Page 61 of Stetson
“What?” Stetson snapped his attention to Barrett. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Oh, he did. Show him, Bear.”
His cheeks still tinged pink, Barrett smiled at me. As embarrassed as he was about that night, he remembered it just as fondly as I did. He’d been shredding his napkin to pieces, and he dropped the scraps to the table. “You owe meso muchfor this.”
Barrett rolled up his shirt sleeve and moved in close to Stetson. Over the years, Barrett had covered nearly every inch of his body in ink. His first tattoo was buried in the intricate lines and swirls decorating his upper arm. Stetson searched the tattoos and I knew the moment he saw it. He smiled wide, and that precious dimple popped out. “Oh, my God.”
There, nestled between a tribal tattoo and a realistic-looking moth was a small word in shitty script: my name. Considering most artists won’t tattoo someone if they’ve been drinking, Barrett stumbled into a pretty shady place that night. He was so drunk, he practically bled all of the ink out. It was faded and blue, but still there. The artists working around it were creative in making it part of their art without covering it up.
“He won’t let me cover it,” Barrett said. “I’ve tried so many times.”
Stetson traced over the lines with his finger, and Barrett shivered. “What happened when the artist called you?”
Barrett met my eyes across the table, returning to his meal. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Happily. He passed out in the chair and refused to wake up. The artist fished his phone out of his pocket, searched for my name, and said if I didn’t come get him that he would call the police. I knew that night that I was done for.”
That time when I met his gaze across the table, Barrett gave me that grin that made me fall for him in the first place. “The rest is history,” he said, reaching out for my hand. I slid mine into his palm, and he held the other out for Stetson. “Then we met you. Stetson, no matter what happens on that field, please know that we want you here. Weneedyou here. You took an amazing love story and gave it the most beautiful epilogue. We love you, and the outcome of a baseball game isn’t going to change that.”
Damn, Barrett took the words right out of my mouth. My two men shared a look over the table, and my heart soared. Stetson then crooked a brow. “Even if that game is the World Series?”
Barrett gave his hand a squeeze. “Especially then. Baby, we’ve already made it. No matter what the outcome is, we’re the best players in the league. When we walk into that stadium tomorrow, all eyes are going to be on us.”
Our boy relaxed, his mouth easing into a soft smile. “About that. I had an idea.”
31
BARRETT
Stetson’s ideawas a bold one. It had never been done in the history of pro sports. Not to my knowledge anyway, but I didn’t hesitate to agree. And as I stood in the clubhouse suiting up, I only felt more secure in my decision. Though that did little to ease my nerves. There was still a chance that this could go horribly wrong. These seven games were the last ones I would ever play in the majors. Given that we had yet to win a game against the Thrashers, it was likely that they’d murder us on the field instantly.
The clubhouse was dead quiet, but you could feel the energy throughout the place. The opening ceremonies were already underway. The thumping of the music rattled the walls. I placed my cap on my head and turned as the door opened and Britney stepped in, covering her eyes. “Is everybody decent?”
“Like you’d care if we weren’t.”
She dropped her hand. “You’re right. It’s not like I can become any more of a lesbian.” Arms crossed over her chest, she leveled me with a glare. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I am.” I thought I’d feel differently as I suited up for what would be the final games of my pro career, but I didn’t. The entire morning, all I could think about was doing it with the men I loved by my side. It felt almost serendipitous that we’d made it here together. The entire team filtered out of the clubhouse, but I stayed behind. “Is Stetson ready?”
Britney smiled, a rare, genuine one. “He’s had to be closely monitored so he doesn’t tip off the press too early.”
With my heart fluttering in my chest, I grabbed my cap. “Then I guess we’d better put the boy out of his misery.”
Every other member of the team went right, while I went left. I wouldn’t be announced with everyone else in the starting lineup. Stetson approached from the opposite direction, gracing me with a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms. When we’d first met, that cocky grin of his was etched into my memory. I’d seen countless press conferences, his contract signing, and numerous news reports with the same smirk on his face. But the closer we got, the more I got to know hisrealsmile. The one that made his eyes sparkle and seemed to melt every ounce of tension from his body—and mine. That was a gesture that had to be earned. It was reserved for a select few, and my heart swelled knowing that I was one of them.
Despite the overwhelming success of the press conference, we’d been careful about PDA. Vicky had truly done a number on us. But there, in the privacy of the tunnels, I didn’t hesitate to step into Stetson’s open arms. He demanded a kiss, to which I happily obliged. “You ready for this?”
“Hell yeah, I am,” he answered instantly. There was no hesitation.
I held him there, soaking up some of his confidence while we waited. Home team was announced first, then the away. Tension built with every name called, knowing that ours wouldn’t be among them. The announcer reached the end of the home list and switched teams. Even over his thundering voice, murmurs of confusion echoed through the stadium. I glanced at Stetson, who beamed up at me with a twinkle in his eye. Who could possibly be nervous when you’re being looked at like that? So I inhaled a deep breath and took his hand, lacing my fingers through his.
It was then that I noticed we were alone in the tunnel. Both publicists had disappeared. The team coaches and managers were already on the field. It would truly be all eyes on us.
After the starting lineup for each team was announced, the first pitch was thrown. Historically, the person to do it was an MVP from previous seasons. This year, with the help of our teams’ publicists, the league decided to switch things up.
“In light of recent events, our ceremonial first pitch is going to be performed differently this year. Since its creation, baseball has been widely known as America’s favorite pastime. We, as a nation, are changing, but there’s one thing that won’t: baseball. From Babe Ruth to Glenn Burke, the MLB has been widely diverse. Today is no different. On behalf of The Atlanta Thrashers, The New York Hellbenders, and the entirety of Major League Baseball, we extend our support to these two players. Today, the first pitch will be thrown and caught by two-thirds of baseball’s newest power throuple.”
My palm started to sweat, creating a slick glide along Stetson’s. Considering I was rooted to the spot, he took the first step toward the opening. When he threw that grin over his shoulder, my legs remembered how to move.
