Page 150 of Hiding in the Outfield

FRANKIE

I thank the usher who showed me to the reserved players’ section behind the dugout. A smile teases my lips as my gaze lands on the field.

Jackson’s out there tossing a ball around with his new teammates. Right now, it looks like they’re trying to see who can throw it the highest in the air. It’s like watching a group of kids at the ballpark. Jackson shuffles under a ball, and at the last minute, his teammate, La Cruz, snipes it. La Cruz lifts it above his head like it’s a game winning catch. The guys laugh as he continues to taunt Jackson with it.

I settle into a free seat. I arrived early because it’s a gorgeous day. Full sun, blue sky, high sixties, and no humidity. It’s a glorious break from the thick humidity and ninety-degree weather we left behind in Providence. I actually needed a sweatshirt—and it was a nice surprise to find a team one waiting for me at will-call, courtesy of Jackson.

I push my shades back and tip my head toward the sky. The warm rays sink into my skin, and I try not to think about the fact that I leave in less than twenty-four hours.

When I straighten, my gaze catches on a dark-haired woman heading my way. She’s wearing a Berkeley jersey and has a little boy propped on her hip. A man trails after her, another boy a little older than the first on his shoulders.

“Hi!” She stops in front of me and extends her free hand. “I’m Amy. Haven’t seen you around before. First game?” She nods toward the field. “I’m Schultz’s wife.”

I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.” I give the little boy who’s eyeing me curiously a finger wiggle wave. “All of you.” He grins and hides his face in his mother’s neck.

Amy’s smile widens. “Our boys, and then behind me is the menace, Schultz’s brother.”

“I’m Frankie. And yeah, first game.” I glance toward the field.

The guys are all jogging toward the dugout. Schultz is running by Jackson’s side, Jackson hunched over to get closer to his captain’s height, listening intently to whatever it is Schultz is saying.

“That’s my guy,” I say softly. “Running next to your husband.”

He looks good out there. And happy. I hope this is a sign he’ll fit in here, find some people like the crew back home.

“Oh, yay! He mentioned you last night after the game. I’m so glad you made it out today. I was really hoping to meet you. We’re not as organized as some other sports leagues, but I suppose I lead this group of hooligans. Most should show up today, with it being a Sunday afternoon. I’ll introduce you to the Berkeley fam.”

I can’t stop my grin. Amy is this infectious, beautiful bubble of joy. She’s probably five foot three at most, which means I tower over her, but her personality could fill this stadium. She has the air of Captain’s wife.

She turns sideways and gestures to the man behind her. “This is Ryan, Jimmy’s brother.”

The man, who’s the spitting image of his brother, carefully extends a hand while holding on securely to his nephew on his shoulders.

“Ah, the man who hit on my boyfriend.” I reach over and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Ryan sends me a chagrined smile.

I wave him off. “I think you all did us a favor. Ripped off the Band-Aid for us. We weren’t sure what our reception would be. So, thank you for helping Jackson feel at home.”

“This group is great,” Amy says. “We really are like a little family.”

Ryan bounces his nephew as he nods. “We have cookouts and beach days and quite a few of the guys all rent places in the same condo complex. As a partner, you’ll also get family merch.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Unfortunately, I still can’t snag one, since apparently you stole the only out queer man.”

The Clippers crew flashes in my mind. “Don’t count yourself out. Maybe there’s someone else, and Jackson being out will help embolden them.”

“I should probably listen to my brother. The odds aren’t good. I really should give up on my dream and settle for a regular Joe-Shmo.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “What’s wrong with Joe-Shmo? You are a Joe-Shmo.”

“Um, exactly. I’m the Joe-Shmo who ends up with the hot-shot professional athlete. Or rockstar. Or movie star. Or mafia boss. I’m not too picky.”

I cover my laugh with the back of my hand. I think someone reads romance. “Well, I do know quite a few queer baseball players. So, I wouldn’t say the odds are terrible.”

Ryan’s brows shoot up, and to say he shakes like an excitable puppy would be an understatement. “You do? Are you, like, the secret gatekeeper of gay ballplayers? How do I get into this secret society?”

Amy mutters, “Oh dear Lord, save us.”

I bite back my grin. “They’re all spoken for, sorry. But my advice? Keep doing what you’re doing.” I pause. “We’re pretty similar actually…” We’re very similar.