Page 101 of Hiding in the Outfield

My chin jerks in. “I don’t believe⁠—”

“Someone didn’t, dolcezza.” The smile he sends me breaks my heart.

That kind of smile doesn’t fit on this man’s face. Those lips are meant to be sultry and sassy, curving into a smile that sparkles, not weighed down by whatever’s happened to him. Not crumbling under resignation.

“Someones did.” His smile turns from sad to something worse. Forced and brittle. “So many I’ve lost count. It’s lovely you think I’m so great at it, but experience has made it clear that that is not a role meant for me. Which is fine with me. I love sex. I love hooking up and flirting and showing someone a good time.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I mean, look where it landed me. Showing this sexy MLB-bound ballplayer all the fun things two men can get up to together.”

I shake my head. “Don’t do that. Please.”

He stills.

“Don’t cheapen this. Please.” I clear my throat and the emotion threatening to crawl up it. “I know you said you don’t do relationships. And I know I don’t live a life that allows for one right now. But that doesn’t mean this doesn’t mean something to me. And I hope I mean more to you than a nameless, faceless hookup. I hope I’m more to you than just sex.”

He rolls away from me and squeezes his eyes shut. The muscles in his face strain and twitch like they’re fighting something, but what…

My body freezes from the inside out.

A tear slowly rolls from the corner of his eye down into his hairline, even despite how hard his eyes are sealed.

I’m over him in the next breath, wiping it away, hovering over him. “Hey. Frank, babe. Hey. What’s wrong?”

He gives a tight, quick shake of his head and tries to look away. But I tuck him into my shoulder and don’t let him get away. I hold him to me and latch on. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I want him to know I’m here. I’m a safe space. I’m here.

His body shakes, muscles rigid, twitching against me. And then his arms wrap around me. Fingers dig into my back like he’s falling and I’m the only thing that can save him. A choked sob bursts from him. Imbeds itself into my skin like barbed wire. My chest twists, my heart scrambling. It’s racing around with no clue what to do. All it knows is it wants to help the man beneath me. Help relieve the pain, the anguish, whatever it is that’s plaguing him.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

And I do. I wish I could tuck him inside me and keep him safe. Protect him from all the someones out there who’ve hurt him. How could anyone hurt this man?

His tremors gradually subside, and he softens beneath me. His breathing is still choppy and fast, but it no longer holds the sound of a man desperate to restrain his emotions. And failing.

He finally melts into the mattress, and after one last hiccupping breath, everything eases. I push up and gently wipe away the tear tracks staining his cheeks. His eyes flutter open, and I suck in a breath. Those golden-brown irises are the lightest I’ve ever seen. Like the tears drained away some of their color, some of the life.

I swallow hard against my closing throat and gently push back his hair. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” His whisper is so small it sends another pang through my heart.

He nudges me gently, and I take the hint and roll off him. He follows, snuggling into my side, his cheek on my chest. He deflates on a breath that drags even my nearly three-hundred-pound frame down. His fingers patter over my upper chest, scattered and erratic.

“I’ve always tended to draw the eye of people who…want to use me to fit their purposes.” He skates the pad of his finger up and down my collarbone. “In high school, it was a lot of closeted boys testing the gay or bi waters. I’ve always been out and loud. I was an…easy option, I suppose? Which was fine. I was and am happy to help others figure themselves out. But even the boys I brought home didn’t stick around long. I was what you might call a launching pad. And it didn’t bother me too much in high school—I didn’t want a serious boyfriend either.”

His movements fall out of rhythm for the briefest moment. Highlight the small lie. It did bother him, but he brushed it off.

“I was having fun and eating up all the attention.”

I’m not so sure about that.

“Then I hit college and started to realize the joke was on me all along. Because people were settling down left and right, everyone except me, even though I was looking for that too. The first guy I’d really considered my boyfriend—we dated for three months—turned out to be only using me to make his ex jealous.”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “I didn’t understand why we kept going to this same coffee shop that had the shittiest coffee over and over again—even when I’d complained about it. Until the day the barista finally had enough and blew up at him. His ex, if you didn’t catch on to that part. They got back together after that. Pretty sure they’re still together. Frankie at your service, I guess.”

His hand drifts down to my stomach, and he traces my ribs.

“I tried the whole don’t put out on the first date thing for a while,” he says softly. “You know, try to get to know someone before we dive into each other’s pants. I didn’t get many call-backs after date one. I’m not sure if it’s a vibe I give off or…I don’t know, the way I present myself? I eventually gave up and just gave in to what the world wanted me to be. It was fine. I mean, I was young anyway, right? No rush in settling down. The world wanted Frankie to have fun—so Frankie had fun.”

I squeeze him tighter to me and press my lips to his head. For the heartbroken young man of his past. I feel it, the overwhelming melancholy that still haunts him. My heart is like a kicked puppy in my chest, backing itself into a corner because of what he’s described.

He blows out a breath. “Until him.”