“Wow,” Beckett said after nearly draining his bottle. “I won’t tell you what to do, C-man. Part of me wants to say, hell yeah. Squirt would be the luckiest fucking guy in the world to date you.” Beckett met his eyes seriously. “But what about baseball?”
“I’m okay that he’s not a baseball fan.”
He tapped Coury on the back of the head. “Fuck, you really are whipped. You? Baseball? The draft? Have you given up that dream?”
Something twisted sharply in his chest. Something he’d felt stirrings of before but hadn’t let himself consider fully. He swallowed. “It’s still my dream.”
“Then you’re leaving.” Beckett held his eyes earnestly—something Coury had rarely experienced. He understood the gravity of his friend’s caution. “If you get drafted, you’re going to some ass-crack tiny town to play minor league ball. Be honest. Are you really going to put his picture up in your locker? If your teammates are around, will you call him after a great game like I know you’d want to do? Do you see yourself inviting him to visit and stay with you, introducing him to your teammates?”
Beckett’s assessment was dead on. With each question, he struck at something Coury hadn’t really thought about. Coury looked away.
They were quiet for a long moment. “Whatever you do,” Beckett said, “don’t hurt him.”
Coury yanked his gaze up sharply. “I wouldn’t do that, Becks. You know that.”
“I notice how you stick up for him. You’ve always had his back.” Their eyes held again. “Don’t screw that up by thinking with your dick.”
Coury dropped his gaze to the bricks in the patio. After several seconds, Beckett got up. He put his hand on Coury’s back, patted it a couple of times, and walked back inside.
* * *
Liam
Having missed his chance when Beckett hooked Coury’s elbow and whisked him outside, Liam sagged onto a barstool.
He was tired; he wanted to go home. Anything to avoid the awkward conversations about who was he dating, when was he going to find someone, and his favorite: How could such a handsome young man as Liam not have a list of interestedladies?
Pop had nearly choked on a pig in a blanket when Liam’s Great Aunt Laura dropped that classic. How had no one told her Liam was gay? It hadonlybeen five years.
Most of the family gathered in small clusters. A few strays scanned the room for their next target. He ordered two sodas and strode purposely through it all, pretending he was bringing someone their drink. Coury taught Beckett that trick years ago, who’d then passed it on to Liam.
The small table near the front had been empty most of the night. Its distance from food and drink made it undesirable to most of the family, who craved the bland party food the Elk Lodge served.
He plunked onto the sturdy metal chair and tried not to wonder what they were talking about outside.
He pulled out his phone and groaned. At least another hour before anyone would leave. He nearly threw the phone across the room when the chair next to his slid back with a heavy shudder over the polished floors.
“Easy, Squirt,” Beckett said. “It’s just me.”
“Shit, Becks. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m tired of talking to family. I mean, family who are forty years older than us.”
“At least your cheeks aren’t bruised from everyone pinching them. It’s like I’m still a baby because I’m the youngest of all the cousins.”
“Not for long.” Beckett smirked. “Lana is pregnant, but don’t let that out. She plans to announce it tomorrow at brunch.”
“That’s cool.”
Beckett leaned back and stared at him.
“What? Do I have toothpaste on my face or something?”
“No, goofball. I’m just looking. Pop said you were a lot happier this semester and I can totally see it. I’m glad. I . . . you know.”
Liam swallowed the lump in his throat. “I really appreciate you coming to Harrison that weekend to make sure I was okay. Thank you.”
He managed to keep the tears at bay and held out his fist.
