Page 116 of Hiding in the Outfield

“You’re grieving.” I gently push back his hair, scoring my fingers over his scalp. He leans into the touch. That’s right, baby. I have you. “We don’t only grieve death, dolcezza. We grieve what could’ve been.”

His breathing hitches again, then steadies. Tear-clumped lashes flutter open, and his gaze meets mine.

“And sometimes…” I trace the shadows on his jaw. “Sometimes we grieve what couldn’t. The heartbreak that comes from accepting that certain dreams can never be. Because deep inside, it’s what we’d always wished for.”

He nods slowly.

I drift my thumb along his jawline, and we just breathe, softly existing in our safe little bubble.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs.

I catch his lips with mine. His hand finds the back of my head, pulling me closer. Pulling me so tight that we’re fused together, no movement, just us. Then his body relaxes. His fingers slide away. His lips soften under mine. I kiss him once more, then pull back.

His lids hang heavy, blinks slow. He’s fading.

He loosely cups my jaw. “You’re everything,” he mumbles.

I clutch his hand to my cheek, turn and press a kiss into it.

His eyes sink shut. “I love you, Frankie,” he slurs.

My heart stops. “What did you just say?” I whisper.

But sleep has already claimed him.

I rest his limp hand on the mattress and press a quiet kiss to his forehead as my pulse skitters through my veins.

“Rest well, dolcezza. I’ll stay with you and guard your dreams.”

I watch him, chest rising and falling in a gentle, even rhythm.

He loves me. He loves me too.

And for the life of me, I’m not sure if that makes the situation we’re in better or…

All the more heartbreaking.

FORTY-THREE

JACKSON

“Hey. Thanks for meeting me here.”

Stone slides into the seat opposite me in the booth I snagged at a little Italian restaurant that’s about halfway between Providence and Bridgeport. It has red-and-white checkered tablecloths covering the tables, with paintings of Italian landscapes dotting the walls, and comfortable dim lighting.

“From your texts, seemed important,” he says.

I spin my rolled-up napkin and silverware in front of me. Our game got postponed due to torrential rain that hit all of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and most of Mass. I checked and saw Stone’s game was canceled too and immediately jumped on the opportunity.

A waiter stops by and fills our glasses with ice water, then places a menu in front of each of us. I give him a quick smile. When he disappears, I blow out a breath and meet Stone’s dark, perceptive gaze.

“I know you’re, um, privately? out. I was wondering what your plans are now that you’re on the Jetties…and have Shane to consider.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I shift under his scrutiny.

Finally, he says, “Right now our plan is to ride out this season. The boys already know I’m bisexual. I’ve been close with quite a few of them since I was slotted to get the call-up before my elbow blew on me. As for the organization…everyone who needs to know, knows. My agent has it covered, and we have a plan if it were ever to go from…private to public.”

“Ah, an agent, okay,” I murmur, frowning.