10. CHAPTER 10
What had I done?
I had one rule. No teammates.
I didn’t just break it; I smashed it upside the head at the worst possible time. Easton had finally told me about his family, a secret he’d been keeping for months. I might’ve been the first person he’d trusted enough to say those words to.
And instead of being the person he’d needed, I’d become the person I wanted to be.
I walked back into the hotel like a zombie, not even remembering how I got there.
I stared at the 206 on our door like the numbers might change. The urge to knock consumed me, as if I needed to let Easton know I was entering.
Half of me thought he wouldn’t even be inside.
Finally, my need to move outweighed my nerves, and I opened the squeaking door. My entire body was so tense I thought I was going to snap.
Then I saw him.
He lay on Gavin’s bed, his face pressed against a pillow and away from me. His breathing sounded like snoring, but I’d slept near him enough to know it wasn’t.
He just didn’t want to talk.
I crawled into my own bed and pulled the blanket over my head. The heat was suffocating, so different from the breeze we had felt walking to the park.
Tears still rolled down my face, but they weren’t caused by what Easton had told me. Or at least, not all of them were.
I refused to make a sound. I didn’t want to upset him any more than I already had. Even a small noise felt like it’d shatter the glass hanging over the room.
An hour passed—or maybe three—and Easton’s breathing became steadier, more believable. I finally had permission to fall asleep, but I couldn’t.
The same thoughts kept spinning in my head like spokes on a bike wheel. I had no way to put the brakes on, no way to get out.
Did he know my dirtiest, darkest secret?
Would he tell Gavin in the morning?
Would he tell the team?
Why would his dad do something like that?
How could he carry such deep pain without showing it?
Had I kissed him out of compassion or selfish desire?
Over and over, the questions rolled, but never with a single answer.
Eventually, I passed out. I had no idea when or how, but my alarm beeped sooner than I wanted it to.
My mind snapped awake. My eyes darted to the other bed. No Easton, and no Gavin. I didn’t hear anyone in the bathroom, either; exhaustion had kept me asleep through them waking up.
My phone didn’t have any texts from Easton, just from Mom, but she could wait. I thought of texting Easton myself, but that didn’t seem like the best idea.
I slipped on a pair of shoes and hoped I’d see them at breakfast. The walk to the lobby felt like the walk back to the hotel the night before: slow, empty, and forgettable.
The breakfast area was loud, filled with a dozen young teenagers hyped for a couple of games. Gavin and Easton sat alone at a table. I decided to delay the inevitable and walked to the buffet line.
After my plate had too much food on it, I took a deep breath and walked toward them.
“Can I sit?” I asked.
Gavin looked at me weirdly. “Yes?”
They were across from each other, which left me an awkward choice. I could sit right next to Easton or next to Gavin and avoid eye contact with Easton while we ate. I chose the latter.
“I think we can win today,” Gavin said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
“Tanner and I watched the other team play. I’m sure you can handle them,” Easton said.
I looked over at him and watched as he sipped his orange juice.
“Were they any good?” Gavin asked.
“They were okay,” Easton said. “What’d you think, Tan?”
I gulped, shocked that he was talking to me. I paused, then said, “You guys will crush them.”
The conversation continued until our plates were empty. Following Easton’s lead, I acted like nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t told me his deepest secret, as if we hadn’t kissed.
What was going on in his head? He clearly wasn’t spiraling like I was. How was he so good at hiding this? Practice?
Or did he feel nothing, dismissing it as nighttime craziness?
How did I bring up what had happened? When? Should I?
“Go change,” I said to Gavin when we got back to the room, “we’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the Durango.”
But before Gavin could move, Easton said, “Flip me your keys. My bag’s packed.”
I tossed them on the bed, and he was out of the room before we had to be alone. His eyes hadn’t even flicked toward me when he’d left.
The drive to the field was quick, but not as quick as Easton getting out of the car. We grabbed our chairs out of the trunk as Gavin grabbed his bag.
Easton and I walked wordlessly toward the field as Gavin joined his team.
Easton led us toward the first baseline and threw his rocker down five feet from the bleachers—far enough away that we could talk to each other above the bleachers’ noise but close enough to them that we couldn’t actually talk.
I put my seat down next to his and looked at the batting cage. “Do you want to go hit?”
I followed his eyes over to the area and realized there was nobody within twenty feet of it. “Let’s take today off from hitting,” he said.
My body tightened at his answer. He’d never once said no to that question.
“I’m sorry, Easton,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“No. Not now,” he said. His eyes left me as I sat next to him. “Can I get ten bucks for some sunflower seeds and Gatorade?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some of the money Mom and Dad had given us for the weekend. I handed him a twenty. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust myself.
Sadness engulfed me as he walked away—definitely literally, but maybe figuratively, too. Was he just waiting out the weekend until he could get rid of me? I picked up my phone, put it back down, and picked it up again, unable to figure out what to do with my hands.
His body language gave nothing away, but I was sure mine did.
While he was on the trip to the concession stand, I decided I’d ignore the bomb that had gone off last night as well as the one I felt sitting in my stomach.
Gavin and company won their first game on Sunday and were now in a heated battle in the title game. Both teams were clearly out of pitching, and the scoreboard was showing it. Gavin’s team was down 11-10 going into the bottom of the last inning.
“Not going to be a fun ride home if they lose,” I said to Easton.
When he had returned with seeds and a red Gatorade for me—my favorite—the conversation had flowed easily, especially once the games began.
My internal conversations continued, but baseball served as the perfect distraction.
Easton flicked a sunflower seed into his mouth. “They’ll need to rally. When’s Gavin up?”
“Fifth. Need two guys to reach for him to get up again.”
They started slow but managed to get two runners on with two outs when my little brother was walked to the plate.
If Gavin got a hit, they’d win. If he got out, it’d be game over with a loss. My leg bounced uncontrollably, my heel thudding against the soft grass. Easton leaned forward in his seat.
Gavin had been red-hot all weekend—twenty-three for twenty-eight—and hadn’t made an out since Saturday afternoon. But now it came down to this. I held my breath as he stepped in.
“Think he’s nervous?” Easton asked.
“He’s fine,” I said. “He lives for this kind of attention.”
First pitch, ball. Gavin stepped out, adjusted his gloves, and locked back in. The next one was a fastball over the plate. He didn’t miss.
The ball exploded off his bat, soaring over the shortstop and toward the left-center gap. If the ball found grass, it was over.
“It’s going to drop!” Easton yelled, already standing, his hands extended in the air.
Gavin sprinted toward first. The center fielder gave up on it, hands raised in surrender.
But the left fielder didn’t. He dove.
The ball and glove met in midair. Somehow, impossibly, he made the catch.
Gavin dropped to his knees in the baseline. A game-winner had turned into heartbreak in an instant.
“Oh, no,” I said, turning toward Easton. My stomach dropped into the ground as I smacked my chair backwards.
Easton’s face mirrored Gavin’s disbelief, as though he himself had sent the ball flying. “I thought for sure that was going to drop. Gav had such a good weekend. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Baseball is a cruel game,” I said, spitting the last seed out of my mouth.
Ten minutes later, Coach Messina finished his talk with the team and sent almost all of them on their way. He pulled Gavin aside and talked to him near the dugout. Gavin still had tears trickling down his face as he listened to what his coach had to say.
“Can I talk to him first?” Easton asked.
“Sure, give me your chair. I’ll get it packed.”
Easton had already joined Gavin when I opened the trunk. Gavin’s bat bag was slung over Easton’s shoulder, and Gavin carried his cleats. He was back in those ugly red Crocs.
Easton’s hand rested on Gavin’s shoulder; he was doing all the talking.
Every time Gavin would look at the ground, Easton would push Gavin’s chin up and make Gavin look him in the eyes.
The conversation couldn’t have lasted for more than three minutes, but by the time they got back to the car, Gavin was in a much better mood.
“Proud of you, Gav,” I said, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Wish you guys could make more games.”
“You gave us a hell of a show.”
“One hit away from making it a movie,” he smirked.
“Next time,” Easton said.
We finished packing the car and started on the two-hour trip back home. Within fifteen minutes, Gavin fell asleep and was snoring his heart out. I glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure that he was asleep before I turned to Easton.
“So, what’d you say to Gavin back at the field? It clearly did the trick.”
“Not much. I told him we had fun watching him and that he had an amazing weekend at the plate. One at bat can’t take that away.”
“That’s it?”
“I also told him how I made the last out of my team’s season four different times.”
I laughed out loud. “There’s no way that’s true.”
“No joke. Happened when I was ten, twelve, fourteen, and fifteen.”
“You might be the most anti-clutch person I’ve ever met,” I laughed.
“Tell me about it. At least here that reputation doesn’t precede me.”
“Remind me to have Coach pinch hit for you if you could be the last out of my high school career.”
“If you do that and he takes me out, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Be more clutch, then.” We laughed as we continued our never-ending conversation about our pursuit of winning a state title next spring.
When I saw the sign that said we were fifteen minutes away from home, though, I glanced in the rearview mirror again. Gavin was still asleep, his head slumped against the door with the seat belt pressed against his face.
My muscles wouldn’t settle. I kept catching myself gripping the wheel too hard, clenching my jaw. Every time I started to relax, something in me would snap tight again, like I was bracing for a hit that never came.
“Listen, Easton—” I started.
“You need to stop, Tanner,” he said, voice sharp with panic. He turned toward the back before facing me. The highway lights strobed across his face, carving lines into his fear. “I’m not gay,” he whispered. “I can’t be.”
It was the same lie I told myself over and over.
I couldn’t face him. Not because I was angry. Not because I didn’t understand. But because I did.
Instead, I said, “Okay.”
It came out cracked, barely a breath. But he needed to hear it. He needed me to let him off the hook.
So, I did.
But the silence that followed wasn’t quiet—it echoed. His words bounced around inside me like a ball I couldn’t catch, hitting all the bruised places I’d tried to protect.
Everything that had happened this weekend confirmed what I already knew. I’d broken my one rule. I’d flown past it, really.
He couldn’t be gay.
And I couldn’t unfeel any of it.