Page 39 of Stetson
LEVI
Three Months Later
August
In some partsof the country, the temperature would have shifted by now. The leaves swapped their vibrant green for the warm oranges and reds that accompanied autumn. A cool wind would blow in the evening, causing that nervous person to take that step closer to their crush.
Georgia said to hell with that.
As if it were some competition, midday in Georgia climbed well over ninety degrees, pushing one hundred in some places. It was miserable, to say the least. Throw in some typical downtown Atlanta traffic, and it’s a recipe for disaster. My car’s air conditioner deserved a serious pay rise. My temper was nearing the end of its rope and I began to question turning around and going back home when the traffic finally cleared.
I didn’t go into the office very often, especially since my hands had been full in more ways than one. Major League Baseball was in the final rounds of games before the playoffs, and the tension could be felt throughout the community. If Barrett and Stetson weren’t working themselves to the bone in the gym, they were in our bed, driving me wild with every little move they made.
Ourbed. That was a new development. Stetson had moved in with us. Barrett brought it up and surprisingly, it was me who hesitated. The World Series was within eyesight, and neither of them needed any distractions. But we sat down and talked it out, ultimately deciding that it was time, even if it was soon. The two of them were up before the sun every morning, hitting the gym and running laps at a local little minor league field. Off the diamond, they were inseparable. Sometimes they were so tangled up together in the mornings that Barrett’s tattoos were the only indicator of which limb belonged to which man. In work mode, however, they challenged each other to be their best. The baseball gods knew what they were doing when they put those two men on rival teams. They would be far too powerful on the same side.
Even the short walk from the parking deck to my building had me drenched in sweat. I stepped through the rotary doors, pausing to welcome the chill from the overhead air conditioning. As I looked up from my phone, I noticed people staring. It didn’t faze me; I simply thought they wondered why some guy was stopped right in front of the door. Ignoring the stares—and the rest of my notifications—I pocketed my phone and took the elevator to the tenth floor. With Stetson and Barrett both out of town, the house was just too damned quiet. I couldn’t get anything done.
Though the oddities continued once I stepped into my suite. There were three offices, one off each wall. In front of the typically closed doors were two desks facing each other for our assistants. Today, my door was the only one shut. The other two were wide open and as the glass door shut behind me, my colleagues rushed out of their offices. They halted when they saw I hadn’t moved, and the assistants stopped what they were doing to glance between the group of us. I slipped my keys from my pocket. “Good morning?” I said quizzically.
The young assistants seemed just as lost as I was. Confused, they returned to their work, but that didn’t stop them from glancing my way. My two coworkers were sports agents as well: hockey and football. Our paths didn’t typically cross outside of friendly office chat. I unlocked my door, still feeling eyes on my back. Frustrated, I spun to face them. “What’s the problem?”
The two men shared a look. Mikey, the football agent, was the one to speak. “We didn’t think you’d be working today.”
I crooked my brow. “Why’s that?”
He shared another look with Kit, the hockey one, who strangely hadn’t said a word. “Quiet” wasn’t a word one would use to describe Kit Graves. “W-we thought?—”
“Spit it out, Mikey.”
“We saw the news,” Kit blurted.
That didn’t clear anything up. “What news?”
Mikey sighed and raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He tapped his assistant, Jay, on the shoulder, offering them a credit card. “Go get yourself some coffee.”
“It’s a hundred degrees outside,” they argued.
“Then make it anicedcoffee. And take Miranda with you.”
Okay, was the apocalypse happening? Jay and Miranda tossed me a look as they went for the door. I shrugged, and they disappeared. Mikey waited, watching through the glass until they were safely behind the elevator doors. He waved his hand to his office door. “Come in, have a seat.”
“I’m not one of your athletes, Mike.”
But that didn’t stop my legs from carrying me across the room. He let me in first, and I plopped myself into one of the chairs. I felt like I was in some sort of interrogation. Kit stood in the open doorway as if I’d make a break for it. Was I in some kind of trouble? Neither of them were my bosses, though, so I wasn’t sure what the hell could have been going on.
Mikey rounded his desk, sat down, and typed some words into his computer. He flipped the monitor around. Oh, shit.
On the screen was a news article.
Barrett Swindon: Player On and Off the Field
Beneath it was a picture of Stetson and Barrett, loved up on the rooftop restaurant of The PUBLIC Hotel in New York City. Their faces weren’t visible, but Stetson was leaning in for a kiss and the hand cupping his chin was definitely Barrett’s. His sleeve had slipped, revealing the snake inked around his wrist. My stomach roiled. I didn’t even continue to read the article. I simply leaned back in the chair and stared at the picture. There was no mistaking it. Instead, I focused on trying to identify the angle of the photo. The restaurant behind them was empty. There wasn’t a soul in sight, so clearly no one there took the photo. Besides, the camera was on the other side of the railing, which meant that someone would have to have been suspended 300 feet in the air.
Fuck, it was a drone.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’tbreathe.The playoffs were weeks away, and something like this would throw a wrench in both teams’ plans. The problem wasn’t two men on a date. The MLB instated a rule years ago that a player couldn’t be discriminated against for their sexuality. Sure, you had the odd fan that had something smart to say but not too many people paid much attention. It was 2023, and if the league got caught singling someone out because of who they chose to have in their bed, it would only end badly for them.
No, the problem lied in the teams themselves. Part of the fun in baseball was the tension, and I didn’t mean sexual. The Thrashers and The Hellbenders had a long history of rivalry. Why? No one was exactly sure, but it made for a fun game. There was never any deep hostility between the players, but baseball fans could get rowdy, especially where alcohol was involved. Mikey offered to scroll down so I could read the comments, but I declined. I didn’t want to. I came out in a world where people were less accepting, and I didn’t want to see that happen to either of my men. With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath, hoping that it would calm me down.
