirt. I finished folding and placed it on a pile of his other shirts. I patted the top of the pile and looked at him. “I really like it here.”
He had grabbed a pair of my boxers, but stopped. “Yeah…?”
I laughed despite myself, then gestured to the table strewn with our clothes. “I really like this . Spending time with you. Doing stupid domestic stuff.”
“Yeah?”
I bit my lower lip and fished for some confidence swimming somewhere in my belly. “How long do you think you’ll stay in Hiroshi’s guesthouse?”
His brows went up. A smile blossomed on his face like a golden sunrise. “There’s no contract. I can stay or leave whenever.”
I picked up another article to give my hands something to do. Why had a sudden shyness taken hold? Asking to live together felt like a marathon where telling Rome I loved him was a walk in the park.
You run marathons, moron , I told myself.
I looked him right in the eye. “My lease ends November first. I need to let my landlord know if I’m extending it next week.”
“Do you… do you want to move into the guesthouse with me?”
I nodded. “Is that okay with Hiroshi?”
Rome wiped the air with his hand. “He won’t care. Wait, what about offseason?” His elation dimmed, then shifted to a glower. “And spring training? The guesthouse is good for regular and postseason, but…”
“Something to worry about later,” I said. “Logistics, right?”
I willed encouragement to him, to see past the inevitable roadblocks and take this for the win that it was. I tracked his gaze, the minor expressions, the twitches. Mr. Perfect wanted to take flight and say something chivalrous and right.
A light in his eyes. Finally. The glimmer of a smile. “You’re sure?”
I grinned. “Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry about my schedule. We’ll figure that out.” I rounded the table and slipped my arms along his side, tilting my head back to look up at him. “I love you, Rome, and I want to live with you.”
“ Ti amo ,” he whispered, then hefted me up by my ass and sat me on the dining-room table. He shoved aside a folded pile of clothes and scooted me back. “ Ti amo tanto .”