Page 80 of The Way We Swing Back

“No!” I snapped. “You don’t get to talk right now. I’ll walk away, and you’ll never get to hear what I have to say. I’m not here to fix anything between us. I’m here because I’ve carried your voice in my head for too long. Every time I feel anything, I hear you telling me I’m not allowed. Every time I want to cry or laugh too loud or hug someone in public, I hear your voice. You taught me that hurting was something you did alone, with a bottle in the dark. I’m still working on that one, but I’ll no longer have you telling me that’s the only option.” I wiped my palms on my shorts. “You no longer get that power over me.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue.

I didn’t let him. “And one last thing.” I smiled, knowing what I was about to say would drive a knife through his chest and guarantee he never tried to talk to me again more effectively than any restraining order ever could. “You remember when I was twelve, and you caught me crying over that book? Bridge to Terabithia? You grabbed me by the collar and said, ‘Don’t be a little fag, Easton. Toughen up.’ That’s when I realized how much of a coward you were.”

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled. He looked past me, and I knew he was trying to calculate how fast my brothers could get to the door.

I smiled, knowing he couldn’t touch me anymore. “I used to think you were a monster. But you’re just sad. You’re nothing.” I nodded to myself, setting up my final blow. “And I’m gay.”

I turned around, not needing to read his face to know his reaction.

Maybe he’d try to use it. Tell people, twist it, show up Monday anyway, and say it out loud to the entire stadium. A year ago, even the vague threat of being outed would’ve kept me up for weeks.

But really, I knew him better. He’d never associate with me again. Which was perfect.

Gavin, Zach, and Tanner leaned against the car as I approached, Zach with a bat in his hand. I was glad he hadn’t had a reason to use it.

My body felt lighter, like I’d peeled off a version of myself I didn’t want to wear anymore. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bracing for anything.

“You good?” Tanner said.

“Perfect,” I said, smiling at him.

We stood for a moment in silence, the engine idling, heat hissing from under the hood. I could’ve let the moment drift. I could’ve shoved it all down like always. But I thought about Tanner’s article and realized if anyone deserved the truth and to hear the words out loud, it was these three. Not because they were kind. Not because they’d opened up their home to me or because of baseball or the history I shared with all of them. Not because of the history I shared with Tanner. But because they had proven themselves to me over and over and over again, and they mattered to me more than anyone ever would.

And because saying it to my former father didn’t count. That man no longer counted. He wasn’t a person anymore—not to me, anyway.

“I need to say something,” I said, six eyes on me. I looked at Tanner because he deserved this the most. “I told him I’m gay.”

Tanner blinked twice. Didn’t move. Just stared motionless, his face wiped blank.

“But it didn’t feel like coming out,” I added, this time sweeping my eyes over the other two as well. “Because he’s nothing.” I swallowed. My fingers tapped my thighs, my head bobbing to a tune I didn’t even hear. “But you three are important. So, you’re the first people I’m officially telling.”

Tanner’s throat moved like he was holding in his words, his Adam’s apple pulsing. Gavin ran up and wrapped me in a hug, the way only Gavin would. He squeezed so hard I thought he would break me.

“Doesn’t mean you get shotgun on the way back,” Zach said, moving around the back of the car and jumping into the front seat.

I shoved Gavin away, needing to regain the ability to breathe.

“Th–thanks for telling us,” Tanner said.

“Not that you had to,” Gavin said.

“Can it, kid,” I said.

When we settled in the car, Tanner gunned it out of the trailer park, Gavin already reaching over the console to try to take over the radio. I let myself sink into the seat. Nothing chasing me. Nothing to brace for. Three people in a car who now knew exactly who I was—and a state title in two days, waiting for a reckoning.

Chapter 35

Istepped onto the mound, ready. I’d waited seven hundred and fifty-three sleepless nights for redemption, and the time was now.

The crowd roared, I was sure, but the sound didn’t reach my ears. It instead blurred into a distant hum, like waves crashing miles away. My whole focus narrowed to one thing: Gavin’s fingers.

One. Fastball.

I nodded.

This was the same game in which I’d made the final out two years ago. It was the game I’d replayed in my head every night after, the sting of that last swing lodged in my ribs like a splinter.