12. JACKSON
TWELVE
JACKSON
There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and I frown. “Come in?”
The door swings open, and I blink a couple times. But nope, my eyes aren’t deceiving me: Maddox Barnes is standing in my doorway—I glance at the clock—at quarter to midnight.
It’s Thursday night. This entire week has been a blur. The team is a mess. Lost again tonight. No surprise when our heads are in the shitter. So much has happened over the past few days. Losing star talent with Stone and Araujo. Green rookie replacements. Certain people being released…
Dad called me this morning during my workout and reamed me.
You’ll never get the call-up if your batting average drops below two-seventy. Your talent in the outfield, which has disappeared this week, isn’t enough.
Where’d your instincts go? Did you leave them at home? You hesitated on a play you could have gotten the out on.
Then he went off on the rest of the team.
I get it. I don’t know what we were playing out there, but it wasn’t baseball. I was pathetic tonight too.
Barnes points inside my room. “It’s okay if I come in? You didn’t sound too sure.”
I shake myself out of my stupor and swing my legs over the side of my bed so I’m sitting facing him. “Yeah, man. Of course. Sorry, was spacing.”
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, then leans against it.
I fist the edge of my mattress. I can’t read him.
He’s stoic as all hell. Not any different from any other time I’ve seen him.
I can’t imagine this is going to be good, though.
Not when I’m the reason one of his good friends got sent to the hospital.
I bite the inside of my cheek until a hint of metal hits my tongue. But it’s not enough. I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut as my body punishes me. My stomach weaves itself into a knot. Tighter and tighter. A fractured cheekbone. Concussion. Dominguez’s words echo in my ears.
“So…I heard Dev got released.”
I nod, but don’t lift my head. Thank fucking God. Even before the bar, I don’t know how much longer I was going to be able to keep on the mask I wore with Dev. I thought he was protection, but really, he was a virus, slowly destroying me from the inside out.
“You upset about it?”
I don’t move, just follow the pills of the carpet at my feet.
“Or relieved?” he asks quietly.
My gaze flies to his. He studies me, one knee bent with his foot propped on my door.
Barnes is always watching. He picks up on things others don’t.
I think it comes from his physical therapy background.
It takes a real attention to detail, noticing subtle things about a person, to diagnose a patient—and more often than not to find what injury they might be hiding.
He pushes off the wall and walks to the small desk next to my bed—or beds, since I pushed the two twin beds together when Henderson moved out.
He grabs the top of my chair. “Can I?”
I nod.
He drags it in front of me. He sits, resting his elbows on his thighs, his knees knocking into mine. “I think we are in a spot in our friendship,” he says slowly, “where we both are wavering on whether we can really trust each other.”
I study his crown of thorns tattoo. Still I Rise. Isn’t that the truth? The battle of life.
“Maybe.” Definitely.
It’s been eating away at me, my secret. I’ve never told anyone—I’ve never even said the words out loud—until two days ago when I said enough for the skipper to know, even if I didn’t say it outright.
I’m so tired of keeping myself chained away. My father’s suspicious gaze materializes. The chains tighten.
“I know what Devereux said, but I don’t believe for a second that Frankie sexually assaulted you. I honestly don’t believe Frankie took you down that hallway to begin with. Do you want to know what I do think?”
I give a slight shake, but it doesn’t stop him; it doesn’t stop him from relaying the truth of that night.
“I think you went down that hall all on your own. I think…”
My gaze flicks to his, and I wait.
He reaches forward and gently squeezes my forearm. “I think you’re the one who kissed him.”
My air cuts off.
I double over, wheezing as I try to suck in breaths. But it’s not enough air.
There’s a crash, then a hand lands on my neck and pulls me upright. “Breathe.”
I try to follow the command, but I can’t. He knows. He saw through me. Panic plays out on repeat in my brain in the form of a single question. Who else has figured it out?
Barnes’s muffled swear drifts in and out. My vision wavers.
Something clamps over my chin. Green and black and beige blur in front of me. “Olander. Come on, man. Breathe. With me.”
His green eyes come into focus, and I suck in a choppy breath.
“Good, Jackson. Out.”
His breath whooshes over my skin, and I copy him, but I sound like I’ve just smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. God, will I ever be able to breathe again?
Do I deserve to?
“Again.”
It comes a little easier that time. My chest loosens, and the blood pumping in my ears softens. I take another ragged breath, and it’s almost normal.
His grip on my chin slips away. “Fucking hell, man.” He runs a hand through his dark hair as he paces in front of me.
“I don’t even know how to have this conversation with you.
East said to use my discretion. I don’t even know if it’s going to matter.
Like holy shit. That was…” He sweeps a hand over me. “That.”
I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. I’m not sure if it’s my oxygen-depleted brain or him.
He mutters under his breath, then he spins to face me.
“You can trust me, Jackson. I’m a safe space.
I don’t know if those words mean anything to you.
I’m not going to force you to talk about something you don’t want to talk about or that you’re not ready to talk about.
It’s not my place to assume or pressure you.
But…” He pauses, gaze boring into me, seeing way too much.
“Just so you know, I’m gay. In case that helps at all with your decision to trust me. ”
My mouth drops open.
I would never have guessed. He’s just like…one of the guys. I suppose the group he hangs out with does have a couple queer guys. There’s Stone. Though Maddox and he have never seemed particularly close. Maybe a front? He’s really close with Frankie. My eyes fly wide, and I fist my bedsheets.
“Are you with Frankie?” I choke out.
He covers his face with his hands and groans.
“Dude. I am trying so hard to let you tell me. But you keep doing and saying shit that is making this really hard not to ask point blank.” He lets out a breath.
“No. I am not with Frankie. Not interested in the slightest. Have a boyfriend. Been in love with him since I was like twelve.”
Okay. Phew. My shoulders slump. “So…you’re gay.” I try the words out. They’re not mine, so it’s a good test. My heartbeat spikes, but I can still breathe. “You…you have a boyfriend.”
“I am, and I do.”
I know what he’s doing. I know he already knows. All I have to do is say the words. The words that were implied when I went to Coach Dominguez’s office and put the nail in Dev’s coffin. When I told the skipper exactly what had happened that night.
“I’m a friend, Jackson,” Maddox says softly. “And it’s not conditional. I just want you to know I’m here.”
I nod and stare at him. And stare. The words are on the tip of my tongue. Just do it.
I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’mgay,” I rush out. “IkissedFrankie.” I suck in a breath.
“All of it was my fault. I’m the reason he was attacked, the reason Dev broke his fucking face.
I pushed him off me, and I saw Dev, and I-I-I—fuck—I said nothing. I let Dev assume Frankie came onto me.”
My throat closes, and my head falls into my hands. I dig my fingers into my skull. God dammit. If it’s not shame from being gay, it’s shame from being a coward.
The silence finally registers, and I slowly lift my head until my eyes meet Maddox’s.
“If I recall correctly…you were trying to pull Devereux off Frankie that night.” He watches me. “Based on how Frankie’s been acting since, my guess is he is fully aware of that fact.”
He squats in front of me, and a little tension eases from me now that he’s not towering over me.
“It’s all my fault,” I choke out.
“Listen, Jackson. Seeing how difficult it was for you to tell me you’re gay…
explains a lot about how things went down that night.
And as horrible as it was, the only villain in this whole thing is Dev.
Are you faultless? No. But you were acting out of fear and panic.
Dev was acting out of hatred. There is a very big difference there. ”
“I don’t think people understand how deep fear cuts, how it takes hold of you and corrupts your actions as you try to protect yourself.” His next words are quiet. “Nobody chooses to live afraid. But we’re forced to. Because the world insists we don’t belong. We adapt to survive. We learn.”
I grunt. I don’t know what to say. Those facts don’t make Frankie’s fractured cheekbone heal.
They don’t erase the fact that he was unconscious on the floor.
In my fear, I protected myself. And shoved Frankie right into danger’s path.
Seeing him unmoving, so deathly still while I held back Dev—it broke something inside me.
That image is what I drew on when I went to the skipper.
It’s what made me able to push out the words that revealed what I’ve been hiding my whole life.
The first time I kissed a man—the first man to ever make me want to take that risk—ended with him in the hospital.
“Thank you for telling me.” Maddox’s soft words drift up to me, and I meet his gaze. “Have you told anyone that before?”
“No. Not really. It was…um…implied when I told Coach what happened that night. But I’ve never said the words.”
Maddox squeezes my knee. “Damn. You went to the skipper? You must have been terrified.”
Literally was shitting bricks, sweating bullets. The whole fucking thing.
“He, uh, promised no one would find out. Still kind of paranoid about it, though. Y-you clearly figured it out. And Frankie.”
“Things like that are confidential. With Dev gone, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.
As for my suspicion…I knew you were struggling with something.
I had no idea with what, though. Not until everything with Frankie went down…
and, yeah, it made me wonder. That’s the only reason why.
Just know everything said tonight stays between us, okay? ”
He raps his knuckles on my knee and shoots me a warm smile.
“I’m really honored you shared it with me.
I wish we didn’t live in a world where that was even a thing—being honored.
There should be no reason we can’t simply be ourselves.
But it means a lot that you trusted me, and I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to. You’re not alone in this.”
“Thanks, Maddox.” Somehow the words get past my clogged throat.
“And if you are ever up to telling anyone else…I think Frankie would be a good option. I think it’d be good for the both of you to talk.”
“Yeah,” I say gruffly. “I owe him an apology. A huge one.”
“Not the worst idea I’ve heard,” he says as he stands.
“How…how’s he doing?”
A small, knowing smile curls Maddox’s lips, and I flip him off. He lifts his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
I grunt at him, and he chuckles.
“Frankie’s fine. Taking full advantage of having everyone in the house at his beck and call. I’ve told him numerous times his face is broken, not his fucking legs. But he still somehow managed to get me to bring him breakfast in bed this morning.”
I snort a laugh. Sounds like Frankie. Don’t know how I would know that; I barely know him. I just…I guess I can see it. I’d be glad to bring him breakfast in bed.
Maddox rocks back and forth on his feet. “Want me to stick around? I’m happy to talk about whatever. If you want to say the words again, I’m here to listen. I understand how hard they can be to voice.”
My nose stings, but I manage to breathe through the emotion. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I scoot back so I’m leaning against the wall and pat the spot next to me. “Um. Maybe you could tell me a little bit about your story?”
Maddox kicks off his shoes and hops onto my bed. He slides his knees up and rests his arms on them. “Like how I figured out I’m gay and all that?”
“Yeah. And, like, how was it for you? With your family and telling people. If you have? Does Winters know?”
Maddox chokes on a laugh, and he eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “I guess you missed that part. The boyfriend I’ve been in love with since I was twelve didn’t give it away?”
I frown. “Huh?”
“Dude. Easton. Easton is my boyfriend.”
I open and close my mouth. What now?
He snickers. “I guess that means we’re doing a good job hiding it.”
I shake my head. Damn. “Yeah, definitely had no idea. That’s wild—best friends to boyfriends.”
“Best friends and boyfriends,” he says with a fond smile.
My heart stumbles to a stop.
That. I want that.
It had been easy to ignore the faint longing. Baseball has always served as the perfect distraction. I let it consume me. I’m not sure what’s changed, but it’s not enough to cover up the ache any longer.
And while I sit here and listen to Maddox tell me about when he first realized he was into guys, what his family was like, the support he’s had from them and his friends and the LGBTQIA+ community, it makes me wonder if maybe there’s a way for me to have more than I’ve let myself.
I can’t come out. Not with baseball. Not with my family.
But maybe there’s a space for me. Somewhere.
Somewhere where I can be me.
You are always welcome here.
Maybe Skip was right.