Home Field Advantage

“HEY, Toby!”

Toby looked up from where he was picking up another discarded towel, just in time for a wad of athletic tape to bounce off his forehead, thrown by one of the other clubhouse staffers.

“Funny, Charlie.” Toby grabbed the tape and dunked it into the trash can next to him with one hand and, with the other hand, dropped the towel into the large rolling laundry basket he’d been pushing around the room. The clubhouse was a wreck, as it usually was after a game, but Toby and the rest of the staff would have it back in shape in no time.

“So, what are you doing over the break, Tobes?”

The question came from Marty Boynton, the assistant team trainer who’d become a mentor of sorts to Toby. Toby grinned. “As little as I can get away with until Tuesday,” he said. “And then it’s back here for two days of prep work.”

Marty shook his head. “Don’t know why you do it at all, when you could be sitting in box seats in Phoenix Tuesday night if you wanted.”

Toby shuddered. “Who wants to sit in Phoenix heat this time of year? Besides, you know the clubhouse gets an overhaul during the All-Star break. You’ve been here almost as long as I have.”

“Yeah, but I don’t share a last name with the team owner.”

Toby sighed. “And that’s why I’m down here, and you know it.”

They’d had this conversation before. Yes, Toby’s grandfather was Ray Macmillan, who’d owned the Atlanta Braves for almost thirty years. And yes, Toby himself would soon own 30 percent of the team, left to him in trust when his parents died almost ten years earlier. For Toby, all that meant was he had to work twice as hard to make others believe he wasn’t some rich-kid slacker. That was why he worked with the clubhouse crew and the team trainers while in college, and not in some cushy desk job in the front office—or worse, no job at all.

Marty laughed. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time, kid.”

Toby snorted and tossed two more towels into his basket. “‘Kid’? What are you, all of thirty?”

“Thirty-one, and that’s still ten years older than you, kid.”

A noise at the door caught their attention before Toby could respond. He looked over to see a (cute, his mind noted) man stick his head inside, blinking blue eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Um…. Hi,” the man said. “I’m Caleb Browning.”

Toby blinked. “Oh, hey, we weren’t expecting you yet.” He dropped another towel into the basket and headed toward the door. “Come on in. I’m Toby. Did you come straight from the airport?”

Caleb nodded as he stepped inside, looking distinctly uncomfortable, his pale skin lightly flushed. “I got the first flight I could out of Jackson.” His voice was raspy, making Toby wonder if he’d napped on the plane or if it was always like that. “Kinda hoped I’d get here before the game ended, but I guess not.”

Toby smiled. “Nope. But I can give you the buck tour before you head home. Or to a hotel, I guess? Does the front office know you’re here?”

Caleb shook his head, that enticing blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “No. I didn’t call anyone. I just…. I guess I was so surprised to get the call that I figured I’d better get here fast before they changed their minds.”

Toby had to laugh at that. He might not work in the front office, but he did keep up with the goings-on of the franchise, including the farm clubs, and he knew about Caleb Browning. One of the rare players who’d finished his degree before heading to the minors, he’d spent the past few seasons as a good defensive catcher with too much tendency to strike out at the plate. This was his first cup of coffee in the majors, all the way up from Double-A in Mississippi, and Toby couldn’t blame him for finding it hard to believe he’d actually made it.

“We’ll take care of you,” Toby assured him. “I’ll give you a lift over to the Hyatt. We have a team account with them, so unless they’re booked up, they’ll get you a room without you having to pay an arm and a leg.” Taking a half step back, Toby gave Caleb a teasingly appraising look. “You might need those come Thursday.”

Well, Toby had intended the look to be teasing. From the flare of heat in Caleb’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure he’d succeeded. Half expecting Caleb to get the wrong idea (well, technically the right idea) and lash out, Toby took another step back, but Caleb just nodded, gaze locked on Toby’s.

“Sounds good” was all he said, and Toby let out a soft sigh of relief. He kept his sexuality under wraps around the ballpark, even with the way things had been loosening up over the past couple of years. If nothing else, his grandfather didn’t know, and Toby didn’t want to tell him until it became unavoidable. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation one bit.

“Let me get the last of these taken care of”—Toby waved toward the pile of dirty towels in the basket he’d left behind—“and I’ll be right with you. Feel free to have a seat.” He nodded toward the small grouping of padded leather seats near the doors, set up during the last renovation as a place for quick postgame clubhouse interviews.

“’Kay.” Caleb let the duffel bag over his shoulder slide to the floor, next to the rolling suitcase he’d pulled in, and lowered himself to the cushioned seats as Toby went back to work. Toby rolled his eyes as he gathered up the last of the used towels that lay discarded in front of lockers, despite the open basket he’d left sitting near the showers all day. Ballplayers were generally nice guys, but most of them were used to having someone else clean up after them, especially at the ballpark. Which, of course, was part of why Toby and his coworkers were there.

The last few towels corralled, Toby pushed the loaded laundry cart into its usual spot right outside the showers and gave the room one last look. The other crew members had finished up their tasks and were headed out the door one at a time, a few pausing to speak to Caleb or give him a nod of greeting. Toby suppressed an urge to do one last walk-through, as he often did when they had another game the next day. Thanks to the All-Star break, they didn’t play again until Thursday, and the whole place would get a thorough cleaning and restocking before them. He could leave with a clear conscience.

Besides, Caleb was waiting for him.

Toby gave himself a mental shake. Caleb was off-limits for many reasons, not least of which that Toby had no clue about his sexuality. Toby could enjoy Caleb’s eyes, his body, the shy smile he was giving now as Toby walked back toward him…. But that was all he could enjoy.

“Do you have a car? I mean, obviously not with you, but….”

Caleb nodded as he pushed to his feet and reached for his bags. “I didn’t try to drive out because I figured I might not be here long. I left it with my roommate back in Pearl.” He named the tiny town outside Jackson where the Braves’ Double-A affiliate played.

“Okay, well, if you call the office in the morning, they can probably set you up with something, so you’re not spending all your new salary on cabs.” Never mind that the major league minimum salary of nearly half a million was probably ten times more than Caleb had made in his entire career to this point. As Caleb noted, he might not stick around long, so he’d better bank all he could while he had the chance.

“Yeah.” Caleb slung his duffel over his shoulder and, dragging his roller bag behind him, followed Toby out the door and down the passageway toward the staff parking lot. “I just kind of threw everything into my bags and went when I got the call. Didn’t think about what would happen on this end until I was in the air.”

“Understandable.” Toby waved to the security guard next to the entrance as they stepped outside and then shot Caleb a quick grin. “I keep up with things. I know how long you’ve been waiting for this.”

Caleb gave him an inscrutable look. “Yeah, I guess you’d keep up, since you work here.”

It hit Toby that he’d never mentioned his last name, so Caleb likely had no idea who he was. “You could say that,” he admitted, leading the way to the parking space that would give him away anyway. When Ray Macmillan was out of town, Toby sometimes used his reserved space. He knew the moment Caleb realized where they were headed, because the man stopped in his tracks.

“Macmill… wait a minute.”

Toby turned and gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Toby Macmillan. Grandson. Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be all incognito or anything. I just didn’t think about it.”

The look on Caleb’s face sat somewhere between “holy shit” and “oh my God,” so Toby leaned in a little closer. “Hey.” Caleb slowly focused on Toby’s face. “I’m not a spy. I’m not going to report back to the owner on your every move. Maybe if I saw you robbing old ladies on a street corner, but I don’t think that’s quite your style, is it?”

Caleb relaxed visibly. “Nah. I’m more into card counting. Don’t take me to a casino.”

Toby laughed as they climbed into his Accord. Once they were buckled in, Toby pulled out and headed toward downtown. “Have you eaten?”

Caleb, who had been absorbed in watching the scenery go by—they’d just passed under the Olympic torch from the 1996 Games, which sat on a corner a few blocks from the ballpark—shook his head. “Not since breakfast. Like I said, I wasn’t really thinking about anything but getting here.”

“There’s a pretty decent restaurant in the hotel, so we can hit that if you want.”

Caleb turned his head then, blinking at Toby like he didn’t understand. “You want to have dinner together?”

“Sure,” Toby said, stopping at a light. “Unless you have a fear of Macmillans, which would be a tough thing, working in this organization. Or maybe you’d just rather be alone to settle in—”

“No!” Toby was surprised by Caleb’s vehemence at first, but then he realized he probably didn’t know a soul in town and would be happy for a little company. “Dinner’s great.”

Toby nodded. “Okay.” He took the turn onto the interstate and accelerated to highway speed. “There are a couple of ways to get downtown without getting on the interstate, but most of the time, this is fastest. Only a few exits up and a couple of turns to the hotel.” He smiled Caleb’s way. “With any luck, you’ll find a place quickly and not have to do this again anyway.”

Caleb sighed and dropped his head back against the seat back. “This is all just…. It’s like I’m gonna wake up and be back in a crappy little apartment in Double-A, you know? I haven’t been to Atlanta in years. I don’t have a clue where to start looking for a place.”

Toby maneuvered around a slow-moving, beat-up pickup truck and changed lanes to head for the exit. “Call the front office tomorrow,” he urged. “They’ll take care of you. They have info on, like, furnished apartments, so you don’t even have to worry about that stuff right now.”

Caleb chuckled. “Like I said, I barely even took time to pack. Didn’t have all that much but clothes with me in Mississippi anyway, but I left a couple boxes for Marvin to ship when I get an address for him to ship ’em to.”

“Well, you’ll get set up fast.” Toby turned left at the end of the ramp and drove toward downtown, the late Sunday afternoon traffic all but nonexistent. “I’ll give you my number, too, in case you need any tips. I’m sure it’s a big adjustment. Good thing you have a few days to get settled before the team’s back in action. And then a home stand too.”

He turned right onto Peachtree Street, watching from the corner of his eye as Caleb craned his neck to look up at the giant neon-lit guitar hanging on the front of the Hard Rock Cafe on the corner. He sure gave the impression of country-boy-come-to-town, though if Toby remembered correctly, he’d grown up in the Chicago suburbs of northwestern Indiana. Still, coming on the heels of almost ten years living in rural areas, first in college and then the minor leagues, Toby could understand the culture shock.

Toby pulled into the drive in front of the hotel and stopped. “Hop on out and head inside to check in,” he suggested. “Be sure to tell them you’re with the team. I’ll get the car parked and meet you.”

“Okay.” Caleb opened the door and unfolded himself from the car, pausing to grab his bags from the backseat before pushing the doors shut and heading inside. Toby elected to climb out there, too, and turned the car over to a valet in exchange for a claim check. He could’ve parked much cheaper on a surface lot nearby, but sometimes the convenience was worth it.

Walking inside, Toby nodded to the staff members he passed and headed toward the registration desk, where Caleb stood talking to a clerk. Caleb passed over ID and a credit card as Toby arrived, and the clerk, a young woman who looked mildly familiar to Toby, did a double take and then smiled at Toby in recognition before entering information on the keyboard.

“All set?” Toby leaned against the counter.

“Will be in a minute.” Caleb shot Toby a quick grin. “Just the smell from the restaurant has me freakin’ starving. It’s been a long day.”

“I bet.” Toby turned and tilted his head back to look up at the hotel atrium, rising some twenty stories above their heads. “I love this place. I’ve been coming here for all kinds of stuff as long as I can remember. Funny how the atrium never seems to get any smaller, even though I was a tiny thing the first time I remember seeing it.” He glanced around. “It looks a lot different at this level, though. They just renovated the place again the past couple of years.”

“Here you go, Mr. Browning,” the clerk said, drawing Toby’s attention. “This is your room number, and you’re in the Atrium Tower. All elevators go to all floors. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks so much.” Caleb turned, key card in hand, and grinned at Toby. “Let’s eat!”

 

 

AN HOUR and a half later, stuffed with shrimp, grits, and peach cobbler, Toby set down his fork and leaned back in his seat. “That was….”

“Amazing.” Caleb, still working on his own cobbler, grinned at Toby across the small table. The restaurant was nearly deserted except for them, the only sounds the soft clinking of dishes and the low piped-in music. A jolt went through Toby as he realized how date-like this all was.

Not a date, he told himself. Just a friendly dinner to welcome the new player to town.

But as Caleb smiled at him again, Toby saw the glint in his eyes. The way his gaze roamed Toby’s face. The way he leaned in, just a little, as if wanting to be closer.

Toby knew that look. He’d seen it before, dozens of times, and politely ignored most of them.

He just hadn’t expected to see it on someone like Caleb Browning.

He had to be imagining things. Had to. He looked away, out into the empty lobby, anywhere but at the gorgeous man across the table, making happy sounds in his throat as he enjoyed the last of his dessert. No way was Caleb interested in Toby. The chances of him liking men at all were miniscule. The likelihood of him risking anyone finding out if he did? Practically nonexistent.

Caleb finally set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, which he dropped onto the table next to his empty plate. “That was amazing.” He smiled, eyes sparkling with warmth and satisfaction, though the way they drooped at the corners gave away his exhaustion. “If that’s any sample of the way Atlanta feeds you, I may have to step up my workout regimen.”

Toby forced himself to relax and return the (friendly, he reminded himself) smile. “Extra warning track runs, for sure,” he agreed. “This place is good, but once you try the local places, the barbecue and the soul food, you’ll be hooked for life.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “I might be already,” he murmured. He didn’t seem to be talking about food anymore, but Toby couldn’t let himself think that. Instead, he pushed back his chair.

“Let me get this,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “A ‘welcome to the bigs’ present.” He nodded to their server as he slid a credit card into the leather-bound portfolio, which was quickly whisked away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Caleb tried to protest, but Toby just shook his head, his smile more natural.

“No, really, it’s on me. Congratulations.”

Caleb’s reluctance remained clear, but he didn’t say anything else as Toby signed off on their dinner. They stood and headed into the lobby in silence, but before they got far, Caleb stopped Toby with a hand on his arm. Toby looked up at Caleb’s face and saw the same gleam in his eye that had given Toby pause a few minutes earlier.

“Come up for a drink?”

All the warning bells in Toby’s mind went off at once, but none of them were enough to stop him from doing what he did next. He followed Caleb into the elevator, rode up to the sixteenth floor beside him in silence, and then followed him down the hall to his room.

Once inside, Caleb dropped his duffel on the dresser and moved toward the minibar, like he was actually going to make good on his nightcap offer. “Not sure what they have in here, but—”

Toby didn’t let him get any further. He took three long steps, reached up to wrap one hand behind Caleb’s neck, and kissed the words right out of his mouth.

Caleb’s lips were soft and dry, yielding easily to Toby’s insistent pressure and soon parting to allow Toby’s tongue inside. Caleb tasted like the mint he’d popped as they left the table downstairs, with a hint of sweetness from the tea he’d had with dinner and a deeper flavor of pure Caleb.

Toby wondered if he tasted like that everywhere.

Eager to find out, Toby slid his hands under the hem of Caleb’s T-shirt and pushed it up until it bunched under Caleb’s arms. Breaking reluctantly away from Caleb’s mouth, Toby bent to lick his nipple instead, hearing the hiss from above at the intimate touch. Caleb’s skin was saltier here, the remains of a long day of travel clinging to his body, and Toby took another, longer taste, wrapping his lips around the pebbling skin and sucking gently.

“Holy shit, Toby.”

Caleb shifted, and Toby saw his T-shirt go flying a second before Caleb grabbed Toby’s arms and turned them both, shoved Toby against the wall, and fell against him. Caleb sealed his mouth over Toby’s even as he worked his fingers under Toby’s shirt and let them roam across his skin. Toby kissed him back desperately, kneading at the strong muscles of Caleb’s back, muscles honed from years as an athlete who used his body well. Toby was no slouch, physically speaking, but he relished the few inches and couple dozen pounds Caleb had on him. Toby felt surrounded by Caleb but not overwhelmed, the give and take between them perfectly balanced.

After breaking the kiss, Caleb pushed at Toby’s shirt, and Toby raised his arms to let Caleb strip it away like he’d done with his own. Caleb wrapped one arm around Toby’s body to pull their chests together and used his free hand to cup Toby’s ass so he could grind his pelvis into Toby’s. Toby groaned as Caleb licked across his jaw to his ear, where Caleb breathed out, “Jesus fuck, you’re hot.”

Toby let out a strangled sound something like a laugh. “Nothing on you,” he managed, turning his head to capture Caleb’s mouth with his.

They stumbled toward the bed, kicking off shoes and fighting with buckles and zippers, hands exploring every new inch of skin they exposed. When Toby got his hands into the back of Caleb’s jeans and realized he was wearing a jockstrap, he took full advantage, grabbing a double handful of muscular ass and squeezing a moan right out of Caleb’s mouth.

Toby pulled away long enough to slide onto the mattress and draw Caleb down on top of him, groaning at the weight pressing him into the mattress. Caleb cupped Toby’s face in his big hands and kissed him hard, driving his tongue in deep, and Toby opened his mouth and let Caleb all the way inside.

He opened his legs, too, lifting his knees to bracket Caleb’s hips, the shift in position bringing their hard cocks together with just two thin layers of cotton left between them. Toby moaned into Caleb’s mouth, the sound echoed back to him as Caleb slid one hand down to cup Toby’s leg and pulled it tighter against Caleb’s body. Toby took the hint, bringing his other leg up to wrap behind Caleb’s thighs and lifting his pelvis to grind up into him.

Toby lost track of how long they stayed like that, kissing and grinding against each other, before Caleb wrenched himself away. “God,” Caleb growled. “I want to be inside you, like, yesterday.”

Panting, Toby nodded. “You got stuff?”

“Shit. I hope so.”

Caleb levered himself away from Toby and off the bed, then dove into his discarded duffel bag. Toby used the break to get rid of his underwear and brought one hand up to stroke his hard-as-nails dick while he watched Caleb’s ass and thigh muscles bunch under his smooth, pale skin. With a few moments to look his fill, Toby could see the tan line at Caleb’s waist and a lighter one halfway down his thigh, evidence of shirtless workouts and off days in shorts. Central Mississippi was even more hot and humid than Atlanta, so Toby imagined Caleb didn’t bother with more clothing than he had to.

Toby had no objections to that idea. At all.

When Caleb turned back around, condoms in one hand and lube in the other, Toby let his gaze roam over his front side, and he liked what he saw. A lot. Caleb had almost no hair on his chest, but a riot of reddish-brown curls sprung to life just below his navel—he had an outie—and surrounded a long, slender cock that curved slightly at the end. Toby’s brain did the geometry quickly, and his body clenched at the thought of how that curve would fit inside, the pressure it would exert against his prostate.

He barely had time for a groan before Caleb was back, dropping his jock on the floor and the supplies on the bed before sprawling on top of Toby. “Beautiful,” Toby managed, and Caleb smiled for a split second before kissing him again.

Kissing melted into caresses, and in what felt like no time at all, Caleb had Toby prepared and his cock in place, ready to breach his body. Toby lifted his legs to wrap around Caleb’s hips again and pulled, encouraging him to move. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Get in me.”

Caleb was smiling as he eased inside, and Toby had to smile too, even as the stretch and burn made his eyes flutter shut. Oh God, he’d missed this feeling; missed being filled, the weight of a man on top of him, the smell and slick slide of sweat and lube.

Caleb didn’t stop moving even when he was in deep, just pulled back and pushed forward again and again and again, each stroke a little longer, with a little more force behind it. By the time he was pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in, Toby was riding a wave of white-hot sensation, skin buzzing all over, cock and balls tight with tension.

Just as Toby suspected, every one of Caleb’s thrusts pushed the head of his dick across Toby’s gland at exactly the right angle, each pass shooting paroxysms of pleasure through Toby’s body. Caleb was going to milk an orgasm right out of Toby without a single touch to his cock, just the sweet pressure from their bodies rubbing together.

“Toby.” His name, whispered against his ear in that sexy, raspy voice, shot Toby’s desire into the redline. He moaned and reached for Caleb’s head with both hands to slam their mouths together in a dirty, messy kiss. It didn’t last long, Caleb’s thrusts growing suddenly even harder and more erratic, and Toby lasted only a few more seconds before his body and cock jerked hard and he spilled between them.

“Fuck!” The barely coherent word came from Caleb, as Toby could manage no more than a gasp and deep groan of satisfaction as his orgasm ripped through him. As if at a distance, he felt Caleb shudder against him in his own climax.

Caleb collapsed on top of Toby, and even though it made breathing harder, Toby couldn’t bring himself to care. Two hundred pounds of warm, sweaty man pressed him into the mattress, and despite feeling completely wrung out, Toby managed to sling arms and legs around him, holding him in place.

“Crushing you,” Caleb muttered into the pillow near Toby’s ear, and Toby shook his head.

“Like it. Stay,” he murmured back.

Caleb did, even as his shrinking cock slipped out of Toby’s body and the cum and lube grew cold and sticky on their skin. Eventually, Caleb rolled onto his side, taking Toby with him, and gave him a slow, deep kiss. Toby made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat, and Caleb pulled away with a smile.

“Let me grab a washcloth or something so we don’t—”

“No.” Toby tightened his grip around Caleb’s body. “Clean up later. Sleep now.”

Caleb hesitated, but then he relaxed back against the mattress. They shifted until both were comfortable, bodies tangled together, and Toby drifted toward sleep, satiated and content.

 

 

WHEN Toby woke a few hours later, his mind had caught up with his actions, and he was up and off the bed before he even realized he was moving.

“Wha….”

Caleb’s groggy voice came from somewhere behind him as Toby pulled on his underwear and reached for his jeans.

“This was a mistake.” Even as the words left his mouth, Toby knew they were wrong, but what else could he say? He’d broken every possible rule: sleeping with someone from work was bad enough, but sleeping with a player? If his grandfather found out, he’d hit the roof. Three times over, since said player was also, of course, a man.

“Toby—”

Toby didn’t stop dressing, even though his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I can’t do this. I can’t…. I just can’t. You’re a great guy, but this ends now.”

He shoved his feet into his sneakers, tied them quickly, and stood, patting his pockets to check for phone and wallet. Only one thing left to do….

He looked up, at Caleb, sitting in the middle of the bed, hair a mess, torso bare, sheets tangled around his lower body. His blue eyes were barely half open, sleep still hanging heavy over him, and Toby’s resolve wavered.

No, he ordered himself. You had your fun. Now get the hell out before you make it worse.

He gave Caleb one last look, committing that gorgeous view to memory, and then he was out the door.

 

 

IT TOOK a good twenty minutes in the shower before Toby could no longer smell Caleb on his skin, though the sense memory remained. His skin raw and his fingers wrinkled, he kept his gaze safely away from the mirror while he dried off.

He walked out of the bathroom as dawn lightened the horizon. The day stretched out endlessly ahead of him. Tomorrow, the clubhouse crew would hit the ground running, spending the rest of the All-Star break getting the place set up for the second half of the season. Today, though, the whole place was getting an intense cleaning from top to bottom. Athlete’s foot in the showers was the least of their worries, what with nastiness like norovirus and MRSA lurking in every crevice.

That left Toby at loose ends. With nothing else to fill his time, he dove into cleaning his own place, pulling out bottles of chemicals and the box of worn-out towels from under the kitchen sink. He scrubbed and wiped until his arms ached, his bathroom and kitchen shone, and his eyes and sinuses burned. After tossing the last bottle and rag into the kitchen sink, he collapsed onto the sofa and closed his eyes.

From somewhere nearby, his phone rang.

Groaning, Toby opened his eyes and looked around, spying the phone lying on the coffee table, just beyond arm’s reach. Levering himself up, he stretched for it, not bothering to check the display before he answered.

Mistake. His “yeah?” was answered with a simple “Toby” in Caleb’s raspy, sexy voice, and every nerve in Toby’s unprepared body shot to high alert. He’d completely forgotten they’d exchanged numbers at dinner the night before.

“Hey.” It was all his brain could come up with.

“I heard everything you said this morning,” Caleb said. “And I get it. I really do. I just wanted to say, for the record, that I disagree, and I hope you’ll change your mind. Because I like you a lot, and the sex was hot as hell, and I would really, really like to do it all again. Soon, and as often as possible.”

Toby’s mind had checked out entirely right about the point where Caleb mentioned the hot-as-hell sex, and there was absolutely nothing he could say to counter any of that.

“So that’s why I called, and I don’t expect you to answer, but I do want you to think about it. Think about me. And when you’re ready, call me. I’ll be waiting.”

There was a click, and Toby was left with nothing but dead air.

And a hard cock.

Shit.

 

 

THE next three days at work passed in a blur. Toby did his job and helped get everything restocked and shined up and the clubhouse in tip-top shape for the second half of the season. But every time the door opened, Toby tensed, even though he knew there was no way Caleb would come down there. In spite of Caleb’s little speech on the phone Monday afternoon, both of them knew exactly what it would mean if their tryst became public knowledge. Yes, the atmosphere surrounding sports had gotten much more open-minded in the past few years, but there still were no openly out active major league ballplayers. A career minor-league catcher who hadn’t even played a game in the big leagues yet was not in any position to try to cross that line.

And Toby? He could survive coming out. He planned to, someday. But knowing his grandfather’s conservative nature, and considering his precarious position, without even an official piece of the team until his twenty-first birthday in another couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t ready to take that kind of risk.

By the time players started to filter into the clubhouse late Thursday afternoon, Toby was strung so tight he thought he’d snap right in two waiting for Caleb to arrive. When the man finally walked in, though, he was talking and laughing with one of the utility infielders. He never even looked Toby’s way, and Toby was left simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. With the team back in the house for the first time in four days, Toby and the rest of the crew were kept running. Guys were taking turns in the whirlpool and on the training tables, or stretching on the floor in front of their lockers, and Toby fetched ice packs, heating pads, towels, and drinks while the players worked.

For the first time in the nearly six years that he’d worked in the clubhouse, he resented it all. These guys made millions, were waited on hand and foot, and for what? Hit ball, throw ball, catch ball. Not exactly rocket science, and certainly not anything like saving lives or changing the world.

But then Toby thought of the faces of the kids who would run out on the field before each Sunday home game, picked to stand next to their favorite players while the national anthem was sung. The players would bend to talk to the little boys and girls, and the smiles they’d exchange might not end world hunger or anything lofty like that, but it made the kids happy. Baseball made people happy, and wasn’t that just as important as anything else?

Okay, yeah, Toby admitted to himself as he dropped off a stack of fresh towels next to the shower. Probably not a half-million-dollar minimum worth of happy, but careers were short, and players gave back, so it probably came out even in the end, in some convoluted karmic-restitution formula.

The players filtered out of the clubhouse one or two at a time, headed for the dugout, the field, or the bullpen, ready to get things going again. The trainers were the last ones out, leaving Toby and a couple of teenagers behind to straighten up the remnants, as usual.

A whisper in the back of Toby’s mind wished Caleb would come back, take advantage of the relative quiet to confront Toby in person, maybe even try to kiss him into compliance. Toby didn’t know how he’d react, but he did know how stupid the idea was. Caleb liked him, sure. They’d had great (fucking awesome) sex, sure. But Caleb would not take a risk like that at his first game in the big leagues. Hell, even if Toby had been female, he wouldn’t. And either way, Toby wouldn’t let him do it.

Forcing himself to not think about Caleb anymore, dammit, Toby gathered the last towels and pushed the cart over to the door for the laundry staff to pick up. He walked back through the room, watching the part-timers finish picking up the trash as he went, and retrieved the vacuum cleaner from the storage closet at one end of the room. Normally, he’d leave that until after the game, or let the custodial staff handle it, but he was perfectly willing to admit—to himself, at least—that he was avoiding heading up to the dugout. He usually spent part of each game watching from the entrance to the ramp that led back toward the clubhouse, occasionally running sweaty towels back or bringing up extra ice packs. And he’d get back to that. He would.

He’d have to face down Caleb at least once first, though.

The game dragged on forever. Toby watched some on the clubhouse monitors, but he spent most of his time wandering the room, looking for things to do. He refolded a stack of towels that was less than perfectly symmetrical, checked the ice machine to make sure it was full, made sure the toilet paper in the stalls was stocked.

He was being stupid and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

By the time the Braves won and the players poured back into the clubhouse, bringing with them the jokes and teasing that always followed a victory, Toby was about ready to jump out of his skin. He realized he’d been so focused on finding excuses to avoid the game that he didn’t even know if Caleb had played. A sudden need to find out gripped him, and he almost went looking for Caleb among the crowds to ask. But then the usual postgame madness kicked in, and he was kept busy running for ice and towels, picking up discarded uniform parts to send to the laundry, and then cleaning up the mess the players always left behind.

He never even saw Caleb, much less had a chance to talk to him. Not that he would have known what to say.

 

 

ON FRIDAY, fortified by another day of distance, Toby headed to the ballpark determined to talk to Caleb, even if only to say hello. He’d checked the box score and found Caleb hadn’t played Thursday night, and Toby had vowed to pay closer attention tonight. He didn’t want to miss Caleb’s first major league at bat out of a fit of pique.

He kept an eye out as he worked, and when Caleb arrived, gave him time to get to his locker before heading that way.

“Hey, Tobes,” Marty called. “Can you help me out here?”

Toby sighed and changed direction. Work first; then he’d corner Caleb for a chat.

After helping Marty with a recalcitrant ice pack, Toby went looking for Caleb again. He picked up towels and trash as he went, but after a complete circuit of the clubhouse, Caleb was nowhere to be found. The showers were empty, and Toby wasn’t going to turn stalkery enough to check the toilet stalls, but he couldn’t find Caleb—

“Toby.”

Toby spun on his heel at the rough, familiar voice, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Caleb. I was just—”

Caleb gave a crooked smile. “Looking for me, maybe?”

Toby hesitated long enough that he saw the shift in Caleb’s eyes as he realized it. “Yes!” Toby forced out. “I just….” He cleared his throat and stood straighter. “I wanted to check on you. I mean, be sure you were settling in okay and all that.”

The half smile fell away. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

Caleb stepped back, but before he could leave, Toby reached out to grab his arm. “Caleb,” he said, keeping his voice low. He could hear the pleading note in his voice. “I’m sorry. I am. I’d like to be friends, at least.”

Caleb looked at him, looked down at his hand, and then moved away, leaving Toby’s hand hanging in midair. “I don’t know if I can do that.” He gave Toby one long, heated stare, making it very clear what he wanted to do, and then he was gone, leaving Toby alone with his insecurities.

Toby closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Well, he thought, that went well.

“Trouble in paradise, Macmillan?”

And that’s just the capper to this week, Toby thought.

Grimacing, he opened his eyes and turned his head to meet the gaze of one Barry Knight, the new intern backing up the Braves’ regular beat reporter. Matt Sussman had been covering the team for well over a decade and was well liked by everyone, but as Toby knew from experience, Barry Knight wasn’t half the man Matt was.

“What do you want, Barry?” Toby didn’t even try to make it sound friendly. He wasn’t anything officially but a clubhouse peon, and if Barry tried to make it sound like Toby was speaking for the team, he’d get laughed out of the newsroom. Toby and Barry had gone to high school together and had been friends for about five minutes, five years ago, when Toby’d been a starry-eyed sophomore harboring a secret crush on the senior Big Man On Campus Barry had tried to be. Toby had been crushed when he’d figured out Barry’s only interest had been in Toby’s family connections, not Toby himself.

Barry snorted. “Just cleaning up after the losers,” he snarked. “I was gonna talk to the new guy, see if there’s some dirt to dig there, but looks like you beat me to that.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t know a good story if it bit you on the ass.” It was true, too; Barry had ego and ambition to spare, but not half the talent or drive he needed to make it as a big-league reporter. Toby shoved off the wall before Barry could wind up for a retort. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us around here have actual work to do.”

Spinning on his heel, he headed off to do it.

 

 

WITH the Los Angeles Dodgers in town and the game picked up for television, the Braves had been moved to an unusual 4:20 p.m. game start time on Saturday. Toby hated that crap. Games should be at seven thirty, except Sunday afternoons and occasionally a “businessfans’ special” during the week. He knew purists would scoff at him; baseball was made to be played in the sun. But it wasn’t baseball tradition that drove him. He just wanted things to be consistent.

Totally off his game, so to speak, Toby got to the clubhouse fifteen minutes later than usual, though still a good five minutes before he actually needed to be there. A handful of players were already in the clubhouse, but Toby would bet one or two would arrive late because they’d forgotten about the time change.

Toby dove into his usual pregame routine, pausing a few times to exchange pleasantries with players—in the form of insults and teasing, as in most locker rooms. He thought about that while he was tossing some trash away and realized that, over the six years he’d been working here, the flavor of the clubhouse talk had shifted. Sex was less of a focus in general, and in particular, comments about players’ sexuality had become much more rare. The team had done an anti-bullying video during Spring Training for the It Gets Better project, so maybe that had contributed.

But things had been changing long before that. The world was changing. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal if the players knew he was gay. Or even for Caleb. Players had come out after retirement in several of the big professional sports, and now there was Jason Collins in the NBA. Gay players were no longer big news in other sports. Maybe Major League Baseball was ready for its gay members, on and off the field, to stand up and be counted.

Toby just didn’t know if he was ready to become number one on that list.

Toby heard the door clink open and looked in that direction automatically. He frowned at the sinking sensation in his stomach when he saw it was just the pitching coach, Carl Zambronsky, but then a hand caught the door before it shut completely, and Toby’s heart lifted when he saw it was Caleb.

And then his heart dropped right back down when Caleb’s gaze skimmed over Toby as if he wasn’t even there.

Toby sank back against the wall as Caleb moved toward the locker he’d been assigned. Well, that was apparently that. Caleb didn’t want to be friends, and Toby couldn’t be more. So they’d be nothing at all.

Resigned, Toby pushed away from the wall again and got back to work.

 

 

THE atmosphere in the clubhouse after the loss was completely different from the previous two nights. Sure, it was just a game, but these were people who lived and breathed baseball. A dark cloud hung over the clubhouse. Players sat slumped in front of their lockers in the quiet or plodded silently to the showers. The manager stood in the corner by the door talking to the press, taking the loss on his shoulders to keep that weight off his players.

On his usual task of gathering up used towels and bits of tape that seemed to land everywhere except the trash cans, Toby jumped when he turned and Caleb was standing right behind him. “Um…. Hi.” Articulate, Toby thought, but it was all he could get out.

“Hi. Um…. Can we talk?” Caleb looked uncomfortable, eyes darting around as if they were being watched, which might well be the case, for all Toby knew. But if they were going to be in the same place at the same time for a while, as it seemed they would be, then they should probably figure out how not to be this completely uncomfortable around each other.

“Yeah.” Toby nodded. “Probably should. When we’re done here?”

Caleb bit his lip, and all Toby could think was how that felt when he’d been the one doing the biting. “Meet you outside?”

Taking in a shaky breath, Toby nodded again, and Caleb wandered away. He looked a little lost, and Toby couldn’t blame him. Caleb had gotten his first big-league hit tonight, but he wasn’t able to celebrate the way he wanted because the team had lost.

Maybe Toby could help. He could buy Caleb a drink, or a more appropriate cup of coffee. A combination peace offering and reward for his milestone.

By the time the clubhouse had emptied out and Toby finished up with the never-ending dirty towels, he’d settled into the idea of being friends with Caleb. Sure, he was still going to be attracted to the man, but he’d had plenty of friends he found attractive, even a couple he’d messed around with. He could do the same this time.

Toby pushed the cart full of towels toward the door, where Caleb sat waiting for him. Toby smiled. “All done,” he said, bringing the cart to a stop. “Let me grab my keys and stuff, and we can head out.”

Caleb didn’t say anything as they walked to the staff lot. Toby’s grandfather had been at the game this time, so Toby had parked in his usual place, which was farther away, of course. The night air was steamy, thick with humidity from the day’s heat, and by the time they got to his car, a light sheen of sweat covered Toby’s skin.

“Hop in and I’ll get the AC going.” He popped the locks and slid into the driver’s seat as Caleb did the same on the other side, and within a few moments, the car’s engine hummed to life and cool air began pouring from the vents.

“I swear, July in Georgia is why air-conditioning was invented.” Toby threw a grin in Caleb’s direction, but Caleb simply stared straight ahead, brow creased as if deep in thought. Toby cleared his throat and tried again. “Any place in particular you’d like to talk?”

Caleb lifted one shoulder. “Whatever. In the car is fine.” He turned his head, and Toby almost recoiled at his furious expression. “You fucking used me,” Caleb spat out. “You got your rocks off and ran for the hills because you were too spineless to be honest.”

Toby opened his mouth, but Caleb cut him off before he could even try to respond. “I get what it means to be gay and have to hide it. God knows I’ve gotten to be an expert at it. But hiding it and running from it are two different things.” Caleb paused and blew out a breath. “Shit. I told myself I wasn’t going to attack you over this. Because I do get it. But dammit, Toby, I’m not a sex toy. I’m a person. And I deserve to be treated like one.”

Toby’s face flushed and his stomach turned over. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know it’s not enough to apologize, but you’re right. I treated you like crap, and I’m sorry.” He slumped against the seat. “I’ve known I was gay since I was fifteen. Hell, I started fooling around with one of my classmates before that. But I’ve lived and breathed this game since I can remember, and after my parents died…. I have to have baseball. I can’t live without it.”

Caleb reached out, and Toby let him cover his hand where it lay on his thigh. “I get that. My parents know about me, but they’ve never been happy about it. I’m probably lucky they haven’t cut me off. They’re pretty conservative.”

Toby’s laugh was hollow. “My grandfather is about as conservative as it gets. And he owns 60 percent of the team. I mean, my father left his share in trust, and I’ll inherit that when I turn twenty-one, but that’s only 30 percent. Ray has twice that. He could cut me off so easily.”

Caleb squeezed his hand. “I won’t blow smoke and tell you he wouldn’t do that. But with your parents gone, maybe he’d at least think twice.”

“I wish I could be so sure.” He slid his hand away from Caleb’s and shifted into reverse. “Let’s get you home. Day game tomorrow, and then you’re on the road.” He managed a small smile in Caleb’s direction. “You’ll have to tell me where I’m going.”

Caleb studied him for a long moment, and while he didn’t return the smile, it did seem he’d burned off the anger. He started giving directions, and Toby felt himself relaxing. Maybe they could be friends after all. He’d like that.

He’d like more, but that just didn’t seem to be in the cards.

 

 

SUNDAY was…. Well. After it was over, Toby felt like he’d been through a war. Three hit by pitches, one on-field brawl, six ejections, and on top of it all, the Braves lost. Good thing it was a getaway day and the team headed for the airport almost as soon as it was over. Toby had seen the aftermath in the clubhouse from a game like that, and it wasn’t pretty.

As it was, the mess the disgruntled players left in their wake took a good half hour longer than usual to clean up. If they hadn’t had a ten-day road trip ahead of them, it would’ve been even worse. Thank the baseball gods that the clubhouse staff had plenty of time to restock and reset for the team’s return, so Toby just made his usual towel-and-trash rounds and headed home.

He found a note stuck under the windshield wiper of his car. Frowning, Toby pulled it free and slid inside before opening it.

Toby—

Hotel rooms on the road are bad enough with a roommate. Looks like I’ll be on my own for this trip, so I could use a friendly voice to talk to. Give me a call if you want.

Caleb

Underneath Caleb’s name was his number, though Toby already had it from Caleb’s call earlier in the week. Toby smiled. Maybe this friendship thing could work out after all.

Instead of calling, he pulled out his phone and sent Caleb a text message: Got your note. Call or text anytime. My schedule’s light with school out and the team on the road.

His phone buzzed before he got out of the parking lot. He glanced down to read it before he pulled out onto the street.

Will do. Plane’s about to take off. See you when we’re back.

Toby smiled again and drove off into the dusk.

 

 

“A HUNDRED and twenty-four on the field. I don’t care how dry it supposedly is. That should be illegal.”

Toby laughed and picked up another towel to fold. His phone sat beside him on a sofa cushion, speaker on, as he and Caleb talked. It was late on Wednesday night, three days into the road trip, and spending those three days in the Arizona heat had apparently been more than Caleb could stand. Even the trip on to Denver for the next series hadn’t stopped his grumbling. Toby had heard all about it during the phone calls each of the previous two nights too.

“Just wait until you get back to Atlanta,” Toby warned. “It won’t hit 124, but it’ll feel like it when the humidity kicks into full gear. Hard to breathe in that kind of sludge.”

“Ugh.” Caleb blew out a breath. “I took three cold showers a day while we were there, and I still felt like the top of my head was gonna blow off.” He fell silent for a few seconds before letting out a snicker. “Okay, that sounded way less dirty in my head than it did out loud.”

Toby felt his cheeks warm. That first call late Monday night—early Tuesday morning, really—had started out stilted, both of them treading carefully to keep things light and avoid the subject of the night they’d spent together. By the time sleep had demanded they hang up an hour later, Toby had been smiling. Call number two had been better, and tonight, he’d been looking forward to talking with a friend. Just one little innuendo, though, and suddenly all Toby could think of was spreading Caleb out on a bed and riding him hard and fast.

Shit. Toby shook his head. “Dirty mind,” he replied, after too long a pause. He tried to keep his voice light. “At least you’re out of the desert. Well, out of one type of desert and into another, I guess. How’s Denver?”

“Dark.” Caleb snickered. “But at least it’s cooler. Pretty, what I could see of it on the way in from the airport. We’ve got all day tomorrow, though, so maybe I’ll look around some before we have to head to the ballpark.”

“It’s a nice city.” Toby set aside another folded towel. “High sky. Watch out for pop flies behind the plate, and be glad you’re not playing outfield. Easy to lose a ball in all that bright blue.”

Caleb made a sound of agreement in his throat. “Gotta admit, I’m hoping to get a chance to launch one in the thin air. It’d be nice to get at least one long ball while I’m with the big club.”

Toby rolled his eyes and reached for another towel. “Seriously, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. You’re doing great, and the team recognizes that. You started yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Only because it was a day game after a night game and Berrymann always gets those off.” Partly true, Toby knew. Catchers rarely started two games that close together. All that squatting was damn hard on the knees. But it was more than that.

“And you’ve pinch-hit in almost every game,” Toby pointed out. “Diamont’s been hurt almost more than he’s been able to play the past two seasons. Stay healthy and you’ve probably got the backup catcher job wrapped up for a good long while.”

Caleb blew out a break. “From your mouth to management’s ears.” He barked out a laugh. “Oh wait. You are management.”

Toby couldn’t help the grin. “Am not. I have another couple of weeks before I even get my share of the team, and that just makes me a stockholder, not management.” His grin turned as evil as his thoughts. “But you’d better behave yourself if you want to stay on my good side.”

“Oh, I can be very, very good.” Caleb practically purred his reply, and a white-hot flash of desire shot through Toby at the sound. He cleared his throat and heard Caleb chuckle.

“Stop that.” Toby managed to make it sound chiding and only a little shaky.

“But you make it so easy,” Caleb shot back, his voice back to normal and infused with more than a little humor. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time.”

It was Toby’s turn to laugh. “Oh, now that was a fastball right over the center of the plate if ever I heard one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb groused. “Taste of my own medicine, go ahead. I deserve it.”

“Nah, too easy.” Toby flipped the last neatly folded washcloth on top of his stack. “Much as I’d love to harass you some more, it’s late, and some of us have to work in the morning.”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t realize it was after midnight already.” After 2:00 a.m. for Toby, actually, but Caleb was off in Mountain Time. “You have to go in even when the team is on the road?”

Toby rolled his tight shoulders and leaned back against the cushions, stretching out his legs. “Not all the time, but we have a staff meeting tomorrow and a couple of shipments to get put away. I’ll have the weekend off for a change, though. Maybe I’ll go to the movies or something.”

A sound in his ear confused him for a second until his realized it was Caleb yawning. Naturally, his body immediately responded to the cue. Once his own jaw-cracker ended, he huffed out a laugh. “I think our bodies are trying to tell us something. No, wait!” He interrupted whatever Caleb was about to say. “Forget I even said that. Except for the part that means it’s time for us to go to bed. Oh, for crying out….”

Caleb was laughing at him openly by then, and all Toby could do was join in. “Get some sleep, and have fun tomorrow.”

“Will do.” Caleb’s words were interrupted by another yawn. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Caleb had ended the call before Toby could respond. He stared at his phone, wondering whether this whole let’s-be-friends thing was such a good idea. Because his first reaction to the idea of Caleb calling him again tomorrow was how long it would take for him to have Caleb naked and moaning in his ear.

Shit. He stared down at his crotch, where his dick had decided it liked that idea way too much. Sighing, he pushed himself up, grabbed his phone, and shoved it into the pocket of his gym shorts before gathering up his folded towels. Get these put away and go to bed—to sleep, he ordered himself. No fantasizing about what you can’t have.

He doubted any part of him would listen, but he could earn that A for effort, right?

 

 

“UNTIL this week, I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a hotel room to myself. Hell, in the low minors, we were stuck three or four to a room in some towns. And you try shoving four grown men into a room with two doubles and see how that works out for you.”

“Ouch.” Toby winced at the thought and switched his phone to the other ear. “Never really thought about it, I guess. I mean, I’ve been around the big ball club all my life, and I keep up with the talent on the farm teams, but I’ve never spent much time actually around the minors.”

He lounged against the headboard of his bed, where he’d been listening to Caleb’s low, near-exhaustion voice for almost an hour now. Not the worst Saturday night he’d ever had, he admitted to himself.

Caleb had started tonight’s call by noting that housekeeping kept replacing the “ungodly” number of pillows on his bed every day in Denver, even though he’d stacked them neatly on the side chair, obviously unused. The conversation had wandered from there, but they’d circled back around to hotel rooms again.

“That could be something to look into.” Toby heard rustling as Caleb shifted on the other end of the phone. “I’m not complaining, not really, but it’s hard to get by. Most players have off-season jobs, but those are tough to keep when you’re playing ball from April through September. I’ve already made more the last two weeks than I did all of last season.”

Toby blinked. “Holy crap. I knew the pay was lousy, but that’s worse than I thought. They should do something about that.”

A low chuckle came through the phone, sending shivers down Toby’s spine. “‘They’? Didn’t you say you’d own part of the team in another couple weeks?”

Toby smiled slowly. “Not a majority, or anywhere close to it.”

“But enough to give you a voice.”

And not just about pay for minor league players, Toby thought, though he kept that to himself. While he knew Caleb was comfortable with his sexuality, they hadn’t talked about what it might mean for him to come out. Hell, they hadn’t talked about what it might mean for Toby to come out, and he wasn’t the one who then had to go out on the field and face not only opponents and fans who could be hostile for any of a number of reasons but also the potential for backlash from the people with whom he shared a uniform. And, maybe more important, a clubhouse.

Toby shook off that train of thought. It didn’t matter now, not when there wasn’t anything to tell. Knowing Caleb would see right through him, he changed the subject anyway. “Did you hear O’Malley got suspended? You’d think these guys would figure out the steroids aren’t worth the trade-off for fifty days out of uniform.”

After a long pause, Caleb finally spoke. “Yeah, I don’t get it. Not so much of a problem with the guys who did it back before they changed the rules. I mean, it was stupid then, but it didn’t mean losing a third of a season.”

Caleb went on, but Toby only half heard him, listening more to the warm, deep cadence than to his words. It should freak him out, the contentment that came just from hearing Caleb’s voice, but instead, it soothed him. He relaxed and let the sound wash over him.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up in the wee hours with his phone still in his hand and a text from Caleb waiting for him.

Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

Smiling, he set his phone on the nightstand, turned off the lamp, and rolled over to hug a pillow, trying not to think about what—who—he’d rather have his arms around.

 

 

“SO DAMON’S cutting up and waving the bat around, and he misses taking out the Polish sausage by, like, two inches. I don’t think the guy ever even saw it, but I’m betting ESPN will have it on a highlight reel.”

The silly-fun, between-inning races between four people wearing different sausage-based costumes in Milwaukee had been the highlights of the week for the Braves, who’d dropped three so far to the Brewers. They had a day game up next, and Caleb was set to start, so he should have been going to sleep—shouldn’t have called at all, really—but Toby couldn’t bring himself to hang up. They’d talked for nine of ten nights now, only missing Monday night, when the game went fourteen innings and didn’t end until nearly 2:00 a.m. Toby had still been awake, even though it had been an hour later in Atlanta, and when he’d finally dropped off around four, he’d slept only intermittently.

Once again he’d woken up the following morning to find a text from Caleb waiting: Did you get the number of the beer truck that hit me? Damn, I’m glad the day game isn’t until Thursday.

Now here it was, Wednesday night, and they were up late again anyway, though Caleb’s voice sounded like it was starting to slide off toward dreamland. Toby’s mind was headed the same direction, his thoughts starting to drift away.

“Toby?”

Caleb saying his name drew Toby’s attention back. “Hmmm?” he murmured.

“Can I ask you something?”

The change in the timbre of Caleb’s voice told Toby that, unlike much of their conversations had been, this was no idle question. Toby was suddenly more awake, and he swallowed, his mouth dry. “Sure.”

“When we get in tomorrow night… can I come over?”

Toby knew he should say no. He knew even thinking about anything but friendship with Caleb was playing with fire. But the only thing their conversations had done, rather than cementing a friendship, was make him want Caleb more. Toby’s heart took over, and there was only one thing he could say.

“Yes.”

 

 

I NEED a longer hallway.

The absurd thought almost made Toby laugh. He paced back and forth, spinning on his heel after far too few steps, wishing for another twenty feet or two hundred yards or two miles to walk. Maybe that would have half a chance at calming his nerves.

Caleb would arrive any minute, and Toby had no idea what to do about it. His body and his heart warred with his mind. Any kind of relationship with Caleb beyond friendship had the potential for so much damage, and Toby had no illusions that Caleb was planning just a friendly visit.

But he’d never felt a connection like he had with Caleb, and not just the explosive sexual chemistry of that first night. He’d looked forward to their nightly chats and spent more time thinking about those than he had the feel of Caleb’s warm, smooth skin under his hands.

His skin tingled at the sense memory. Okay, yeah, he’d thought about that too. Quite a bit, and he had the dirty sheets to prove it.

Well, formerly dirty. They were clean now.

Despite all his qualms, he had high hopes they wouldn’t stay that way long.

Predictably, the knock at his door nearly made him jump out of his skin. So calm, cool, and collected, he was. Laughing at himself, Toby walked to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

“Hi.” Caleb smiled at him, looking better than should be legal after playing nine innings and sitting through a three-hour flight. Toby’s last rational thought threw up its tiny hands and slunk away in defeat.

“Hi,” Toby murmured in reply, even as he grabbed the front of Caleb’s shirt with his left hand and dragged him inside. He slammed and locked the door with his right hand, but Caleb was already kissing him by then, and Toby couldn’t spare another thought for such silly considerations as home safety.

Toby wound his arm around Caleb’s neck, digging his fingers into his hair, and they stumbled across the room in the general direction of the sofa. Toby almost fell over backward when he bumped into it, and he managed to tear himself away from the feast that was Caleb’s mouth.

“Bedroom,” he said, and he redirected them down the hallway that suddenly seemed about ten times too long.

It took them about ten times too long to make it to the bed too. They kept stopping to press each other against walls, doorframes, furniture, whatever they could find that would allow them to brace and kiss deeper, rub against each other harder. Buttons and zippers were navigated with shaking hands between grasps and moans, but when the backs of Toby’s legs hit the side of the mattress, he still had on his jeans, though they were open and sagging toward his knees. Caleb had a hand shoved down the front of Toby’s boxer briefs, working his cock toward full hardness, so Toby just kept kissing him, heedless of anything but the feel of Caleb’s touch.

He snapped out of it about the time he bounced on the mattress, thanks to a hard shove from Caleb. Toby glared up at him, but Caleb just grinned back, lifting his eyebrows, and stripped Toby’s jeans and boxers out of the way.

“There.” Caleb crawled onto the bed to hover on hands and knees over Toby. “This would’ve been easier if you’d just been naked when I got here.”

Toby laughed, playfully dodging Caleb’s mouth as it tried to recapture his. “I would have, but I had this silly idea we might actually talk or something crazy like that.”

Caleb growled and raised one hand to grasp Toby’s jaw, holding him in place. “I think we’ve done enough talking, don’t you?”

He kissed Toby hard, tongue driving deep, stealing the breath from Toby’s lungs and every thought from his head. Toby groaned low in his chest and wrapped his legs around the backs of Caleb’s thighs, pulling himself closer to Caleb so their cocks bumped and brushed between them. The kiss went on and on as they serenaded each other with the sounds of their moans and the harsh pulls of air they managed through their noses, unwilling to break apart even for breath.

Toby wrapped his fingers around Caleb’s asscheeks, intending to pull him closer, when a stray thought escaped the cloud of lust, making him smile into their seemingly endless kiss. Instead of yanking, he lifted one hand and brought it down sharply, the sound of the slap echoing loud in the room. Caleb gasped, finally jerking his mouth from Toby’s, and Toby just giggled and did it again.

“What the hell?” Caleb flailed a hand back to grab Toby’s, but Toby just let him have it with the other hand. He kept up a rain of smacks, none of them particularly hard, just playful. He broke into full-out laughter as Caleb twisted and jerked above him.

When they finally came back to rest, Caleb had his hands wrapped around Toby’s wrists, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his body, and his legs pressed against either side of Toby’s, holding them in place. Toby still shook with laughter, and Caleb was grinning like a loon, but when Caleb narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re gonna get it for that,” Toby had all of a second to brace himself before Caleb’s mouth descended onto Toby’s right nipple.

Toby lost track of time while Caleb tortured him, sucking and nipping and licking at his nipples until both were red and throbbing, then biting his way down Toby’s abdomen to tug at Toby’s pubic hair with his teeth. Each little zing of sensation sent Toby’s arousal higher, and he writhed under Caleb’s assault, as much as he could with Caleb holding him down. And that? Only made it all hotter.

When Caleb finally responded to the pleas that poured from Toby’s mouth and wrapped his lips around the tip of Toby’s cock, it took every ounce of willpower in Toby’s body not to come on the spot. He strained against Caleb’s grip on his wrists, but he didn’t really fight to free himself, or ask Caleb to let go. He liked it. Not in a way that meant he wanted to do it all the time, but right now, with Caleb holding him while he sucked his brains out through his dick, it was perfect.

And then Caleb’s mouth and hands disappeared, and Toby actually heard himself whimper.

He pried his eyes open, not even sure when he’d closed them, and what he saw when his eyes focused had him scrabbling for self-control again. Caleb had leaned back on his heels, and both hands were working as he rolled a condom down his own cock. When he finished, he looked up, and Toby caught his heated gaze.

“Roll over,” Caleb rasped, and Toby didn’t hesitate to comply.

Once he hit hands and knees, Caleb gave him a cursory few strokes with slicked fingers to lube him up before setting his cock against Toby’s hole and pushing inside. Toby pushed back, letting his head hang loose as he concentrated on relaxing everything so he could get Caleb all the way inside him as soon as possible. It burned like hell, but he didn’t care. He knew how good it would feel in a few minutes.

Caleb’s hips soon rested fully against Toby’s ass, and Caleb paused there while Toby breathed through the residual pain. It didn’t last long, and soon Toby rocked his hips back, letting Caleb know without words he could move.

And move he did. Caleb drew back and then slammed home. A surprised yell burst out of Toby as he scrabbled with his hands to brace himself more firmly, and Caleb didn’t let up, fucking Toby fast and hard, like he’d been holding back the tide and the dam had finally burst. Maybe it had, their phone conversations over the past week and a half building up between them until something had to give. Apparently it was Caleb’s control.

Not that Toby had any complaints, except that this was going to be over a lot faster than he would have liked. He couldn’t spare a hand to jerk himself off, but that might not even matter, at the rate Caleb was going. And even if Caleb came first, it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes for him to follow.

Caleb shifted his hips then, and Toby lost his train of thought as the new angle hit just the right spot deep inside. Oh hell, maybe he wouldn’t need a hand at all. He threw his head back on a moan, arching his back, feeling Caleb dig his fingers into his hips. One corner of the sheet popped off the bed, dragged loose by Toby’s grasping hands, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it another second, Caleb moved again, reaching around to grab Toby’s desperate cock.

Three more seconds stretched into forever and then Toby was finally there, making an incoherent sound as his body seized in pleasure. He jerked and shot over Caleb’s hand and onto the mattress, and before he’d finished, Caleb slammed deep into him and groaned out his own release.

Panting as if they’d run a marathon, they slumped sideways onto the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Toby throbbed pleasantly from head to toe, and while he had a fleeting thought of getting cleaned up, his brain decided it liked the idea of sleep better.

 

 

HALFWAY through the next day—after three more rounds of sex, breakfast in bed consisting of Pop-Tarts and coffee, and a thrown-together lunch of whatever leftovers in Toby’s fridge weren’t too old for consumption—Toby decided he kind of liked this sleepover thing. He’d rarely spent an overnight with the few men he’d been with before Caleb, and even then, one of them always ended up doing the Walk of Shame the next morning. The actual sleeping part of sleeping with Caleb wasn’t so easy, other than a couple of postcoital naps. He kept waking himself up just as he started to doze, afraid he’d snore or drool or do something embarrassing that would scare off his bedmate.

Caleb didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere, though. After they’d cleaned up from their lunch, Caleb had trailed him over to the sofa and then settled in close while Toby turned on the MLB Network to find out who was playing that afternoon. With the Orioles and Rays in a pitcher’s duel at Camden Yards for background noise, they talked.

“Believe it or not, the main thing I remember about my dad isn’t him taking me to baseball games.” Toby slid his hand along Caleb’s forearm where it had ended up lying across his hips. “It’s not baseball at all. It’s sitting on the front porch on the swing and watching him shuck corn. Helping when I got a little older, though it probably took him a lot longer with me ‘helping.’ Corn on the cob was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d buy it by the bushel in high season and freeze it so he’d have it all year-round.”

Caleb laughed. “There’s a lot of corn in Indiana,” he said, voice wry. “We ate it almost every meal in the summer. I boycotted once. Preteen rebellion. I loved the stuff, still do, but for some hormonal reason I thought, ‘I’ll show them.’ Cut off my nose to spite my face, but Mom never flinched. Never even mentioned it. I lasted about a week.”

Toby shifted closer to Caleb’s long, warm body. “Guess I skipped the rebellious stage. Unless this counts.” He ran a hand down Caleb’s stomach to brush over his crotch, and Caleb gave a soft moan.

“Better late than never,” he murmured, bringing his own hand over to press on top of Toby’s. Toby felt the flesh under his palm firm and grow, and his own body responded in kind. He shifted again, pulling himself up to lie half on top of Caleb so he could look down into the other man’s deep-blue eyes.

“Viva la revolución,” he said just before he kissed Caleb’s full lips.

 

 

ANOTHER freakin’ weird start time.

Toby grimaced as he pulled himself out of his car much too early on Saturday afternoon and headed toward the clubhouse. He couldn’t believe they’d gotten hit with two late-afternoon games two weeks apart. The gods of baseball broadcasting must hate him.

At least he knew Caleb would be on time. Toby’d stood over him while he programmed a reminder into his phone before Toby left that morning. Toby had rewarded him with a deep, lingering kiss and then headed home to shower and change. He would’ve taken a bag with him to Caleb’s, but even after they’d spent almost two days together at Toby’s place—most of them in bed—he hadn’t thought when he went to the ballpark the evening before that a few hours later he’d be laid out on Caleb’s bed, getting fucked to within an inch of his sanity.

Toby forced his mind away from that train of thought, which led to nowhere he needed or wanted to go in public. He focused on his pregame prep, which went smoothly, and sure enough, Caleb showed up on time, pausing just long enough to shoot Toby a heated glance and a big smile before heading to his locker to dress for the game. Even the stragglers arrived with enough time to hurry into their uniforms before batting practice, and game time came and went with no major glitches. Toby breathed a little easier then.

By the third inning, shadows were creeping across the field, and Toby knew the batters would have a hell of a time for the next hour, until the sun fell completely behind the stands. Twilight games weren’t just a bitch for the off-the-field staff to deal with. They didn’t have to try to track a 95-mile-per-hour fastball from the bright sunlight streaming on the pitcher’s mound to the darkness enveloping the plate. As if those pitches weren’t hard enough to follow under perfect conditions.

Toby didn’t see the play when it happened. The Braves were leading after four and a half innings, and even in the typical July heat, the contrast between sun and shade was enough that the starting pitcher asked for his jacket to keep his arm warm while the Braves were at bat. Toby jogged down to the clubhouse to get it and was on his way back up the ramp to the dugout when he heard the crack, followed instantly by a collective gasp from the crowd.

He ran the last few steps until he could see the field, and then it took him a few minutes to figure out who was lying on the ground next to home plate, his helmet spinning slowly in the dirt a few feet away.

Holy shit.

It was Caleb.

Toby had to grab hold of the railing next to him to keep from following the manager and trainers, who’d sprinted out onto the field. Caleb wasn’t moving, and that, combined with the sickening sound of what Toby now knew was ball hitting skull that still echoed in his head, did not bode well. The last time Toby had seen a player down this long, he’d never stepped foot on a baseball field again.

Toby watched, leg bouncing impatiently, as Marty and Joe, the head trainer, checked Caleb over. Somebody took the jacket Toby still held, but he barely noticed. At one point, Marty shifted enough that Toby could see Caleb’s mouth moving, so at least he was conscious, which gave Toby a few seconds of relief. Unfortunately, the next thing he saw was blood, and that sent him right back over the edge into sheer terror.

At almost the same moment, the home plate umpire and Lou, the manager, motioned toward the outfield. Toby’s heart sank further. They were calling in the cart to take Caleb off the field, which meant his injury was bad enough, or risky enough, that either he couldn’t walk off under his own power or the trainers wouldn’t let him. Toby heard the murmurs from the crowd and the low chatter of the players around him, but it was only so much white noise. His mind was racing, trying to figure out if he could follow Caleb to the hospital or if he’d need to hang around until after the game before heading over.

The next second, he discarded the question. If Caleb was going to the hospital, then Toby was going too, and damn the consequences.

Mind made up, Toby took the last few steps to the field and jogged over to home plate, trying to make his choice look casual. “Hey, guys, need a hand?”

Marty glanced up at him. “Yeah, great, Toby. Can you steady his legs while we get him on the backboard? We don’t think his neck is injured, but we gotta take precautions.”

“Sure.” Toby moved down to grip Caleb’s ankles, happy to be able to touch him somewhere, at least. Joe held Caleb’s head still while Marty and the two medics that came in with the cart rolled him to one side and slid the backboard in place. Toby didn’t move until Marty had the straps buckled across Caleb’s body, and then he moved down to grip the bottom of the board instead, helping lift it up and onto the back of the cart.

Toby stepped away then, but just long enough to catch Marty’s eye. “I’m going with him.”

Marty grunted as he tightened down a strap. “I know you guys are friends, Tobes, but….”

“I’m going. No buts. If there’s no room for me in the ambulance, I’ll drive.”

Marty looked at Toby again and then nodded. “Okay. I’m riding with him. Joe’s gotta stay with the team. You can meet us at the ER. It’ll help having someone else there.”

Toby nodded and turned away without another word, heading straight for the dugout and down the ramp to the clubhouse. He darted inside just long enough to grab his phone and keys from the lockbox near the door, and then he was on his way to his car.

 

 

THE hospital was too damn far from the ballpark. Toby felt like he’d been driving for hours by the time he finally turned off Peachtree and into the parking lot. He found an empty space and jumped out of his car, hitting the key fob to lock it behind him as he took off at jog toward the emergency room’s walk-in entrance. He’d been to the hospital only a handful of times, but he knew where to go to find Caleb.

Inside, he ignored the check-in desk and looked around until he saw Marty standing off to one side. He hurried over. “How is he?”

“Still awake.” Marty nodded toward the curtain a few feet away. “Not entirely coherent, and his eye looks like he got hit with an anvil. But he was talking on the ride in, and I don’t think he passed out. They’re checking him over, and he’ll be going to X-ray soon.”

Toby bounced on his toes, overflowing with nervous energy. “When can I see him?”

Marty gave him a long look. “They’ll probably let us in when he gets back from X-ray. Don’t know how long it’ll take for them to get him into a room.” Marty paused. “You seem awfully anxious about all this. He’s only been here a couple of weeks. When did you find time to get to be such good friends?”

Toby nodded, gaze glued on the curtain hiding Caleb from him, hoping for a glance. “We, um, yeah.” He caught himself and shot Marty what hoped was a casual smile. “We had dinner the night he got here and again the other night. We’ve talked some. Nice guy.”

Marty didn’t say anything else, though Toby could tell he wanted to. Marty knew Toby better than anyone else involved with the team, his grandfather included, but even he didn’t know Toby’s biggest secret. Toby had almost blurted it out more than once, but now he was glad he hadn’t. Not for his own sake, but because if Marty knew Toby was gay, he’d be more likely to draw conclusions about Caleb, and the last thing Toby would want to do would be out Caleb to anyone. That had to be Caleb’s choice.

Before either of them said anything else, the curtain moved and a nurse stepped out. She gave Marty a nod and a quick smile.

“Hey, Carla,” Marty said. One side effect of being a trainer for a Major League Baseball team was being on a first-name basis with a lot of medical staff. “How’s our boy?”

“Stable,” she replied. “They’re prepping him to move to X-ray now. Looks like a broken cheekbone, but the nosebleed stopped, and his eyes are responding well, so we’re hopeful that’s all we’re dealing with.”

Marty nodded. “Any idea how long they’ll keep him?”

“Probably a couple of days, if he doesn’t need surgery.” Carla glanced at Toby but turned her attention back to Marty. “They’ll want to keep an eye on the swelling and make sure there’s nothing else. He’ll probably get a room in an hour or two. We’ve got some empty beds today.”

“Sounds good.” Marty turned to Toby as Carla walked away. “You hungry?” Surprised by the question, Toby shook his head. “Well, I am,” Marty said. “Missing the postgame feast. Let’s hit the cafeteria before it shuts down.”

Toby opened his mouth to argue that they should wait there, but Marty had already headed down the hall, so Toby jogged to catch up. “Marty, I really think I should—”

“—get something to eat while you can. We don’t know how long we’ll be here, and trust me, you don’t want to be stuck with nothing but vending machines when you’re starving in the middle of the night.” He glanced at Toby. “Eat now. Worry later.”

“Yeah, right,” Toby muttered. As if he’d stop worrying. But he shut up and kept walking.

Marty led him to the cafeteria, through the line, and to a table. Toby had no idea what they were ordering; he just followed Marty’s lead and ended up with meatloaf and mashed potatoes covered with brown gravy, a small pile of green beans, and a glass of sweet tea.

“Dig in,” Marty instructed once they sat down, and Toby began eating on autopilot. Some part of his brain noted that the food was actually pretty good, for a hospital cafeteria, but most of his mind was still back in the ER, focused on Caleb.

Halfway through his meal, Toby stopped eating. He set down his fork. He looked at Marty, and he said the one thing he knew he shouldn’t: “I’m gay.”

Marty stopped chewing for a few seconds and then started back up again. He swallowed, took a sip of his tea, swallowed again, and looked Toby straight in the eye.

“I know.”

Toby’s jaw dropped, but Marty wasn’t done. “I’ve known for years, Toby. All the time we’ve spent together? I’d have to be pretty clueless not to figure it out. And no, before you even ask, you don’t give off a vibe or ‘act gay,’ whatever that even means. I couldn’t even point to one thing that made me say, ‘oh, okay.’ It’s just…. I know you. Okay?”

Toby sat back, stunned. He’d had no…. “I had no idea. You could have said something.”

Marty snorted and forked up another bite of meatloaf. “Yeah, and if I happened to be wrong, you might’ve bit my head off about it. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

He popped the bite into his mouth, and Toby watched him chew, his own jaw working from side to side as he considered what Marty had said. “And it doesn’t…. You don’t care?”

Marty stopped chewing again, and then swallowed. “Well, yeah, I care.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “I care that you’re happy, and that you’re not dating some asshole who beats you up or something. But whether that’s a guy or a girl or whatever?” He waved a hand dismissively. “I couldn’t give a rip about that.”

Toby sighed and picked up his fork to poke at the remains of his mashed potatoes. “What if it was a ballplayer?”

Marty stayed silent long enough that Toby looked up to find out what he was thinking. Marty’s brow was furrowed. “Is that why you’re here? Is it…?”

Toby lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “We kind of hit it off, you could say. And I kind of freaked out about it.” He returned his attention to his plate, though he’d lost interest in eating. “Not just because of the gay thing. It’s, well….” He laid down his fork and sat back, meeting Marty’s steady gaze. “I’m almost his boss, you know? And even if I wasn’t, we work in the same place, and that’s never a good idea.”

Marty nodded. “It can be a problem, yeah. But it doesn’t have to be. I mean, maybe it’s too much when you put it all together like that. The gay thing, the boss thing, the work thing. Three strikes?” He copied Toby’s one-sided shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s up to you to decide.”

Marty reached for his tea glass and drained it. After setting it down, he pushed back his chair. “Now. We have food in our bellies and a patient to see about. All the rest can wait.”

Toby couldn’t agree more. He followed Marty’s lead again, thankful Marty didn’t mention his still half-full plate as they dropped off their trays and headed back down the hall.

 

 

“OW.”

It wasn’t exactly what Toby expected would be the first thing out of Caleb’s mouth, but he’d take it. He laughed, knowing the sound had an edge of hysteria to it.

“Yeah, pain kind of comes with the territory when you take a fastball to the face.” Marty’s voice might have been dry, but Toby could see the relief in his eyes.

They stood on either side of Caleb’s bed in the ER, where he’d just been wheeled back from X-ray. Caleb had an IV line in the back of one hand, his eyes were taped shut, and the left side of his face looked like someone had injected grape juice just underneath the skin. The color was particularly vivid considering that the rest of his skin was several shades paler than his usual light tan.

“You’re gonna have quite a shiner, son.” Marty reached out to tap two long fingers on Caleb’s forearm. “Gotta learn to duck faster.”

Caleb’s face moved in what probably started out to be a smile but ended up in a wince. “You should see the other guy,” he murmured.

Toby snorted. “The other guy is a five-ounce ball made of cork, yarn, and leather.”

“Yeah, and he was speeding.” Caleb turned his head in Toby’s direction. His lips quirked, like he’d thought of trying to smile again but reconsidered. “Hope you saved it. Need that one for the trophy case. Maybe a T-shirt. ‘I Survived A Beanball.’”

He reached out a hand, and Toby took it, lacing their fingers together. Caleb relaxed for a moment but then jerked, tugging a little. “Is Marty still—?”

“Right here, Caleb,” Marty cut in. “Not a problem. Already had a little talk with Toby.”

Caleb didn’t relax, though. “It’s just….”

Toby stepped forward and wrapped his free hand around both of theirs. “Caleb. Shut up. It’s fine, okay?”

Toby swore Caleb rolled his eyes behind his closed eyelids. “‘Shut up’? Really? This is how you treat a man who’s been hit in the head with a fastball and lived to tell the tale?”

“So far, he has,” Marty intoned. “Watch yourself, or we might start thinking of ways to change that.”

The clips holding the curtain behind Marty to the ceiling squeaked, and Toby released Caleb’s hand instinctively. The cloth moved to admit a tiny young woman who didn’t look a day over fifteen but wore a white coat with a badge proclaiming her to be Madeline Grace, MD. “All right, Mr. Browning,” she said, stepping adroitly around Marty to stand next to the bed. “The X-ray showed only a hairline fracture, so surgery won’t be needed. We’ll be admitting you overnight to monitor the swelling in your brain—”

“Hold up a second,” Caleb cut in, lifting one hand. “Can you back that up and slow it down a little? I just woke up, and…. Did you say swelling in my brain?”

Dr. Grace glanced at Toby and Marty, who’d moved to the far side of the bed. “You’re the family?”

“Marty Boynton, assistant team trainer.” He tilted his head to the side. “Toby Macmillan, grandson of team owner. This is official business, of a sort.”

Dr. Grace narrowed her eyes for a second but then turned her attention back to Caleb. “Mr. Browning, is it acceptable to you for me to discuss the details of your condition in front of Mr. Boynton and Mr. Macmillan?”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah. Saves me from having to tell them later. Not sure I could do that all that clearly with this headache.”

Dr. Grace nodded. “Mr. Browning, you’ve suffered a rather serious blow to the head that’s caused some degree of swelling and at least a mild concussion. As I said, the X-ray showed only a hairline fracture of your cheekbone, so you will not need reparative surgery. You have extensive bruising and some swelling around the impact point, as well as the blurry vision you described earlier. None of this is particularly serious, but we do need to monitor you in case you develop bleeding in or around your brain. A subdural hematoma is always a risk after an injury such as yours.”

Toby couldn’t be sure how much of that Caleb got, all things considered. “So he’ll be here overnight, and if everything looks okay tomorrow, he’ll be able to go home?”

“Or the day after.” Dr. Grace turned to the computer sitting in the corner of the cubicle and signed in, then pulled up a screen with row after row of data, none of which Toby could read from where he was. Dr. Grace clicked and typed for a couple of minutes, pulled up another screen showing an image that had to be Caleb’s X-ray, and then typed a few more notes before clicking out and, apparently, logging off.

She turned to face Toby and Marty. “He’ll need to be monitored pretty closely even after he goes home,” she told them. “Head injuries can be tricky.”

Names flashed through Toby’s head, players who’d lost seasons, careers, even their lives to nasty beanballs. He shuddered and resisted, barely, reaching out to take Caleb’s hand again.

“We’ve been through this a time or two,” Marty said. “We’ll have the team doctor in to check him out while he’s here, too. He’ll be the one handling the follow-up.”

“Good.” Dr. Grace held out a hand, and Marty and Toby each took a turn shaking it. She turned back to the bed. “We’ll get you in a room and settled soon, Mr. Browning.”

“Thanks.” Caleb almost got a real smile out this time, though he favored the injured left side. Dr. Grace stepped back out and pulled the curtain back into place, and Toby let himself grab Caleb’s hand again once she was gone.

Marty cleared his throat. “Look, guys, I need to head back to the ballpark, let everyone know what’s up. The guys’ll be asking. I doubt any of them will try to come up tonight, but you might get some company tomorrow.”

Toby heard the unspoken warning: play it safe if you don’t want the world to know about this. He gave Marty a half smile. “Thanks,” he said. “For, well, everything.”

Marty clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a shake. “No problem, kiddo.”

He stepped around the curtain, and Toby heard his footfalls fading as he walked away. He moved closer to the bed and lifted his free hand to brush Caleb’s uninjured cheek.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” he murmured, and Caleb turned his head into the gentle touch.

“Stay?” Caleb’s voice was low, like he was a step away from sleep, and Toby couldn’t have denied him even if he’d wanted to.

“Not going anywhere,” he promised.

 

 

“JESUS CHRIST, this headache won’t quit.”

Caleb had been griping most of the day, first about how he couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep with nurses waking him up every couple of hours to check on him, and then how they gave him bland food because he kept having bouts of nausea from the concussion. Toby had let him rant, knowing he was in pain and feeling rotten, but now the pain itself had become the focus of Caleb’s dissatisfaction.

“Jesus Christ, Caleb.” Toby gave up standing next to Caleb’s bed, trying to soothe him, and threw himself down into the relatively comfortable recliner he’d mostly not slept in the night before. “You got hit in the head with a goddamn baseball. Of course you have a fucking headache!”

The glare Caleb gave him would have been more effective had the left side of his face not been swollen and spattered with a rainbow of colors. At least his eyes were open, which was an improvement, and he’d shown no signs of bleeding on his brain. But his vision was still blurry, especially in his left eye, so he was scheduled for another scan to make sure nothing major was going on, and he’d be stuck in the hospital another night or two.

Toby glared right back. “Look, I know you’re in pain and frustrated and all that. I get it. But could you ease up a little on the throttle? You’re giving me a headache, and that won’t help anyone.”

Caleb rolled his good eye. “Oh, poor you, stuck here babysitting instead of out having a high old time. Why don’t you—”

That was it. Toby jumped to his feet, took the two steps to the side of the bed, and leaned over to kiss Caleb, hard. He didn’t even care if it hurt. Maybe that would snap Caleb out of his little self-pity party.

Caleb made a muffled sound, but after a moment, he kissed Toby back, bringing up one hand to slide into Toby’s hair. Toby held the kiss and then broke away to catch Caleb’s gaze.

“I’m here because I want to be, idiot,” Toby said. “And because I know you want me here. So save the drama for yo’ mama. Got it?”

Caleb stared at him for a long moment before giving a slow, lopsided smile. Toby met it with one of his own before leaning in to kiss him again.

The kiss was slow, deepening gradually until their tongues twined together and Toby’s pulse pounded and his cock got really, really interested in where things were going. He’d just realized they were in a hospital and he should probably ease up on the guy with the concussion when a noise at the door made them pull apart. Toby turned to see two people standing in the doorway, both of them wide-eyed. One was a nurse, and through the sudden panic, Toby was pretty sure she’d keep her mouth shut, or risk losing her job.

The man standing next to her was a bigger problem: Barry Knight.

Oh, fuck, Toby thought. No way in hell Barry wouldn’t go public with what he’d just seen. Toby wouldn’t have been surprised to see him pull out his phone and put it out on Twitter before he even left the room.

The nurse had slipped away by the time Toby managed to say anything. “Barry, I don’t know what—”

Barry waved a hand. “Do you have an official comment?” He flicked his gaze over to Caleb. “Either of you?”

Caleb sat up straighter. “Don’t do this, man,” he warned, though all three of them knew it was an empty threat. Random, stupid, blind luck—good for him, bad for them—and Barry was about to write his ticket as a sports reporter.

Barry nodded. “No comment. Got it. See you guys in the papers.”

He was gone before Toby or Caleb could say another word.

 

 

“I HADN’T planned for it to come out like this.”

Caleb’s voice was flat. After Barry’s visit, all the fight had gone out of him. As much as Toby had wanted him to be calmer, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

“I told my parents senior year of high school.” Caleb fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket that covered him from the waist down. “They were pretty upset, but the main thing Dad said was that if I wanted to play baseball, I had to keep it quiet.” Caleb shrugged. “He was right.”

Toby had pulled his chair close to the side of the bed, and at that, he reached out to cover Caleb’s restless hand with his own. “He might have been right back then,” he said. “But things change. Times change. Coming out isn’t as big a deal now. Look at Jason Collins. Basketball seems to be surviving that.”

Caleb gave Toby a look. “Except that he still hasn’t signed on with a team for this season.”

“He’s also thirty-four years old and was never a superstar,” Toby replied. “He might not have been signed anyway.”

Caleb let his head fall back against the pillows. “And I’m barely even a major leaguer,” he muttered. “No way I’m gonna stick after this.”

Toby wished he could reassure Caleb, but anything he said would be false hope, and they both knew it. The chances of the team doing anything immediately were slim, simply because it would be a public relations nightmare in the current climate to dump a player who’d just come out. But the long run was another story. And even with a voice that counted, which Toby would officially have in another few days, he couldn’t guarantee anything.

A knock sounded at the door, and an older black man stuck his head in. Toby recognized him after a moment as the orderly who’d brought Caleb’s bed upstairs the night before. “Hey, guys,” the man said. “Mandy sent me down to see if everything’s okay. Said some guy might’ve been giving you trouble?”

He flicked his gaze down to the bed, and Toby realized then that he still had his hand over Caleb’s. He didn’t guess it mattered all that much anymore.

“Just some asshole looking to write his ticket.” Caleb leaned forward. “You got anything you’d like to add?”

The man stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, crossing his arms behind his back and one ankle over the other. “My youngest brother got kicked out when he was sixteen.” His tone was as casual as his stance. “Our mama found out he was kissin’ on the boy across the way. He was on the street for a year before I found him and took him home with me. Took almost another year before he trusted I wasn’t gonna yank the rug back out from under him.” He let his gaze flick between them. “You got nothin’ to worry about from me.”

Tension drained out of Toby, and he gave the man a smile. “I’m Toby Macmillan, and this is Caleb Browning,” he said, tilting his head in Caleb’s direction. “If you ever need anything for you or your brother, you just call the Braves’ office and ask for me. I’ll do what I can.”

The man smiled. “Otis Washington,” he said. “And if you boys need any help around here, keepin’ the sleazeballs away or whatever, you just let me know.”

“We will.” Caleb squeezed Toby’s hand, and Otis flashed them a quick, bright grin before he slipped back into the hall.

 

 

TOBY got the phone call just after midnight, not twenty minutes after he’d gotten home from the hospital. Caleb had finally convinced him to go get some decent sleep so one of them would be rested when Caleb got released, which looked like it would be Tuesday. Toby had stripped to his boxers and flopped down on the bed when his cell phone rang, and he picked it up to see the Braves’ main switchboard number on the caller ID.

“Fuck.” He blew out a breath, debated ignoring it, then decided he might as well get it over with.

“Hello?”

“Please hold for Mr. Macmillan.” Toby didn’t recognize the voice, but he supposed it was one of the backup admins, since his grandfather’s executive assistant worked a normal weekday schedule. While he waited—once again considering hanging up and trying to ignore it all—he tried to figure out what Ray’s reaction would be. Breaking a story like this at midseason broke all the rules, and leaving the public relations department out of it only made things worse. It wouldn’t matter much that they hadn’t been given a choice about it. The team was still going to have to deal with a mess.

“Toby!” his grandfather practically bellowed into Toby’s ear, and Toby jerked the phone back instinctively. “What in the goddamn hell are you playin’ at, boy?”

The good old boy in Ray Macmillan rarely made an appearance anymore, unless he was playing up to the public. But apparently anger brought it out in him.

“I’m not playing at anything, Granddad.” Toby fought to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“And you’re gonna goddamn fix it,” Ray growled. “You be in my office at nine o’clock in the morning, you hear me?”

Toby’s headache was starting to rival Caleb’s. “What for?”

A sharp noise rang through the phone, and Toby realized Ray must’ve slammed a fist down on his desk. “You just do what you’re told and get your ass down here. And you damn well better not be late.”

Another noise, and the line went dead. Ray had hung up on him. Toby couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, or to care all that much about what might happen in less than nine hours. The only thing he wanted to know was that Caleb would be fine, and they’d be together.

Rolling to the side, Toby crawled under the covers. He paused to set his alarm for way too early, to give himself time to call and check up on Caleb before heading to the ballpark, then curled a pillow close to his chest to try to sleep.

 

 

“THIS ends right here. Right now.”

Ray Macmillan glared at Toby across the expanse of his shining mahogany desk. Impressively large even in the expansive office, the desk was older than Toby. He remembered crawling under it when he was a toddler and sticking his head out the opening in the front, just like the famous picture of JFK Jr. under his father’s Oval Office desk.

Toby had sat in the chair across this desk from his grandfather more times than he could count, even sometimes for a dressing-down. But never had his grandfather looked at him with this kind of venom in his eyes.

“What ends?” Toby knew the answers. He just wanted to force Ray to say them.

“This whole… thing with you.”

Toby’s laugh was hollow. “You mean the thing where I’m gay? Or the thing where I’m falling for one of the ballplayers?”

“All of it!” Ray roared, his face going even redder, so much so that Toby almost feared for his heart. “You are not some sick, perverted—”

“I’m gay, Granddad.” Toby was on his feet by then. His sleep had been fitful, and he’d had no breakfast and only half a cup of coffee. But he felt more energized in that moment than he had in days. “I’ve always been gay. I’ll always be gay. You can be upset about me dating a ballplayer. I can accept that. But you do not get to sit there and call me names for being who I am.”

Ray’s scowl deepened. “I’m glad your father isn’t here to see this.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Toby leaned forward, hands on the desk. “I’d hate to see him figure out exactly how much of a bigot his father is.”

Ray jumped to his feet. “Now you listen here,” he growled. “I set up a press conference tomorrow at one. You will give a prepared statement denying everything you’ve been accused of, and then you’ll sign a nondisclosure agreement about all of this. If you don’t, I’ll write you out of my will. I will get your trust fund overturned. I already have my lawyers working on it. I swear, you will never own a single piece of this ball club if I have anything to say about it.”

Toby leaned back, stunned that his own grandfather would seriously try to cut him out so completely. His father had brought him up with baseball, had woven the ball club so completely into his genes that Toby wasn’t at all sure he’d know what to do with himself without it. He didn’t have a clue if Ray could actually do anything about the portion of the team he was slated to own in a few more days, but the idea that his grandfather could be so vindictive as to take that away from him? A baseball to the head might have been less painful.

“Some grandfather you are,” he spat. “Hating your own grandson so much that you’d take away the one thing that’s always been a part of his life. Well, good luck with that.” He nodded and rapped his knuckles on the gleaming wood surface between them. “I’m sure this desk will take care of you when you’re too old to do it for yourself.”

He spun on his heel, ignoring his grandfather’s attempts to call him back. Let him think what he wanted. Toby had plans of his own.

 

 

THE pressroom hummed with conversation, but Toby tried to ignore the noise. Dexter, the team’s PR director, stood next to him behind the curtain that hung at the back of the podium where players and coaches sat for organized press conferences. Toby’d never had a turn there, but he was about to find out how it felt.

Toby hadn’t slept much more the night before than he had Sunday night. After his disastrous meeting with his grandfather, he’d visited Caleb, who’d gotten the full story out of him and then urged him to go see his own lawyer, who’d been managing his parents’ estate and his trust for nearly ten years, before he did anything rash. Toby had managed to get an appointment early that morning, and between that and the hours of conversation with Caleb the day before, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Steeling himself, Toby nodded when Dexter’s assistant asked if they were ready, and he followed Dexter out to the table. He sat down behind the microphone and looked up, finding his grandfather where he sat on the front row, looking dire. Just behind him sat Matt Sussman, though, and he gave Toby a smile.

“Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,” Dexter began. “Toby Macmillan is here to read a statement.”

It wasn’t precisely true, and Toby had warned Dexter of that, though he hadn’t given him details. When Dexter turned his head toward Toby, Toby took a deep breath and started.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I have a prepared statement here—that I’m not going to read.”

Ray Macmillan’s eyes widened, but before he could react further, Toby went on. “My name is Toby Macmillan, and I am a gay man.”

The murmurs he expected started among the crowd, but he ignored them, continuing to stare down his grandfather. “I’m making this announcement not because I think it matters, but because it shouldn’t. My private life should stay private, but it doesn’t always work that way. Coming out is a personal, private decision, but making an announcement in public like this isn’t something you do for yourself. It’s something you do for others.”

He finally broke eye contact with his grandfather and looked around at the other faces in the room. “I want to be clear. This changes nothing about me or who I am. I’ve been working with this team since I was fifteen, and the only thing different now is that I’m almost twenty-one.”

He saw Barry then, standing near the back wall, his face reddening, though Toby had no idea if he was embarrassed, angry, or what. He also didn’t care. “It’s important to note,” Toby said, holding Barry’s gaze, “that Major League Baseball, and the Atlanta Braves specifically, have policies against discrimination on any basis, including sexual orientation. These policies apply not only to the front office but on every level of the organization, top to bottom. And that includes the ballplayers.”

Toby looked down at his hands and unfolded the piece of paper he still held. “On that note, I do have a prepared statement to read. This is on behalf of Caleb Browning.”

He knew what the statement said, but he kept his eyes on the paper as he read it anyway. “Caleb says: ‘In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color line when he debuted with the Brooklyn Dodgers of the National League. I know I’m not the first gay man to play in the majors, and I certainly have no illusions that I am, or ever could be, a fraction of the player that Robinson was. But if by breaking this barrier, if by coming out openly, I can help other players like me even a fraction as much as he did, then it’s worth whatever consequences I might face.’”

Toby paused for a long moment and then looked up at the crowd in front of him. “Caleb Browning has spent his entire professional baseball career with the Atlanta ball club. He was thrilled to finally join the Braves at the All-Star break. A few days ago, he suffered what could easily have been a career-ending injury on the field. It would be shameful for his career to suffer because of his choice to be honest about his sexuality.”

Toby leaned forward, speaking directly into the microphone. “In closing, let me be very clear. If I have anything to say about it, this ball club will not tolerate discrimination of any kind. Any employee who has a problem with that is free to seek employment elsewhere.” He met his grandfather’s gaze and, to his surprise, saw a glimmer of respect there, among the expected shock and anger.

Toby looked around the room again. “I will not be taking questions at this time. Assistant team trainer Marty Boynton will be available shortly for questions about Caleb’s injuries and projected recovery. Thank you for your attention.”

Toby pushed to his feet, ignored the shouted questions, and walked away from the table and out the door, for once in his life feeling completely at ease in his skin.

No matter what happened next, he knew he’d done the right thing.

 

 

TOBY knocked on the side door to the hospital Otis had tipped him off about and smiled at Otis when he opened it a few second later. “Thanks, man.”

Otis grinned and held up one fist for Toby to bump. “No prob. Saw the press thing. You did good.”

Toby shrugged and bumped Otis’s fist. “Did what I needed to do.”

Otis nodded. “Now go see about your boy.”

 

 

CALEB was dressed and ready to go when Toby gave a knock out of deference and pushed into his room. “Oh, thank God,” Caleb said the second he saw Toby. “Come over here and let me give you the biggest hug and kiss ever, and then get me the hell out of here!”

Toby had to laugh even as he obeyed. Caleb pulled him in tight, cupping the back of his neck with one hand and sliding the other around his waist, and kissed him, his mouth minty fresh. Caleb smelled clean and right, even through the antiseptic scent that lingered after any hospital stay, and Toby would have been content to stay right there.

But Caleb was finally going home, and the sooner Toby could get him there, the better.

Full of reluctance, Toby drew away. “Are you all checked out?”

“Yep.” Caleb pushed to his feet, and Toby reached for his hand without even thinking about it. Caleb meshed his long fingers with Toby’s immediately, as if they’d been holding hands for years instead of for the first time, and that little something in Toby’s chest turned over again.

God, I am falling in love with him. Even though it had been only a couple of weeks, the feeling hit him hard, and he didn’t allow himself to fight it. He squeezed Caleb’s hand and reached over to pick up the duffel bag sitting on the bed.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

 

OTIS pushed Caleb downstairs in the hospital-required wheelchair, but he’d scouted things out in advance and knew a couple of news teams waited outside to pounce when they emerged, so he let them out the same side door as before. Even with the subterfuge, Toby breathed easier once they were in his car and headed out of the parking lot. He had no idea whether they’d encounter media at Caleb’s apartment, but he guessed that would probably be a safer bet than his own place. Caleb hadn’t been living there long, so maybe the press hadn’t found it yet.

Things looked promising when they pulled up to the gates—nothing resembling a news van in sight—and soon they were climbing the flight of stairs to Caleb’s place. Toby kept his hands off Caleb, not because he was worried about being seen but because he didn’t want to give the impression that he thought Caleb couldn’t make it on his own. Caleb had been checked, rechecked, and given every all clear in the books, with just fading bruises and prescription painkillers to show for his troubles. He’d be off the field for a little while yet, but daily life he could handle just fine.

Toby still carried his bag for him, though. And Caleb, he noted, hadn’t protested.

Caleb unlocked the door and pushed it open. He shot Toby a wry grin. “I guess it’s not going to feel much like home,” he noted, “considering I’ve only spent about a half-dozen nights here.”

Toby laughed. “Well, it’s a definite improvement over a hospital room, that’s for sure.”

Caleb chuckled in agreement and walked inside. Toby followed closely behind and shut the door behind them. Caleb dropped his keys on the breakfast bar, kicked off his sneakers, and kept walking, straight into the bedroom. Toby hung back, unsure whether he should follow, but in another few moments, Caleb stuck his head back out.

“I’m going to scrub the hospital off me.” He let his gaze wander Toby’s body, so much like a caress that Toby almost felt it. “Want to wash my back?”

Toby’s mouth stretched into a grin, even as he dropped the duffel bag and went after his boyfriend. When he got to the bathroom, Caleb had his shirt and shorts unbuttoned and was bent over, turning on the water. Not about to miss that opportunity, Toby walked up right behind him, cupped Caleb’s hips with his hands, and pressed his crotch, and his rapidly hardening cock, into the valley between Caleb’s cheeks.

“Shit!” Caleb jumped and then moaned as Toby rubbed harder against him. “Fuck. Toby.”

Toby bent over Caleb’s back so he could lick his way up his neck to bite his earlobe. “Missed you,” he murmured. The shiver that ran through Caleb’s body sent Toby’s heart rate galloping.

Caleb groaned. “I want this”—he rubbed his ass against Toby’s crotch—“so fucking much.” He turned his head and kissed Toby’s cheek, his lips soft and warm. “But let me wash the antiseptic smell off first? I don’t want us both to stink of it.”

“You smell like heaven,” Toby replied. He took a step back and away and attacked his clothes. “But I get it. Get your clothes off, and we’ll take care of that fast.”

Clothes discarded and water temperature adjusted, they stepped into the tub, and Caleb moved immediately under the spray. Toby followed, reaching for the tiny bar of soap sitting on the corner shelf. He laughed as he reached forward to wet it in the water and started working up a lather. “Did you steal the soap from the Hyatt?”

Caleb turned his head, and Toby saw he was blushing. “I haven’t exactly had much time to shop since I got here, and I left mine in Pearl.”

Toby moved in even closer and ran both hands across Caleb’s chest, rubbing the soap across his skin. “You know I’m just teasing you. I like this stuff, though. Smells like you.”

Toby felt Caleb’s chuckle under his fingers. “I smell like it,” he pointed out. “Especially with you rubbing it all over me.”

Toby grinned against Caleb’s shoulder. “Not all over. Not yet, anyway.” He let one hand drift lower, working suds into the hair below Caleb’s navel, and Caleb shivered again and leaned back into Toby’s body. Toby stopped any pretense of washing him and just held him there, turning his face into the side of Caleb’s neck.

“You scared me,” he whispered. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Caleb pushed away, making Toby’s heart jerk in his chest, but he only turned around and cupped Toby’s face in both hands. “I’m fine.” His voice was low but strong. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Toby ran his fingers oh so lightly over the side of Caleb’s beautiful face, now marred with bruises. “You better not,” he said. “I’m kind of getting used to having you around.”

Caleb smiled. “It’s not like I haven’t been hit by pitches before. Hell, from behind the plate more than at it. They don’t call catcher’s gear the ‘tools of ignorance’ for nothing. We’re sitting ducks.”

“But a batter doesn’t have a catcher’s mask.”

“Kind of hard to see the pitcher that way.”

Before Toby could reply, Caleb bent to kiss him, and Toby could only open his mouth and slide his tongue out to tangle with Caleb’s. The risks came with the game, he knew. What had happened to Caleb was a one in a million shot, and odds were extremely low that it would ever happen again.

Didn’t mean Toby would stop worrying, but he’d have to learn to live with that.

Caleb’s lips moved away, sliding across Toby’s cheek to his ear. “Let’s get showered,” he rasped. “Because I think we’re gonna need to be lying down for me to do what I want to do to you.”

Toby’s whole body tightened at Caleb’s words, and he groaned, the low sound reverberating off the tile. He forced himself to take a step away from Caleb’s warm, wet body, reached for the sliver of soap again, and worked up new lather. He tried to keep his touch impersonal, efficient, but he failed miserably. Caleb’s skin just felt too good under his fingertips, and he lingered much too long on some of his favorite spots.

By the time they were both washed and rinsed off, they could barely move without bumping into each other’s hard cocks. Caleb grinned down at Toby and shifted his hips back and forth, letting their dicks bounce across each other as if jousting. Toby laughed and grabbed Caleb’s shaft to give it a squeeze. “Trying to start a fire?”

Caleb hissed and blinked. “Think we already have.”

Toby brushed a quick kiss over Caleb’s mouth but didn’t release his grip, even as he bent forward to turn off the water and then pushed the shower curtain aside. Caleb followed him out of the tub and reached to snag the towel off the bar, then used it to dry off the worst of the wetness while Toby continued to tease his cock. Toby leaned forward to suck droplets off Caleb’s nipples, and Caleb let out a sound between a whimper and a whine.

“You’re killin’ me,” he said, and Toby looked up at him from under his lashes as he closed his lips around Caleb’s right nipple. Caleb jerked all over. “Jesus,” he rasped out. “Bed. Now. Please.”

Toby pulled his mouth away but not his hand, using it to pull Caleb toward the bedroom. Caleb laughed roughly. “Leading me around by my dick?”

Toby ran his tongue all the way around his own lips before he answered. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

Caleb grunted, and then he pounced. He grabbed Toby with both arms, trapping Toby’s hand right where it was, and fell onto the bed, dragging Toby down and under him. He came up breathing hard but lying full-length on top, and Toby had absolutely no complaints about his position.

Caleb brought his hand up to push the still wet hair back from Toby’s forehead. “Want you,” he said, and then he kissed Toby so tenderly and deeply that it simultaneously melted Toby’s heart and stiffened his dick. God, Caleb could kiss. Toby could stay right there and just kiss Caleb forever and be satisfied.

But there was so much more they could be doing.

Toby wrapped his legs around Caleb’s and used the leverage to push his pelvis against Caleb’s, rubbing their cocks together between their bodies. Caleb groaned into their kiss and pushed back, setting up a give-and-take movement that rocked them closer and closer to orgasm. Toby raked his fingernails down Caleb’s back, probably leaving red marks behind, but he didn’t care. He just wanted more of Caleb against him, around him. Inside him.

“Can’t wait.” Caleb murmured the words against Toby’s mouth and dove back into their kiss, even as he maneuvered them to the side so he could work a hand in between them. He caught their cocks together, the warmth and pressure of his fingers perfect, and Toby gasped against Caleb’s mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “Caleb.”

Caleb made a sound in his throat and plunged his tongue into Toby’s mouth, and Toby opened wide to let him in. He got a handful of Caleb’s hair and a handful of his ass and rode it out, letting Caleb carry them to the edge and then throw them right over.

They came down together, panting, skin flushed and sweaty, their mixed cum pooled on Toby’s stomach. Toby floated on a wave of sensation, residual shockwaves zapping through him, feeling the warmth of Caleb’s breath against the side of his face. Caleb tightened his arm around him where he still held him close, and Toby’s heart did that little flip again.

I am so far gone it’s not even funny. Ironically, the thought made him snicker

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.” Toby pressed a kiss against Caleb’s temple, the closest part of him he could reach. “Just rest. We’ll get cleaned up in a bit.”

 

 

GOD, I hate this.

Toby stopped outside his grandfather’s office and gave a cursory knock on the frame before stepping into the open doorway. “You asked to see me?”

“I did.” Ray Macmillan sat behind the desk, just as he had two days earlier, but the look on his face was about a millions shades less dire. He lifted his chin in the direction of the chair nearest Toby. “Have a seat.”

Toby did, noticing as he moved closer that a folder lay open on his desk with what looked like legal paperwork spread out from it. He tensed, waiting for his grandfather to bring the hammer down on him.

“These documents,” Ray began, “are the ones my lawyer started drawing up for me on Monday. They include a revised version of my will and paperwork related to the ownership of this team.” He looked up, pinning Toby with his piercing gaze. “Every one of them is written to exclude you from ever inheriting or otherwise acquiring any portion of the 60-percent stake I hold in this ball club.”

Toby nodded. He’d expected as much when he’d defied his grandfather. After talking with his lawyer, Toby knew there was no risk of him losing the share his father had left him, the 30 percent he’d gotten on his own twenty-first birthday. But it didn’t surprise Toby that his grandfather would make sure Toby would never have any more.

Ray held his gaze for a few long moments, and then he picked up several of the sheets and slowly, deliberately, tore them in half from top to bottom. Toby sat up straighter, and Ray picked up another set and repeated the motion.

He pushed the ruined paperwork aside, along with the folder they’d been inside, revealing a second folder. He opened this one and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

“This is the document I had written after I told my lawyer to dispose of those.” He nodded toward the ruined paperwork. “It is a press statement confirming that I am aware of your sexual orientation, and that of Caleb Browning. Further, it states that it is the policy of the Atlanta Braves not to discriminate against its employees on the grounds of sexual orientation, and that the team will not tolerate any such actions by any of its staff.” He looked away from Toby finally. “It’s being released to the press as we speak. It is all I will have to say on the matter.”

Toby waited, wondering if his grandfather would have something a little more personal to say. When Ray didn’t continue speaking, Toby leaned forward. “So…. What? You’re not going to cut me out of the team because it would be a bad PR move? What about the fact that I’m your grandson and you’re supposed to actually, oh, I don’t know, care about me?”

Ray lifted his head, and Toby was taken aback by the weariness on his face. Suddenly, Ray Macmillan looked every one of his sixty-four years. “I don’t…. This is what I can do. I can’t….”

He trailed off, and despite himself, Toby felt a pang of sympathy. His grandfather was from a different generation, raised under different belief systems and societal structures. Just the fact that he was willing to overcome those learned prejudices enough not to cut Toby out of his life was a huge step.

Toby decided he could live with that, for now.

“I…. Thank you,” he finally said. He pushed to his feet. “I’ll see you—well. I’ll see you.”

He turned and walked out of the office, his heart aching, but not broken.

 

 

“HAPPY birthday, dear Tooooo-byyyyyy! Happy birthday to you!”

Toby leaned forward and blew out the candles, to a chorus of cheers. His face hurt from grinning so wide, but he couldn’t help himself. He stood in the middle of the Braves clubhouse after Friday night’s game, surrounding by the team and staff, a huge sheet cake decorated with an elaborate depiction of a baseball game sitting in front of him. He’d expected to get birthday wishes—he did every year—but the clubhouse staff had outdone themselves this time. Even the postgame meal was Toby’s favorite—pulled pork sandwiches with all the fixings.

Best of all was Caleb, standing next to him and smiling almost as much as Toby. Tonight was his first night back with the team, though he’d stay on the disabled list for at least another ten days, and they’d both been heartened by the many supportive greetings he’d received when they arrived. A few players avoided him, though because they disapproved or didn’t know what to say, Toby didn’t know. Heck, for all he knew, they might have their own secrets they weren’t ready to share.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Toby didn’t know who’d started the chant, but he suspected Marty, from the smirk on his face. Toby waved a hand until everyone quieted down a little.

“I think I’m kind of speeched out this week,” he said, to several hoots and even a couple of “go, boys.” “So I’ll just say thank you, for the cake and, well, just for being good guys and standing by me. Us.”

He reached for Caleb’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Now,” he said, reaching for the cake server sitting on the table. “Who wants the first slice?”

With his friends and coworkers clamoring for first dibs, Toby felt Caleb step up beside him, close enough that Toby could feel his body heat. He didn’t have to look. He knew Caleb would be right there, and that was enough for him.