1. Grant

Life is full of dilemmas.

Some are big. Some are little. The key is to know how to handle both.

I've tackled the super-size dilemmas. Hell, the path I've traveled the last few years has been marked with tons of them. After navigating roadblocks and potholes, I can say with certainty I'm finally living my best life.

Not because it's free of predicaments.

Because it's full of little ones.

Would I rather have a hand job or a blow job from my boyfriend when I wake up in the morning? Or is today going to be one of those epic days when we can go all in and bang each other like crazy in our king-size bed? Full on, no-holds-barred, trade-on-and-off-and-on-again sex till we are both wrecked?

Hell, who's on top is my favorite quandary.

Unfortunately, choosing from the fantastic options at my favorite sex buffet is neither a big nor a little dilemma today. With Declan out of town, I'm a sex-camel on desert rations.

When I park my car in the players' lot at the San Francisco Cougars ballpark one Thursday afternoon in July, I grab my phone and the opportunity to text my man. That's how we make it through the season's away games—message, Zoom, FaceTime... all the usual suspects.

It's not ground-breaking, maintaining a long-distance relationship through technology. These routine textual check-ins with Declan are so damn relationshippy, but that's what I love about them—every day, I remind him that I want him and miss him, and every day, I feel wanted and missed in return.

As I walk through the lot, weaving through my teammates' McLarens, Ferraris, and Mercedes, I fire off a text to my man.

Grant:All-Star break one stinking day away. Why are we not taking off for Hawaii on Saturday instead of Houston?

Declan:Mmm. Don't tempt me. You, me, and three days to relax in the sun is my new fantasy.

Grant:By relax, I assume you mean fuck?

Declan:I did say fantasy, Grant. Fucking you is always part of my dream scenario, you know that.

Grant:Since we're in different leagues and starting against each other in the All-Star game, I have this elaborate fantasy of making sure you strike out in your first plate appearance. Nothing will make me happier than playing a part in taking down my lover.

Declan:Tell me more about this COMPLETELY IMPROBABLE fantasy. (Also, why the fuck do you daydream about me failing?)

Grant:Because it means I can handle playing baseball and being with you. Because it means you don't distract me. Because calling the right pitches to strike you out means I can fuck you at night and love you at home and compete with you at work.

Declan:Fucking and loving. Count me in. But for the record, I can't wait to clobber the fuck out of whatever pitch you call at the All-Star game—hit that and knock it out of the ballpark.

Grant:All I read was hit that. Maybe you'd like to hit that when you come home tonight.

Declan:Or maybe you would. Such a big dilemma. I do, however, have another dilemma regarding our plans this weekend.

I tense, almost to the door. Is he going to back out of our plans? Clubbing has never been his thing. But it's my thing, and I desperately want to go dancing with my boyfriend in public. I can't wait to take him out tomorrow night.

Grant:Talk to me.

Declan:I still don't know what the hell to wear to Edge.

I laugh as I push open the big steel doors to the stadium, relieved his big quandary is of the clothing variety. That, I can handle.

Clicking on his name, I call him as I walk along the ballpark's underground concourse. "Is this a fashion emergency call?" Declan jokes when he answers.

"Evidently," I say. "But it doesn't have to be. You know I think you always look good no matter what you wear. Jeans, Henleys, T-shirts, polos, basketball shorts..."

"Presuming you don't want me to wear the latter?"

"Good call. But I'll help you find just the right thing to wear dancing." I like to make his life easy. I want Declan to feel at home anywhere we go and whatever we do. "I was worried your dilemma was how to wriggle out of our date."

"Wait. Was that an option?" he asks, deadpan. "I'll try wriggling."

I scoff. "Please. You can wriggle with me on the dance floor. I'm an awesome dancer, and I'll make sure you look good."

"Bet I'd look good dancing at home," he says, in a flirty, teasing tone.

"No doubt, but I want to see you at the club with me, and I'm giving you the Grant Blackwood promise that you're going to have the best night ever."

He takes a beat before he answers. "Then, tell me what to wear. That'll solve my dilemma."

"I'll take care of your clothes. You don't have to worry your pretty head about it."

"Just don't make me look like I stepped out of an Abercrombie Fitch ad."

I snap my fingers. "Damn. You figured out my plan. Are you thinking REI outdoor couture is more your speed?"

He groans. "Please say you're not going for a lumberjack or sailor look."

Despite our banter, I assure him sincerely, "Trust me on this, okay?"

When Declan answers, his voice goes to that soft and tender tone that melts me completely. "I trust you on everything, Grant."

I resume my pace, headed to the locker room at the far end of the concourse. "I've got you. And, in case I haven't said it, thank you for going."

He laughs. "It's adorable how badly you want to do this."

"Have you seen a mirror?" I ask. "I scored big time. I landed a babe, and I want all the guys to know you're with me."

"I'm pretty sure your social media feed makes that clear."

He's not wrong. We posted pictures of us at a carnival for LGBTQ teen athletes two months ago. They were my most liked images ever. Last month, I posted a shot of us out for bagels on a Saturday with a bunch of friends, laughing. Second most popular one. Earlier this month, Reese snapped a pic of Declan and me when we were playing pool with the crew. Declan was lining up a shot, and it looks like he's staring at me at the edge of the pool table.

He knows I post them. I show them all to him before I put them out there for the world. He's good with it, but he's more private than I am. Yes, he likes to hold my hand in public, to kiss me on the cheek when we get coffee, but he's not as showy. The only pic of us he's posted on his social media is the carnival one. But that was enough for me. I've always been louder than he is, and that's cool with both of us. I like telling my story. I like that people get to see our love story.

The walls have come down, the times have changed, and I don't just want to live in these better times—I want to embrace them. I want to celebrate them. I love living in a world where gay love stories have come out in the open. Hell, you can't turn on the TV without seeing an LGBTQ Christmas movie or a teen ask-him-or-her-to-the-prom flick, and that is every kind of awesome. I want to be part of that movement. Sometimes I feel like that's one of the reasons I'm here on Earth.

To tell our love story.

But I've never said that to Declan. I've never said that to anyone. Maybe it's too big a sentiment. Too crazy a belief to say out loud—that it feels like that's my calling.

Besides, I'm not sure how Declan would take it.

So, I keep it to myself, for now, but open the side door into the conversation. Maybe I can give him a peek at my goals. "Look, I don't like to hide how I feel for you," I say, putting that out there, my shoes echoing loudly throughout the hall as I walk.

"I love that you feel that way, but does that mean you have to dance with me? In public?" Those last two words—in public—come out a little strangled, but maybe it's the phone connection. I have a feeling he's underground, too, at the Philly ballpark.

"I kind of want to stake a claim on you in public. That's why I want to dance with you in public," I say, keeping my answer to his dancing question as simple as can be, focusing on the physical, though it's a step into what I want and why I want it. "Since PDA is kind of a thingof mine," I say, drawing a deep breath as I put that out there, "I'm a bit of an exhibitionist."

"That doesn't surprise me," he says, but there's a sliver of distance in his voice, and he doesn't address the PDA reveal.

I file both those things away. Maybe I do need to tone down my desire to show us off. "Listen, if you'd rather stay home, we can curl up on the couch tomorrow night and watch... antiquing shows."

A laugh spills across the phone line. "We are not watching antiquing shows. And yes, I get that you're into PDA. I love that it's one of your things. You know what else I love?"

"Tell me."

"I love that you'd be willing to not go for me."

"You matter more to me than my desire to kiss you in public, okay? Know that. Just know that. I never want to make you uncomfortable."

He's quiet for a few seconds, saying nothing.

Have I asked for too much? Even though he's out, he's never going to be as much of a show-off about our love life as I am. Shoes click against the floor over the phone line as voices grow louder in the background. Sounds like he's near the locker room.

"Listen, babe. Do you know what my thing is?" he asks.

"What's your thing?"

"Making you ridiculously happy." Declan clears his throat. "But I need to take off. Batting practice is starting soon. I'll be home late."

Home.

My favorite word.

Declan is my home, and feeling that way is all I've ever wanted.

After we say goodbye, I send a quick text to Reese, asking if she wants to meet up after the game to handle the fashion dilemma, then I put the phone away, glad that Declan and I talked. Glad that our routine includes talking. We weren't good at that for a long while. We had to learn to open up. But we did, and that's why these relationship moments matter so much. They say we can do this thing—be together with crazy jobs, be together in the spotlight, live our life the way we want. But more so, these moments say we've conquered the demons of the past. They say we've got this.

It took us a long time to get here.

Five years.

Heartbreak.

Pain.

So much missing. More than I ever thought possible. The years apart were great and awful at the same time. I grew up. I grew into my goals. I became the man I wanted to be. Once I did that, my heart and my mind were ready—so damn ready—to bring love into my life in the biggest way possible.

With the only man I've ever loved.

Some days I think we have an embarrassment of riches. Some days it feels like we're the luckiest guys alive. As if all the heartache is behind us and it's only smooth sailing ahead.

Yup, I like that life. I like it a lot.