28. CHAPTER 28
Icrumbled to the ground.
The St. Ed’s team dogpiled on the pitcher’s mound. Shouts of joy and laughter. That was supposed to be our dogpile.
I stared at the dirt; I noticed how it had clung to my pants and my knees. I didn’t move until I heard footsteps crunch beside me
“You’ve got to get up,” Ricky said. His voice cracked on the last word, but his hand was steady when he offered it. I let him pull me up. My legs didn’t feel like mine.
The walk to the dugout felt longer than the whole game. My teammates watched me like I had the answer. Like I could say something that would undo the outcome.
But I had nothing.
I could barely look at them; the pain was real and raw in a way that didn't feel temporary at all. Tears were everywhere; it looked like somebody had knocked down the bats that had been leaning against the fence.
“You boys were incredible,” Coach Berrios choked out. “They’re going to give you your silver medals shortly. I want you to keep your heads high and try to enjoy it as much as you can.”
I zoned out as we walked onto the field. The announcer congratulated us on being the state runners-up and then congratulated us again one by one. Coach handed us our medals; he must have slipped mine around my neck, as I couldn’t remember putting it on.
When the announcer said Easton’s name, I looked for him. I hadn’t seen him since his at bat. No one else could find him, and eventually, Coach pocketed the extra medal.
Mercifully, the presentation didn’t last long. I walked off the field like it was on fire and if I didn’t leave fast enough, I’d burn.
But when my cleats touched the concrete path behind the dugout, I froze.
This was it.
The last time I’d ever leave a baseball field as a player.
No fanfare. No speech. Just the ache in my throat and the sting in my eyes.
Mom found me before I could get too far. “I’m so proud of you, honey,” she said. I felt her arms wrap tightly around me, like I was nine years old again. I nearly felt like I was.
“Thank you,” I said, wiping away some stray tears.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said, quickly hugging me a second time, like she didn’t want to release me.
"Yeah…” I said. The single word stung as I said it. She was right, and I knew that. Didn't make it hurt any less. “Where’s Dad?”
She nodded toward the woods beside the field. “He followed Easton. He said you’d understand.”
I got it. Easton needed a parent as much as I did. Probably even more so. “I’ll be back.”
I walked toward the trees, feet dragging on the concrete, every step away from the field heavier than the last. The moment I stepped into the shade, the noise dulled—like the woods swallowed the world whole.
Dad walked out right as I was about to take the dirt path.
“How is he?”
“He’s okay. Gavin’s with him.”
Dad gave me a hug, putting me way over my daily limit.
I followed the path, figuring they couldn’t be too deep. I heard them before I saw them.
Thwack.
Ball hitting glove.
They didn’t see me, or at least they didn’t acknowledge me. They were ten feet apart, not talking. Just throwing.
The stadium announcer’s voice drifted through the trees, distant now. They were calling St. Ed’s to the podium.
I needed ear plugs.
Easton eventually noticed me.
“You alright?” I asked.
He paused. Then came that small smile. The one he gave when things hurt but he wasn’t ready to say it. He looked back at Gavin before giving me a tiny nod. “We will be.”
I sank into a tree and watched them. It was weird. For four years, I’d fought to be on that field today, to try to win a gold medal instead of a silver one.
When junior year had ended, I’d only had two goals: to win a state title and for nobody to realize I was gay.
If someone had told me I wouldn’t get either of those things, I would have bitten their head off and then bundled up in a ball and cried.
I still might end up doing that tonight.
But now, I knew better. This wasn’t the end. Life would go on.
I’d get to live life with no secrets; I was going to survive.
I twisted the silver medal in my pocket as Easton tossed the ball softly to Gavin. I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes.
I didn't get the game. I didn't get the boy.
But I thought—I thought I was going to be okay with that.