11. Chapter 11

Another day. Another loss.

Jackson didn't know if it had been better or worse that Mikey had finally pulled him off the bench and given him a designated hitter slot for the night. Trying to get this team out of its slump, he'd said when he'd posted the lineup.

Deke and Jackson had exchanged glances, and it was clear from Deke's wry smile that he hadn't blamed Jackson for taking his slot. After all, it wasn't like Deke had been getting it done at the plate—but then nobody else had, either, which was why they were currently inthis mess.

"Hey," Deke said, coming over to him, "let's grab a beer."

This time he didn't ask, he just stated it, and this time Jackson didn't argue.

He didn't want to go back to the room and deal with Connor. He'd either yell at him or do something else . . .something he really wasn't supposed to do.

Besides, he'd wanted to hang out with Deke for awhile, and the two of them hadn't had a lot of time to talk since he'd been traded to the Rogues.

"Sure," Jackson said. "Let me grab my stuff."

As he finished getting ready, pulling on a clean T-shirt and running a hand through his still-damp hair, he could feel Connor's eyes on him.

Maybe if Connor hadn't been so goddamned frustrating during the last few days, he'd have stopped by his locker and told him he was going out with Deke, but he didn't.

There's no point, he told himself, as he and Deke exited the ballpark and headed down the street towards a bar Deke said he'd found.

It had a nice open-air seating area, with lights crisscrossing the courtyard, and wooden benches and tables. They ordered a bucket of beers and settled down at one of the empty tables.

"So," Deke said, his muscled tan forearms resting against the tabletop, "how's it going? You settlin' in okay?"

"Yeah, fine enough," Jackson said.

It was weird. Looking at Deke was like looking at himself, a few years back—when he'd still had hope that maybe he might make it out of minor league purgatory. And if he could focus on consistency, Jackson felt like Deke might have a real chance of doing it. His swing was a thing of beauty—but sometimes he went on dry streaks, like right now—and no major club wanted to take on that kind of liability.

But he still had time. A few more years, maybe, to straighten out and get to the show.

"Rooming with Connor must be an experience. I know Ro did before, but he balked at some point, and til now, he wasn't sharing with anyone."

"Yeah, he's sort of a slob," Jackson admitted. Didn't really want to admit more. It wasn't his right to out Connor, if his sexuality was as much on the down-low as it seemed to be.

"Sort of?" Deke laughed. "And everything else? Nobody givin' you a hard time, right?"

"Nope."

Deke nodded approvingly. "Didn't think they would, but never hurts to ask."

"Did they give you a hard time?"

"Actually," Deke said, leaning forward, voice dropping low, like this was a secret. "I find that nobody actually gives a shit, you know? I was all worried about it, when I was drafted a few years back, but I've never run into a single speck of trouble. How 'bout you?"

Jackson stared at him a little incredulously. Never run into a single speck of trouble. And here he was, completely convinced that his sexuality had demolished his hopes of making it in the majors.

It was a truth he'd held, bitter and sour, close to his chest for what felt like forever.

Of course nobody would treat him that way to his face, but there had been whispers, a handful of times, all early on, right after Davy.

But it was one thing to hold this to his chest, like an ugly secret, and it was another to tell someone else. Especially someone he didn't know all that well, like Deke.

"Honestly, not much from the other guys in the clubhouse," Jackson said. "And I've been in a lot of clubhouses."

"Yeah, you have," Deke said, leaning back and sipping his beer. "You got nobody special, then?"

Jackson laughed without humor. "Relationships in general in the minors are fucking brutal. How am I supposed to have one?"

"I got someone," Deke said. "Well, we're off and on, some. I'll admit that. It's not easy."

"No, it's not. I've never—not really. Not in any way that matters." It was harder than Jackson had thought, admitting out loud that he'd never cared about someone that way. That he'd never understood what it was to love someone so much he'd willingly throw caution to the wind.

Davy hadn't been love; they'd only been hooking up. And when he'd been traded, leaving Jackson behind, he'd only felt bitterness at how extraordinary talent could paper over any concerns over a guy's sexuality, not sadness. He'd never really missed Davy. Not the way he was sure he was supposed to, if he'd had feelings for the guy.

"That's fucking sad, man. I'm not gonna lie to you," Deke said.

"I know," Jackson said wryly.

"Sadder even than the fact Rob and I don't get nearly enough time together. Sadder even that we're breakin' up every six months or so 'cause it gets too goddamn hard."

"That sounds like it fucking sucks," Jackson said.

Deke shrugged. "It's not great. I know it would be better to let him go, you know? But I love him. He loves me. He doesn't want to hold me back. Fuck it, I don't want to hold me back. I wanna get to the show. Find some stability. Make some real money. Take care of him."

"You'll get there," Jackson said, even though he hardly knew if that was true.

"Not if I can't get this fucking drought off my back. I'm zero for the last twenty at-bats. We're losing. I'm going to end up—" Deke stopped abruptly, but Jackson knew what he'd been about to say. I'm going to end up like you.

He couldn't even be offended by it, because it was true.

"I get it," Jackson said. "I know I'm the cautionary tale."

"No, no." Deke smacked the table. "You wanna know the actual truth? You're actually the aspiration, Jackson. You played this game with integrity, no matter how many times you got traded and moved up and down. You were always yourself. Always gave your all. Even when the team you were on didn't appreciate it. Didn't deserve it."

"Not much to show for it, though," Jackson pointed out.

"Except maybe you're gonna clean up Connor Clark—and that's something that could be a real legacy, if he makes it."

"He's gonna make it." Even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming the whole goddamn way.

"So you think you can fix the Comet, huh?"

"Does he really need fixed?" Jackson said lightly, even though he, more than anyone else, knew that he did.

Connor was only a self-destructive streak away from imploding.

"You know he's a mess. He's been better since you showed up, though," Deke said thoughtfully.

"Well, he's a real pain in my ass," Jackson admitted. More than you know.

"Would you expect anything less from a diva starting pitcher?"

"Hell no," Jackson said. "But, he's a real special case, anyway."

"Yeah he is."

For a few minutes, they sat there in companionable silence, drinking their beers.

Then, like clockwork, just when Jackson had finally begun to relax, the tension in his neck and shoulders that had been a constant companion, ever since Connor had admitted in that brash but vulnerable tone, I'm attracted to you, finally beginning to unwind, he heard a raucous cheer coming from inside the bar.

"Oh, looks like the rest of the team made it," Deke said, chuckling. "Two guesses who that is, and the first one doesn't count."

"Ugh," Jackson said. He finished his beer and cracked another bottle open. "I didn't realize they'd be here too."

"Yeah, Ro and TJ and Kevin and I came here the other night."

"Ah," Jackson said.

Another cheer went up, even louder than the first.

"You gonna go check on that?" Deke asked.

"Hell no," Jackson said. "He's a grown person. He wants to party hard, that's on him. He knows he's got a full simulated game he's throwing tomorrow. His choice if he wants to do that hungover."

"True," Deke said, chuckling.

"Hey, I got a question for you. You ever hook up with a teammate?" Jackson asked, sort of changing the subject. Well, as far as Deke knew he was changing the subject. Just not as much as Deke might think.

Deke looked surprised. "I'm assuming you're not suggesting me. And anyway, I'd think you'd have gotten your fill of that."

Jackson tried not to visibly wince. He'd assumed that most players knew what had gone down between him and Davy. After all, there was a reason his sexuality was an open secret.

"No, no, not you," he joked weakly. "It's nothing. No one. I was just wondering."

"You know, better than anyone else, it's a bad idea. So no, I never did." Deke flashed him a smile. "Can't say I wasn't tempted a time or two, when Rob and I were on a break, and the road trip was long. But I just never wanted to complicate things that much more."

"Exactly," Jackson said. See, he was being reasonable here. He was being smart and logical. Connor was the one out of his fucking mind.

"You're not—"

"No, no, no," Jackson said. "No way."

"I didn't even know anyone else on the team even swung that way," Deke said thoughtfully. "Who is it?"

Jackson shot him a look.

"Okay, I know. You can't say. But I'm surprised."

"Makes two of us," Jackson admitted.

"I'm assuming you told him no way," Deke said.

"Of course I fucking did," Jackson retorted.

"It's Connor, isn't it?"

Jackson's jaw dropped open. Probably the shock on his face was answer enough, even though he'd never intended to out the guy to Deke.

Deke waved his hand. "I know, I know. You don't need to say. You shouldn't say. But there's something about the way he looks at you. Like he wants to get under your skin. And he might be a dick, but he's not that much of a dick."

Jackson stared morosely at Deke. "I hope it's not that obvious."

"No, no, I just . . .I could feel that crackle. It's not one-sided, either, yeah?"

"It's one-sided," Jackson argued.

Sure, he was lying, but hopefully Deke could be persuaded to believe it.

"You want it to be one-sided. That kid is a dick, but he's hot. I know it. You know it."

"I wish I knew it a little less," Jackson said grumpily.

"He's not pushing you, is he?"

"Oh, he thinks he's pushing me," Jackson said. "What he doesn't realize is I'm immune to his regular bullshit. Prancing around wearing practically nothing. Batting his eyelashes. Corny lines. I'm no fucking amateur here. I've got self-control."

"But there's more to the kid than just a pretty face, yeah?" Deke observed.

"That's the problem—when he's not trying."

Deke grinned.

"You wanna switch rooms with me? I'll tolerate his bullshit."

Jackson shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got this. He'll deal with it. Millie'll set him up with a friend when we get back to Raleigh, and this whole thing will be forgotten about."

"You sure about that?"

He wanted to be sure about it. He wanted to believe this was fleeting. That Connor had the attention span of a gnat and soon enough, he'd start looking at someone else. But there was a part of him, deep down, that wasn't quite so sure.

"I need to be," Jackson said bluntly. "This can't happen. I can't fuck a teammate. I certainly am not going to fuck this teammate."

"Right, right, I'm not saying you should. I'm just saying . . .I think our young Connor might want a guy for the first time in his life, and that's not so easy to shake. You know that, same as me."

"I'm not the first," Jackson disagreed. He certainly didn't think it had happened often, but he was familiar enough with cocky, I'm-a-fucking-gift-to-the-universe guys. They always experimented, because why not?

"I don't know," Deke said slowly. "I kinda think you might be. I've never seen him even look twice at another guy before. Not even the tiniest ping on my radar, and I've been with the guy for awhile now. Close quarters. I'd have seen it."

"Or maybe I'm just his type."

Deke shot him a look. "Then he'd have hit on me."

Okay, he and Deke did look kinda alike. Jackson could see it. Similar build. Dark hair. Deke's eyes were a lighter brown, almost like brown sugar. But yeah, if Connor was into him, he might've been into Deke too—a thought that hadn't even occurred to Jackson until now.

"You didn't think you were the first," Deke stated, chuckling under his breath. "You thought it would pass."

"I don't know that I'm not," Jackson said. But he was beginning to see it. And goddamn, that was going to make everything harder.

Connor was going to close his teeth around this and not want to let go, because he'd see it as his chance. His opportunity.

Deke reached over and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "You got this. You're Jackson Evans. You know the score. You're not gonna let him get to you . . .and if he does, then you know I can help."

"Yeah," Jackson agreed.

On one hand, it was easier now that Deke knew.

On the other, he did not want Deke to intervene. He was fucking hiding from Connor, and yet he also didn't want to switch roommates.

Was he not willing to give up the extra opportunities to mold the kid into a major league pitcher? Or was it more?

Jackson hoped, fervently, that it was the former way more than the latter—but he still couldn't deny the latter was some small part of his motivation.

The noise from the bar spilled out in the courtyard, and Jackson glanced up to see Connor, eyes glassy and face flushed, walking out of the bar, Ro and TJ trailing after him.

"Thought I saw you out here," Connor said, setting a hip on the edge of the table, only inches away from where Jackson was sitting.

Deke's eyebrows raised and he shot Jackson a cautionary glance.

He didn't have to. It was obvious that Connor was feeling some kind of way.

"Here I am," Jackson said.

"Should I be jealous?" Connor asked petulantly—even though it was clear he already was, and nothing Jackson could say would change that.

He certainly wasn't going to say, not in front of Ro and TJ, that even though Deke was gay, Connor had absolutely nothing to worry about. Deke wasn't going to be the thing stopping Jackson from touching him.

That was sanity.

"No," Deke said, chuckling under his breath. Clearly he'd read the situation just as easily as Jackson had.

"Are you drunk?" Jackson asked, even though he hadn't intended to. If Connor wanted to get wasted tonight, that stupid as fuck decision was all his.

"A little," Connor said, shooting him a lopsided smile.

"You're gonna regret that in the morning," Jackson said bluntly.

"I tried to tell him," Ro pointed out.

"A hundred people couldn't have held him back from drinking everything he could get his hands on tonight," TJ said under his breath.

"You are a drag," Connor retorted, shooting his friends a look. Then he turned those big blue eyes back on Jackson. Straight up fluttered his lashes. "You wanna take me back to the room?"

Jackson absolutely did not. But then if he didn't, Connor might drink more. Might do more than that—he might make a spectacle of himself and forget why acting like this was a bad idea.

Of course, it had been clear that Connor hadn't agreed with him that it was a bad idea. Connor was so stupid he'd probably believe he could hit on everyone, proclaim his sexuality to the skies, and think he'd never pay for it.

Davy didn't.

It was kinda true. The player who had ended up accidentally exposing Jackson's sexuality had ended up on another major league team and had made a respectable career for himself. According to Deke, it hadn't hurt him, either, but then he hadn't made it to the show yet.

But Jackson hadn't been so lucky. The truth had killed, slowly, what was left of all his hopes and dreams.

"Fine, yes, let's go back to the room," Jackson said and stood. He nodded at Deke and, grabbing Connor's arm, started to steer him towards the courtyard's exit.

"You seem mad at me," Connor said playfully, leaning into Jackson's touch, not shying away from it, the way he should.

"I'm not," Jackson said. But he kinda was, wasn't he?

He was fucking furious Connor would jeopardize all the hazy brilliance of his future for a pair of quick orgasms.

Maybe that's not all it would be.

But Jackson ignored that voice. First off, it wasn't happening at all, and second off, he and Connor were definitely not some star-crossed epic love story.

Connor stumbled and Jackson propped him up against the brick front of a dark building. "You alright?" he asked, even as he told himself he didn't give a shit if Connor was alright.

It was his job, sure, but it was more than that.

Maybe it would make him feel slightly less like a washed-up try-hard if he could convince Connor to make the right choice. To take the better path.

The path you didn't take.

"I don't get why you're the one who's pissed," Connor said petulantly. "When you're the one who was out sharing a nice cozy drink with Deke. Flirting with him."

"So you were jealous, huh?" It had been painfully obvious, but he'd still wanted to deny it.

"What's wrong with me? Why are you avoiding me?"

"You know why I'm avoiding you. It's a bad idea to do . . .well, anything you would want to do," Jackson said, barely hanging on to his patience.

"So you say," Connor said bitterly.

"So I know." Jackson surprised himself with how gentle he sounded.

"You said I'd get over it, that I'd find someone else." Connor flung his arms out drunkenly and dramatically. "But there is nobody else. There's just you. Only you."

Jackson was not dumb enough to believe Connor was proclaiming his undying love. But if he wasn't, then maybe . . .no. There was no way Deke had been right. He wasn't the first guy Connor had ever been attracted to. No fucking way.

"You need to try to stand up straight and tell me the truth," Jackson said, taking a step closer, even as his brain screamed that this was the worst idea.

Connor nodded happily. "Sure. Anything."

"Did you . . .uh . . .did I . . .have you ever been attracted to a guy before?" Jackson stammered. Trying to find a way to ask the question without sounding unbearably full of himself. Was I the guy who did it for you? The very first one? Because he wanted that, more than he'd imagined; and just like that, suddenly, he was the jealous one.

He didn't want Connor to have a string of gay hookups under his belt.

You want to be the one who opens his eyes. Who shows him how it could be.

But even if Jackson could, even if he would, he wasn't the guy for the job. Because Jackson barely knew, either.

He'd had Davy for a few short days, and after that, there'd only been a handful of completely anonymous hookups that cumulatively probably had lasted less than a few hours total.

"Are you asking if you were the first guy? Are the first guy?" Connor licked his lips and leaned in. His eyes were an unbearably smoky blue, his blond hair glinting from the nearby streetlight. He looked like he'd been dipped in gold, and Jackson had resisted this so hard, but goddamn, he wanted to eat him up.

He wanted to let this change both of them.

"Yes," Jackson said. "Did you know before this?" Before me?

"You're the first," Connor said. He reached up and cupped Jackson's jaw. He could feel the callouses of it, through the scruff. If anyone came by them right now, he could probably laugh this off as Connor being drunk as hell, but was he, really?

Connor was tipsy, certainly.

But he knew exactly what he was doing when his body leaned in against Jackson's.

"Godamnit," Jackson ground out.

He'd wanted it—and he'd not wanted it, too.

Because Deke was right, you never forgot your first. The one who opened your eyes. Who showed you that whole other world. Who made you forget yourself for the very first time.

He wanted to be that for Connor. And the possibility also terrified the hell out of him.

"You're pissed off again," Connor said, frowning in disappointment.

"No. Yes. I'm . . ." Jackson knew he should take a step away. "It's easier to deal with you when you're prancing around shirtless, batting your ridiculous eyelashes at me and saying outrageous things."

"None of that worked?"

Jackson couldn't say none of them worked. He'd felt an undeniable pulse of lust when Connor had bent over, tantalizingly, wearing only that stupid pair of tight gray boxer briefs. He was trying to do the right thing; he wasn't dead. And now he knew every inch of what Connor's bare chest looked like, even as he'd tried hard not to stare. The faint outlines of his abs, the flex of his pecs, the ripple of his biceps. And God, those endless legs. No matter what happened, he'd be seeing the tan glory of Connor Clark every time he went to touch his cock for many, many months to come.

Maybe even years to come.

"No," Jackson said.

Connor chuckled wryly. "Maybe you aren't attracted to me. I was so sure."

Jackson was going to one hundred percent regret this confession, but he made it anyway. "Like that, you're easy to resist. Like this, it's gonna take everything I have in me to go back to the room with you and not pull you into my bed."

Connor's eyes glazed over, like he wanted nothing else.

"I thought . . ." Connor hesitated, licked his lips. And yeah, it wasn't like Jackson hadn't considered kissing him. He'd thought about it. Once. Twice. A thousand times. "I thought you didn't like me."

"You are absolutely a pain in my ass. But you're not . . .unlikeable. That doesn't change anything, though."

"Doesn't it?"

"Not for me," Jackson said firmly, and even though it nearly killed him, he took a step back. The hardest challenge would be when they got back to the room. Because no doubt Connor was already planning to throw himself at him.

"You're a very frustrating man," Connor said, no judgment in his tone, as they started walking again towards the hotel.

"Heard that before," Jackson said.

Connor laughed.

"You're gonna regret this, tomorrow, when you throw that simulated game," Jackson observed a minute later.

"Maybe," Connor said. "I'm not nearly as drunk as Ro worried I was."

"I know," Jackson admitted.

Connor nudged him. It was a casual touch, without any of the seductive intent of the last few days.

That made it better. And also worse.

Maybe in another situation—another whole fucking universe—they might've been friends.

And more, Jackson's uncooperative brain added.

They got to the hotel and took the elevator up to their floor.

Jackson found himself bracing for what Connor would say—what he would do—when they were finally in the room, but to his surprise, once the door closed behind them, Connor didn't even take his shirt off. Just sat on the edge of the mattress and asked a question instead.

"You really thought I had what . . .like a whole string of very manly hookups under my belt? Really? Do I give that vibe?"

"You seem, uh . . .very confident," Jackson said. He figured that was the best way he could describe it. He definitely did not want to tell the guy how much more it meant that it was him. How much harder it was going to make resisting him, because if he did confess that particular truth, Connor might not let up.

"Is that really it?" Connor asked skeptically.

Well, shit.

Jackson decided this would be a good time to head to the bathroom. Get ready for bed. Hopefully cut Connor off before he got too close to the truth.

"Are you running away again?" Connor asked, trailing after him and standing in the doorway as he brushed his teeth. He'd removed his shirt. Because of course he had. "You've spent an awfully long time in this bathroom recently."

Jackson spit into the sink and ran water to rinse it down the drain. Something he was fairly certain Connor wasn't doing. That was definitely going to be a lesson for another day—how to be a respectful roommate during a three-week-long road trip, so the guy who was stuck with you didn't want to murder you in your bed.

"Maybe I'm just trying to avoid the pile of clothes on the floor that looks like it's about to take over all the available floor space."

Connor made a face. "Are you calling me a slob now? What happened to the stuff about you inviting me to your bed? Let's talk about that instead."

"Let's not." Jackson put his toothbrush away, eyeing how Connor's toiletry kit was about to do the same thing to the countertop that his clothes were doing to the bedroom floor.

"Guess you're worried you wouldn't be able to resist me if we did," Connor said, leaning in and waggling his eyebrows.

"And this," Jackson said dryly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "is exactly what makes it easier. So thanks for that."

"Ugh," Connor cried as Jackson exited the bathroom. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"Get used to it," Jackson said.