38. JACKSON
THIRTY-EIGHT
JACKSON
The light dies in Frankie’s eyes, and it destroys me. What he doesn’t know is that he misunderstood my words. My okay wasn’t a surrender. It wasn’t me saying no. It was me agreeing I’m going to do this for myself.
I’m going to show him.
I’ve given up years of my life hiding. Hiding in plain sight.
Jackson Olander, hiding in the outfield.
I’ve missed out on true friendships. On relationships.
I was all right with that when I didn’t realize what I was missing. I’ve never known any different than the conditional love my family’s given me. I have to be what they want me to be in order for me to earn their love. And that’s fucking sick.
I’m done with that.
What I have with the boys here: real friends who care about me. Who have my back. Who are good, genuine people. I don’t want to lose that. I want more of that, and I want to be that safe place for others. It’s the least I can do after the asshole I’ve been.
And Frankie? I’ve been kidding myself the past few weeks.
I’m so head-over-heels in love with the man in my lap.
And that’s a long way to fall for a big guy like me.
I tried to say it before, but I saw the fear flash in his eyes.
There are things I need to do first before I say those words to him.
I want him to know how much I mean them.
I’ve told him before—he makes me want to be brave.
I’m done wanting.
I’m done wishing.
I’m doing.
He joked about my ability to make ridiculous catches out on the field. Once that ball hits my mitt, it’s not going anywhere.
Fortunately, that talent extends to hearts as well.
Watch out, Francesco Nebiolo.
I’ve caught you.
And I’m not letting go.