41. JACKSON
FORTY-ONE
JACKSON
I stare at the glass door of the diner. My insides twist and writhe over themselves like I’m housing a family of snakes. The diner we’ve eaten at for two seasons. My father is a creature of habit.
My hand lands on the door handle.
I have a feeling this is the last meal I’ll have here.
My fingers tighten on the metal, but I can’t bring my arm to pull.
The feeling inside me swells, crawls up my throat, and squeezes.
After all the pain my family has caused me, this shouldn’t be so hard.
I’m setting myself free. Protecting myself.
There is no room for toxic people in my life anymore.
I deserve better. I know that now. My parents’ affection shouldn’t depend on my baseball stats.
It has always been about what I bring to the Olander name.
And if I don’t bring anything? I lose my worth.
What if I bring something that tarnishes it?
I guess we find out today.
I pull open the door.
There they are, same booth we always sit in, Dad’s loud laughter mixing with Jake’s. My mom smiles on. Any onlooker would see a happy family. A friendly family.
A fake family.
The guys have become more like family to me in the last couple of months than the people in that booth ever have.
Maybe you deserve it more than any of us.
I finally believe it.
I blow out a breath and paste a smile on my face. Time to step up to the plate.
My dad’s gaze falls on me, and he stands. “Jackson, my boy!”
We shake hands. Firm. No weak-wristed handshakes for Olanders.
“Dad.” I turn to my brother and nod. “Jake.”
He smiles around the bite of his Reuben. There is no waiting to eat with Olander men. We’re too hungry for that. Takes a lot to fuel men our size, and my brother might not be an athlete any longer, but he trains alongside his players.
I slide into the spot next to him as my mom pushes the turkey club my way. My usual. It’s funny, I don’t even really like turkey clubs, but every time, there’s one waiting for me when I get here, and I eat it.
“Thanks, Mom.”
The grease glistens on the thick-cut bacon, and my stomach revolts. Don’t think I’ll be eating it today.
“Killer game yesterday,” Jake says, and follows it with a swallow of coffee. “You’re on fucking fire lately. Like, how do you hold a bat that hot?”
“Language, Jacob,” Mom scolds.
He shoots her an apologetic smile.
“Thick batting gloves,” I chirp. I fall into the role so easily.
Dad’s booming chuckle echoes through the diner. “I’ve noticed a difference since you started implementing that advice I gave you.” He arches a brow. “Old man always knows best, ain’t that right?”
Yes. My dad is obviously responsible for all my success. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the email he sent that I never read.
Maybe it’s a lot easier to swing now that I’m not walking around buried under the shame and self-hatred my family instilled in me. It’s like I was swinging with a weighted sleeve on my bat, and I’ve finally been allowed to remove it.
An image flashes—one that can only be complete fiction because it’s of me walking in here, Frankie at my side.
I’d be proud to introduce him as my boyfriend.
He’s smart as all hell, he’s hilarious and spunky, he’s soft and kind, yet the strongest man I’ve ever met.
I’d be lucky to call myself his boyfriend.
And my family would be lucky to meet him.
But they don’t deserve him.
“I was talking to Cynthia,” Mom says. “Her daughter just finished her early childhood education degree. You remember Melanie? She was a couple years behind you, but she always had eyes for you.”
I frown and think back. Cynthia is one of my mom’s close friends. All the moms are pretty close in my small town. I think I remember seeing a mini blonde-haired, green-eyed girl around. “Vaguely.”
“She’s planning to nanny for a while…” Mom presses.
My father looks at me expectantly.
“That’s…nice for her?”
“Maybe you should reconnect,” Dad says. “That’s exactly the kind of woman who’d make a good mother. And she’s not tied down by a job right now.”
“Leave him alone, you two,” Jake says. “He literally just sat down, and you’re trying to marry him off. The kid doesn’t want to get married. I’m older, and I don’t want to get married.”
“Don’t get me started on that,” Mom says with a pointed look. “You don’t even have a professional athletic career that you could maybe”—she glances at me—“use as an excuse.”
My parents hold very traditional values. Marry young. Pop out a few kids. The wife takes care of the house and kids; the husband brings home the money. With my brother and me out of the house, my mom is dying for grandchildren and my dad future athletes to coach.
“Yes, well, at least you have a girlfriend, Jacob. You’re heading in the right direction. She’s a great girl, too. I have no idea why you won’t put a ring on that,” Dad says.
Jake just grunts.
I use that tactic sometimes too.
“I could take you ring shopping.” Mom bats her eyes innocently.
Jake tenses next to me. “No ring shopping needed. Anna and I broke up.”
Mom gasps, and Dad freezes with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.
Shit. Anna and Jake had been dating for like three years. Looks like my bomb won’t be the only one dropping today.
“What happened? When did this happen?” Mom asks.
Jake shifts. “A few months ago. It’s really not a big deal. We weren’t working, that’s all there is to it.”
“Maybe we should be setting you up with Melanie,” Dad says thoughtfully.
Jake’s face twists. “Dad, she’s like a baby compared to me.”
Dad rolls his eyes. “It’s only six or so years. Plus, she’s prime age for having children. She’ll bounce right back just like your mother did.”
And there goes my stomach again. I can only imagine what Shelby would do if Paulie said something like that to her. She’d slap him across the face and then show him the door. Of his own house—and Frankie wouldn’t let him back inside.
Rightfully so. God, we Olanders really suck.
“No, no,” Mom says. “She’s much better suited for Jackson. She’s bubbly and outgoing. That’ll balance his more reserved, serious nature.”
There are reasons I’m so reserved. And they’re sitting across from me.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Dad says suddenly. “Are you sick? Now is not a good time to get sick, son. Rebecca, do you have one of those pouch things that head-off colds?”
Mom starts digging through her purse. “Yes, I have one in here somewhere.”
“I’m not sick.”
Mom shoves an orange tube packet my way. But I wave her off.
“Really, I’m not sick.” Though I do feel like I’m about to get sick.
“Then why aren’t you eating?” Dad’s thick dark brows meet.
I guess now’s as good a time as any. My heart rate goes from zero to sixty. “I have something to tell you guys.”
Mom and Dad stare at me, waiting. A buzzing fills my ears. I can do this.
“You can’t set me up with Melanie. I’m already kind of seeing someone.”
Mom’s eyes light up, and she starts clapping.
“And he’s really amazing.”
She freezes, and that light dies. And so does the small amount of hope I didn’t realize I still held.
The clinking of dishes and silverware of other patrons echoes around our silent booth.
“What did you just say?” Dad asks quietly.
I bite my cheek. I drop my hands to my lap to hide their shaking.
“You heard him, Dad,” Jake says. I can’t read his tone, but he’s as still as death beside me.
Mom opens and closes her mouth. “Are you saying you’re g—”
“Quiet, Rebecca,” Dad hisses, and Mom flinches. He looks around the diner. “God, Jackson. You chose to drop this here? What were you thinking? We need to go somewhere private and deal with this.”
“You’re right, dear,” Mom says, over her shock and ready for action. “We can fix this. I remember one of my girlfriends telling me that they had a cousin who was able to pray it away. We’ll visit Father O’Grady.”
Yeah… “No.”
My mom blinks at me. “What?”
“There is nothing to fix.”
“I beg to fucking differ,” Dad says.
And just like that…I don’t fucking care anymore. I was so goddamned nervous about this meal. But now? Now, I’m just fucking tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of this family.
I stand. “I’m done here.”
“Sit, Jackson,” Dad barks.
I hate that I almost do. I’ve been listening to his orders for so long; my body tries to respond automatically. But not anymore.
“No.” My fists tighten. “I realize this is a lot for you to take in. But there’s nothing to change, nothing to fix. I’m gay, Dad. And pretty fucking happy about it.” A breath eases from me. That felt really fucking good.
My dad’s face is turning an alarming shade of purple as he glances around the restaurant. His obvious terror of this being overheard almost has me laughing. Maybe I’m losing my mind because there is nothing funny about this right now, but I can feel it bubbling up in my chest.
I somehow rein it in and find control. “If you ever decide to leave your hate behind, I might be open to a conversation. Until then, I think this is goodbye.”
“Come on, Jackson,” Mom says, pleading. “You’re not even willing to try?”
A disbelieving laugh slips out. “Seriously? Are you?”
Silence falls over the booth again, and there’s my answer. I turn on my heel and stride for the exit.
“You walk out that door, and you can say goodbye to that agent contract,” my dad calls.
I slow. He’s going to try to threaten me?
“Richie won’t rep someone like you.”
Then I’ll find someone else. I flip him off over my shoulder and keep walking. They might not be able to leave their hate behind, but I can.
I leave them all behind.
I push through the door and turn down the sidewalk. It’s not until my lungs start to burn that I realize how fast I’m walking…and that I’ve gone in the opposite direction of where I parked my truck.
A defeated breath bursts from me. I turn and numbly make my way back the other direction. I’m about five yards from the door of the diner when it pushes open, the bells tinkling.
I freeze.
My brother freezes.
I’m not sure how long we stand there, but then he’s making for me and wrapping his arms around me. He squeezes me so tight my back pops. My heart’s taken up residence in my throat because this…this feels like something good, right? Something positive?
“Fuck them,” he whispers.
My nose stings, and the pressure behind my eyes comes in so fast I have no chance to fight it. Jake steps back, and we stand there awkwardly. Olanders aren’t really huggers. I focus on the blurry ground.
“I’m so sorry, Jack.”
I glance up and meet an identical pair of blue-and-silver eyes.
“I don’t agree with them. I know I’ve said a lot of fucked up shit, which would make it seem like I do.
” His gaze skitters away. “When Anna broke up with me…she opened my eyes to a lot. Like maybe the way we were raised is kind of…fucked up. The way Dad treats Mom, the way he talks about women… Anna put me in my place because I was well on my way to becoming him.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and glances back at me.
“I’m really sorry for the shit I said growing up.
I was such an asshole, and I can’t imagine how the things I spewed made you feel—” His voice cracks, and he slams his mouth shut.
He glares at the sidewalk, a vein ticking at his temple.
He finally lets out an unsteady breath and meets my gaze with wet eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jackson.”
He wavers in and out of focus, and I blink hard. I nod stiffly because I can’t speak right now. Not with the emotion coating my throat like pine tar.
I point to my truck, and his head follows my hand.
He nods, and we both head over to it in silence.
It stays that way as the engine roars to life.
As I pull onto the street. As I drive through the city.
Everything happens as if from far away, like I’m partially disconnected from reality.
I stop at stop signs, but I don’t really register them.
I’m not even aware of where I’m going until I’m killing the engine in Frankie’s driveway.
“You, um… You’re not bothered that I’m gay?” I finally ask. Probably should have confirmed that when he first got in the car.
“Nah, Jack. It’s cool.” He shoots me a small smile. “A few of the players I coach are gay.” He frowns. “Or queer. LBTG?”
“It’s LGBT…”
“Ah, right. That, sorry.” He slides his hands over his thighs—an Olander nervous habit.
“But yeah, having those men on my team changed my perspective. I mean, once I went to college, my perspective changed. It’s a big fucking world outside our small town.
But once I had guys under my care? I wasn’t going to let anyone make them feel uncomfortable or like they didn’t belong.
” His fingers tighten. “I wasn’t going to let anyone be the kind of guy I used to be. Like recognizes like, as they say.”
“That’s really great, Jake. I’m glad you’re looking out for them. And I’m glad you’ve been able to dig your way out of the bullshit we were raised in.”
“So, you still want me in your life?” he asks hesitantly. “Despite…”
“I was no better than you, Jake,” I say quietly. “Kind of sounds like you came around a lot earlier than I did. So, yes, I want you in my life. Let’s leave the bullshit where it deserves to be—with Mom and Dad.”
“I like the sound of that.”
He finally looks around. “Where are we?”
My cheeks heat. “I hadn’t really been paying attention to where I was driving. But, um, this is where that guy I mentioned lives.”
His mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’.
“Would you…would you want to meet him?”