5. CHAPTER 5
The smell of pancakes and the sound of Easton’s voice in our kitchen woke me up the next morning. Dad sat at the table talking to Gavin about the Cardinals game from the night before.
Easton manned the flattop, and I watched him flip a couple of pancakes so he could get a consistent brown on each side. He and Mom were deep in conversation; Mom had her hand on Easton’s shoulder comfortingly, but Easton stopped talking when he noticed my presence.
“Morning, Tanner,” she said. “I was just going to wake the two of you.” She walked out of the room, and I heard her knock on Zach’s door.
Easton put a stack of pancakes between us as I sat at the kitchen table. He took the chair next to Gavin and placed a second plate in front of him.
“This one’s for you, Gav,” he said. I looked at the plate and noticed chocolate chips in his pancake, arranged in the pattern of baseball stitches.
Gavin stared, then grinned so wide he almost dropped his fork. He held the plate up like a trophy before snapping a photo and firing off a Snapchat. “Thanks, Easton,” he said.
“Why don’t I get one?” I whined, grabbing two pancakes off the top of the pile.
“Because you didn’t stay up with me until midnight listening to a twelve-inning baseball game on the radio,” he said as he added syrup to his pancakes.
“Thanks for the invite,” I said, masking my annoyance.
“Maybe next time,” Easton said. “I had to get some one-on-one time with my favorite Quinn.”
Dad looked up from his newspaper. “Damn, I thought I was your favorite.”
“Don’t swear in front of your sons!” Mom said. She was still in the hallway, but that didn’t stop her from hearing everything. Gavin giggled as he chewed on his baseball pancake.
“He didn’t annoy you too much, then?” I asked.
“This dude could never annoy me.”
We finished our breakfast before taking a quick trip east for the first games of the summer. With Gavin off at his own games, it was just the three of us getting ready to play against a school with twice our enrollment.
The field ranked among the crazier ones we’d played on; the left-field fence was only two hundred twenty-five feet, and it hit right up against a fire station.
The right-field line jetted out like it had to make up for the short field in left, extending for what felt like miles but was probably only three hundred seventy-five feet.
After everyone had warmed up, Coach Berrios went over the starting lineup.
I had a good idea of where I was going to be, so I wasn’t shocked.
I was leading off and playing short. The rest of the lineup was also what I’d expected, all the way to Ricky batting ninth.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say he was one of the worst hitters in the entire district.
I could see the disappointment on Easton’s face when he found out he wasn’t in the starting lineup.
We had talked the night before, and I had told him there was almost no chance Coach would start him in game one since he was still new.
I had told him he’d play in the second game for sure, so not to worry too much.
He didn’t say anything. He grabbed the strings of his glove with his teeth and pulled on them, as if he could yank his way into the starting lineup.
When that didn’t work, he threw his glove into his bag like it had insulted him.
By the time I reached him, he was already hunched over on the bench, staring at the dirt.
“Chill,” I whispered as I grabbed my bat.
Even though I’d known he wouldn’t start game one, the disappointment in his face made my stomach sink. I felt the need to protect him. More pressing, though, was pushing those feelings aside so I could focus on the game.
Game one dragged—mostly because Silas couldn’t get through an inning clean. Five runs, seven hits, and fielders who looked like they’d rather still be asleep. We ended up losing 5-4, and our summer season started off poorly.
Zach and Easton joined Ricky and me down the left-field line between games; the four of us ate the sandwiches my parents had packed. The rest of the team scattered nearby. Maddux, Silas, and a couple of others tossed a football in the outfield, laughing like we hadn’t just lost a game.
“What does Coach usually do for the second game of doubleheaders?” Easton asked as he chewed his bologna sandwich.
“Don’t worry, you’ll play,” Ricky said, his glasses slipping down his nose as he took a bite of food.
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He uses game two to test stuff out. You'll play second because he wants to see us play together. Zach will catch because he has no idea what’s going to happen if Ricky gets hurt. And the rest rotates.”
“You sound confident,” Easton said.
“Tanner basically has a PhD in Coach Berrios,” Ricky said. “He never stopped asking questions freshman year, so Coach plays him every game just for some peace and quiet.”
Easton laughed. “Where will I bat, then?”
“Second,” I said. “Zach bats sixth this game.”
“If you’re right, I’ll run around the field naked after the game,” Easton said.
“Really?”
“Hell no.”
Then in the outfield, a football thudded against Silas’s chest and bounced to the ground.
“Nice catch, princess!” Maddux shouted. “Did your boyfriend teach you that?”
Laughter. It was just noise to them—a throwaway line, really. But it confirmed what I’d known for ages—that there was zero chance they’d accept me being gay.
I saw Easton’s jaw shift slightly, just for a second.
I pretended to adjust my cleat. I didn’t look at anyone, but these comments weren’t unique. They were why I had to hide who I was. In the minds of my teammates—my best friends—being gay meant being weak, second rate, inadequate.
Zach’s gaze lingered on me as I processed the comment. “Let’s head back to the dugout,” he said. “Time to take game two.”
The second game went much better than the first. We started off the top of the first with five straight hits, including a bases-clearing double by Maddux.
We tacked on some insurance runs and won 9-2, so my mood was much better when we left the field.
Easton and I walked toward the Durango, our bat bags strung over our shoulders. Zach was still talking to Coach Berrios; he had screwed up a couple of signals, and they both wanted to make sure they were on the same page before they left the field.
The sound of cleats on the gravel echoed everywhere as I opened my trunk.
“You were right,” Easton said.
“About what?”
“The lineup. The positions. Everything, really.” He tossed his bag in then looked back at me. “You really do have a PhD in Coach Berrios.”
“Told you.” I smiled at him. The door handles clicked open, and we entered the car. The sun had been pounding into the car all afternoon, making it feel like a hotbox.
“I keep thinking I have to prove something. Every practice and now in the games. Prove that I belong to you. To Coach.” His voice was soft.
“Well, you proved something today,” I said. “Three doubles, and that one in the fifth was an absolute missile.”
His eyes left me, drifting out the window. “It’s still as if I’m just borrowing someone’s spot. Like I’m a rental.”
“It takes time,” I said. “You’re going to be one of us—I already feel like you are. The other guys are getting there, too.”
He paused before finally meeting my eyes. His eye black was smudged, and sweat streaked down his face. He looked exhausted, but there was something raw in his expression. “Thanks, bro,” he mumbled. “I don’t think this would work without you.”
I wanted to say more—that he already had a space in my world, even off the field. But how do you say that to another guy without saying something more? As Maddux’s offhanded comment had proven, saying more was impossible.
Zach broke the silence when he opened the back hatch and yelled at Easton for taking shotgun. They bickered all the way home.
My brain looped with the same questions that had filled it since Easton had shown up.
How did he make my heart race this much without even touching me?
Why did it terrify me that he’d never notice?
Why did it terrify me even more that he would?