30. JACKSON
THIRTY
JACKSON
Paulie barrels into the back door of his house, the rest of us close behind. “Ma! I’m starving. What do you have to snack on?” It’s All-Star week, and we have four glorious days off from baseball. Not totally off—we’ll train, but it does feel like a mini vacation.
We file into the kitchen that’s off the screened-in porch, and I’m immediately assaulted by the delicious aroma of rosemary and a mixture of something savory and sweet. Paulie’s face is already buried in the fridge.
A petite woman with dark curly hair slaps him across the back of the head. “Out of my fridge, Paolo. I have an antipasto platter in the downstairs fridge. Go grab it.”
Paulie bolts for the hall and disappears. Shelby’s hugging the woman who is clearly Paulie and Frankie’s mother. Easton and Maddox are greeting a man who is the spitting image of Paulie, just tack on thirty years. Like, the exact same person. Freaky.
Shane pushes past me—none too gently. “Mama Nebs!”
“My boy!” She smiles up at Shane, who engulfs her in a hug.
“I know you’ve heard of him, but you haven’t had a chance to meet him yet.” Shane tugs Stone up to his side. “This is my boyfriend, Jed.”
“Mrs. Nebiolo,” Stone says with a smile, formal and polite as ever.
“Please—Mom, Ma, Mama Nebs, what have you. If you really insist, you can call me Rosa. But not Mrs. Nebiolo. When you step into this house, you’re family.”
Something in my chest constricts.
She turns to Shane and whispers. “Goodness. He’s very handsome in person.”
“I did good, didn’t I?” Shane bounces lightly on his toes.
She smiles up at Stone. “I’ll say.”
Stone blushes. He fucking blushes.
I can’t look away from the small interaction. She just…accepted Shane introducing Stone as his boyfriend. No pause. No falter in her smile. No, the smile on her face is proud—wider than before—as though Shane is her own son, and she couldn’t be happier with his choice in partner.
Something uncomfortable settles behind my sternum. I bite my cheek hard, trying to hold it back, but it spreads anyway—a slow bloom of sadness and yearning.
Then Shane lets out a cheer, snapping me out of my funk. My attention whips to where he’s hurrying toward Paulie, who has a huge platter in his hands. Actually, all the guys are hurrying toward it.
“Please tell me this has that spicy shit,” Maddox says.
Paulie immediately spins away with the platter, holding it out of reach. “Excuse me. Spicy shit. You’re not eating anything speaking like that.”
“Dude.” Shane gives him a disapproving glare. “Spicy Capicola. Don’t insult the meat. Bad form.”
“Seriously,” Frankie calls out. “Never insult a man’s meat.”
“Francesco, behave,” his mom chastises.
And just like that, Frankie and I are now the center of his mom’s attention. And just like that, my stomach erupts with nerves.
She slips around the island and the guys who look like a pack of wolves converging on their next meal.
Frankie steps forward, hugging her tight. “Hey, Ma.”
She steps back and studies him at arm’s length. “You look good, Francesco.” Her eyes flick to me before going back to Frankie. “Happier.”
“I’m always happy, Mom.”
“Mmm,” she says noncommittally. She raises her brows. “Are you going to introduce me to the wall of muscle standing sentry by our back door?”
Warmth hits my cheeks, and I will it away. Which doesn’t work at all. Now that I’m aware of my blush, my face is only growing warmer.
“You know Jackson Olander, Ma,” Paulie says around a mouthful of food.
“Hell of a center fielder,” Mr. Nebiolo says from where he’s leaning against a counter, arms crossed, watching the chaos go down in his kitchen.
“Thanks, sir.”
Mrs. Nebiolo waves it off. “Yes, yes. Baseball, everything revolves around baseball. But I’m sure this nice young man is more than his position on the Clippers. Nice to meet you, Jackson.” She smiles up at me.
My jaw goes slack as her words slam into me. Knocking me off-balance. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I manage. In four words, she does it—throws a pitch right to my soft spot, the spot I’ve never managed to conquer.
Strike out.
More than his position.
I’m not. Not to my family. Not to me.
I swallow hard and slowly bring my gaze to Frankie. The first person who’s ever made me feel like more than an athlete, more than my OAA and DRS numbers or my batting stats.
“Oh dear, we have another one. No Ma’am’s either.” She opens her arms in invitation and lifts her brows.
I step forward and carefully hug her, well aware I am a literal giant compared to this little Italian woman.
“Oh, come on now; you can hug me harder than that. With those muscles? Use them, boy!”
A chuckle slips out, and I squeeze her tighter. “Nice to meet you, Rosa,” I try again.
“Much better. The hug and the greeting.” She pulls back and winks. “Now come. Fill those mouths with meat.”
My eyes fly wide, and Frankie snickers. I guess I see where he gets it from.
“Mommmm,” Paulie groans.
She plants her hands on her hips. “What? I’ve had to put up with you two and your innuendos for years. If you can’t take the heat, get out of my kitchen.”
Paulie eyes the spread of meats, cheeses, olives, and nuts. He promptly quiets and shoves a piece of cheese into his mouth.
A little while later, we’ve moved to the living room, the All-Star coverage on the TV.
Shelby is tucked into Paulie’s side on the couch.
Maddox is next to him, fingers absently toying with Easton’s hair, who’s sitting on the floor in front of him.
Stone and Shane claimed the loveseat, and Mr. Nebiolo is in the single armchair. I hover, unsure of where to sit.
Frankie’s fingers gently lace through mine, and he gives a small tug. “Come, dolcezza,” he whispers.
He leads me to the couch, and I take a seat next to East. Then Frankie toes my thighs open, plops down, and tucks himself against me.
I freeze for a breath, and then everything eases.
Because this is a safe space. Accepting, yes, but also no one here is pushing for information.
Mr. Nebiolo barely even glances our way, even though his son just cozied up to another man.
I slide an arm around Frankie’s middle and close my eyes as I rest my face against his hair and breathe him in.
There was no missing the curiosity in Rosa’s eyes when Frankie introduced me.
But there was also a complete absence of pressure.
She wasn’t going to prod. No labels required.
We can be like this and not have to name it.
Which is good because what this is is all twisted up in my head. It was always more than sex lessons to me. I guess boyfriend lessons is more accurate. Frankie strokes his fingers over my forearm, conversation drifting around us. But somewhere along the way, I think I dropped off the word lessons.
I know this isn’t that. I know Frankie specifically said he doesn’t do that. I know boyfriends and baseball don’t mix.
My attention falls on Stone and Shane, then slides to East next to me, his head resting against Maddy’s knee.
Maybe…I don’t know anything at all.
Rosa comes walking into the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Food will be ready in an hour. Does anyone want a drink? I have wine, and Tom grabbed some beer earlier.”
“I’ll take a beer,” Paulie says. “What’d you grab, Dad?”
“I got a couple kinds of IPAs and a thing of Landshark. Oh, and, Frank, I grabbed a pack of stouts like you asked. Some nitro thing. Sounded interesting.”
My grip tightens, and Frankie laughs softly. “You’re the best, you know that.”
He turns toward me, those gold flecks in his eyes glowing. “I’m well aware.”
I bite my lip against a grin.
“I’ll go grab them,” Mr. Nebiolo says. “What are your orders, gals and gents?”
We call out our orders, mine obviously being a stout, and he disappears downstairs.
Frankie’s mom collapses into the armchair. “Oh, it feels good to sit.”
“You totally played Dad so you could steal his chair,” Paulie says.
She winks, and laughter fills the room.
“Damn, Trent is slaying,” Shane says, attention locked on the TV. Trent got selected for the All-Star Futures Game along with one of our pitchers in Double-A. Hot prospects from each organization get selected to play. Shane played in it last year. Stone did his first season with the franchise too.
“I still can’t get over that kid,” Stone says. “Guarantee he gets the call-up next season, no contest.”
We’re really lucky we have his talent this year. It’s been a tough year. Rocky start, then when we finally got our rhythm, call-ups and all the drama with Dev went down. We’re finally feeling like a team again, and Trent made a huge difference with that.
“Wild that he goes from fifteenth round to probably getting the call-up in like…two years?” I murmur.
The oven dings, and Mrs. Nebiolo stands. “That’s what you call a fast riser.” Her dark eyes glimmer with mischief, then she heads to the kitchen.
Paulie groans while the rest of us crack up.
I lean forward, mouth coasting over Frankie’s ear.
I might let my lips graze over his earrings longer than I should, but I find I can’t help myself.
He’s wearing gold hoops today, delicate gold leaf dangling from them, with matching leaf-shaped studs tracing the curve of his cartilage.
Gives him this woodland sprite look that I kind of can’t get enough of.
“Your mom is hilarious.”
He grabs my hand that’s resting over his shoulder and kisses it. His gaze lifts to mine. “She’s a feisty Italian. Think you might be a teeny bit familiar with that.”
“Bet he’s like the next Albert Pujols,” Maddox says, bringing us back to Trent.
“Thirteenth round, jumped Low-A to Triple-A his first year, then called up the next,” I say.
He’s definitely working hard for it. The guy is dedicated.
We cross paths a lot in the mornings in the gym.
Something I’ve been slacking on a bit lately because of a certain someone in my arms right now.
My game has only improved, which makes me think maybe I was overdoing it.
It’s a delicate balance, but over-training is definitely a thing.
“Can’t say I don’t hope he also hits seven-hundred taters while playing for us,” Shane adds.
There’s so much promise on our Triple-A team right now. If we can all manage to get our shot in the big leagues, all of us Jetties… Damn, it feels like we’d be unstoppable.
I discreetly knock on the ground because even thinking it makes me feel like I’m jinxing it. But sitting here with this group of guys, an incredible man in my arms, the feeling of home wrapping around me, it’s hard not to feel optimistic.