Page 41 of Stetson
I smiled to myself. Thinking that Levi would be anything but concerned for me was laughable. He’d never made me feel like anything less than his top priority. Only now, I had to share that spot. Looking down at my cleats, my grin faded. Either this whole ordeal would send Stetson running for the hills, or off the rails. I glanced at my phone hanging out of my jacket pocket. Worrying my bottom lip, I contemplated calling him, but he’d already be on the field. So I grabbed the phone and called the only other person who could make me feel better in that moment.
“Bear…”
Eyes closed, I melted in his voice. That gruff, rumbling sound alone calmed the hornets shredding my stomach to pieces. “Hi,” I said softly, trying not to draw the attention of my teammates.
“Are you okay?”
I considered lying, but I didn’t have it in me. “Not really.”
“I can be on a plane in an hour.”
“No,” I answered instantly. “As much as I hate to admit it, it might make things worse. The whole baseball community thinks I’m a cheater.”
“We could tell the truth.”
“We can’t, Lee. Not without talking to Stetson.” Levi groaned, and I imagined him tugging at the ends of his hair like he tended to do when he was stressed. “If you’re going to go anywhere it should be to Orlando. If someone crosses him the wrong way?—”
“He’ll combust,” Levi finished.
“And I’d hate to be the people caught in the blast zone when he detonates.”
Levi sighed, admitting that I was right. I’d already heard some of the terms that were being thrown around about Stetson, and while “homewrecker” was among the milder ones, it still wasn’t nice. I didn’t imagine he would take kindly to someone saying it to his face. “I love you, Bear,” Levi said. “And I’ll say it to anyone who asks.”
A grin tugged at my lips. “I love you too, but maybe you should keep your head down until we meet with the publicists.”
We hung up, and I tucked my phone away. Rolling my neck and squaring my shoulders, I tied the laces on my cleats and stood up. It was time for me to put my game face on. A few players hung around, staring at me. “Can I help you?”
Every single one of them flushed a bright shade of red and suddenly found something more interesting to do.
God, this was going to be a long game.
* * *
We lost. Horrifically.
That wasn’t even the worst part. I couldn’t turn one way or the other without seeing the flash of a camera, or having some reporter jam a microphone in my face. It didn’t matter how many “No comments” I threw their way, they were relentless.
Ihatedjournalists.
My teammates wanted nothing to do with me, and I couldn’t blame them. I’d be pretty pissed if the tables were turned, but I knew I had to be careful. Polyamory was beyond one of the most misunderstood situations in the world.
Back in the locker room, I collapsed into my seat and pulled my hat off my head. I needed a shower, desperately, but I found myself torn between braving the clubhouse showers or finding myself a hotel and holing down for the night. I didn’t want to stay with the rest of the team. Though getting anywhere unseen would be difficult without the team’s security.
Though I didn’t necessarilywantto see the backlash, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the seemingly endless notifications. There was only one name I wanted to see and there, buried amongst all the other bullshit, was a text from Stetson. Needing nothing more than to hear his voice, my finger hovered over the call icon.
“Swindon!”
Startled, my phone clattered to the floor. I glanced over my shoulder to see one of my coaches coming my way. It was odd, having a coach that was so close in age to me. Younger, actually. He’d retired after a career-ending injury, but his love of the game kept him in it. He was still fit, his black polo pulling tight across his chest. He tugged his Hellbenders team cap off his head and removed his sunglasses. “The publicist is ready for you.”
Of course she was. But I wasn’t ready for her, not ready to face the fire. Exhausted and no longer concerned about the shower, I grabbed my duffel and slung it over my shoulder, then retrieved my buzzing phone from the floor. It was Stetson again. “Later,” I said to my coach.
“Barrett, I wasn’t?—”
“I said, ‘later.’” Fuck, I wanted to cringe away from the tone in my own voice. I didn’t get mean or snappy very often, but it had been a long, exhausting day, and the last thing I wanted to do was figure out a statement. I wasn’t even sure what I’d say and in my eyes, putting out a lie was worse than hunkering down until I was ready.
Even my teammates had stopped what they were doing, gathering around to watch the show. “I’m exhausted,” I said in a much calmer tone. “In the last twelve hours, my private life has been exposed to the world for the second time in my career. Sue me if the only thing I want to do right now is hide. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. The publicist and those vultures crowding around outside the clubhouse doors will get their statements when I’m damn good and ready to give it to them.”
As I moved to leave, a hand found my bicep to hold me in place. I sighed, defeated. I should have known better. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, then motioned for Coach to leave the clubhouse ahead of me. Ignoring the skeptical look he threw me, I trudged behind him.
