Liam walked into the screened-in porch, looking for a place to sit. The gloves he and Coury had used to play catch the week before were still on the rack along the side wall. Baseball. Fucking baseball. Why couldn’t Coury have been good at something that didn’t require moving to east bumfuck? Or get a job that wasn’t in the last bastion of unofficially, officially sanctioned homophobia?
He ran his hand along the worn leather of Pop’s fifty-year-old glove. No. It wasn’t baseball, it was Liam. He’d wanted his teenage dream so badly, he’d ignored the warning flares fired in front of him.
The back door opened, and Pop slowly walked over.
“You okay?” He rubbed Liam’s back gently.
He shook his head. “No. I just hurt him.”
“How so?”
“When Becks told him to go, he looked to me and I didn’t say anything.” He should have at least chased after him, to tell him . . . something.
“Why not?”
“This is his dream.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.”
“Coury’s a big boy. You didn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.”
“I know, but I told him I understood the risk. I didn’t. Even with all the shit Beckett brought, did you see the look on his face when he got the call?”
“It’s a powerful dream. I lived it. No matter how small the chance is that you’ll make the major league, it’s hard to turn it down if you get the offer.”
He knew that in his head. To get this far defied the odds. Coury would be a fool to give it up.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
Pop stopped rubbing and made Liam face him. “Yes, he’s good.”
“Good enough to have a shot?”
“I think he’s good enough to get drafted. Beyond that is anyone’s guess. The odds say he’ll never get above the first level. But his chances are much better than, say, winning the lottery or picking the trifecta at the Kentucky Derby.”
Liam picked up the glove Coury had used and wrapped his fingers around the ball inside. Coury deserved the chance to see what happened. It didn’t matter that taking his shot meant they couldn’t be together. Coury was one of the most giving people he knew. Once they’d started spending time together, his crush quickly turned into love. If Liam asked, Coury would probably turn down his chance to . . .
He put the glove back on the shelf. “I needed to let go so he would chase his dream. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
The tears came before he could keep them in. Pop folded him into his arms like he’d done so many times when Liam was little. This time, his grandfather couldn’t hug away the hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Coury
The drive back to campus barely registered. His mind accepted what happened, but his heart didn’t. Liam never promised he’d stick around until the end, only that he understood what they were doing. The call from Coach had changed Liam. Like hearing it was really happening made it more real than before.
Music was already blaring when he reached the house. Everyone was ready for a party. He had been, too, when he left to get Liam and Beckett. Doing his best to avoid his fraternity brothers, he trudged up the stairs.
He paused at the spot where Liam had roared at him. Had it only been four weeks ago? When he got to his room, he stopped again to remember their first kiss.Did Liam wish he didn’t remember for real?
Luke nearly dropped his textbook when Coury walked in. “Coury! Didn’t expect you back so soon. Where’s Liam and Beckett?”
“Probably still at Pop’s house.” He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto his bed. “They’re not coming.”
Luke flipped his book over and sat on the edge of his bed. “Gonna tell me what happened?”
“Beckett walked into the house just as Liam kissed me. Not a full Monty, but more than enough for him to figure it out.”
“And?”
