Page 66 of Perfect Game

“I am. I want to be home for you, I want to build a home with you, if that’s what you want. Add to our family, if that’s what you want. I’m very much unopposed to being a stay-at-home-dad.”

“Maxwell, this is the worst timing for us to be having this discussion,” I laugh as tears roll down my cheeks again. “But that is something I want. Someday.”

“We take it one day at a time, then. Starting with whatever happens tomorrow.” Max takes the towel from my shoulder and lays it on the counter before taking my hands and drawingme against his chest, wrapping me in his solid, steady warmth. “Leave the dishes. Come back outside.”

Sam finished the dishes before he and Kaline walked home for the night. Elise has gone to bed, and Max and I are alone on the patio, the fire in front of us slowly burning down for the night. I rest my head against Max’s chest as I stretch out on the couch. And then his phone rings, breaking the silence of the night.

“Hi Marisol,” Max sits up a little straighter and I do the same, hands shaking. “It’s awfully late for you.”

“It is,” it’s quiet enough outside that I can hear Marisol's voice clearly, even with the phone still pressed to Max’s ear. “Pack a bag for tomorrow. Just in case.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Deadline

SUTTON

At three in the morning,I roll over and glare at the bright red numbers on my clock. I haven’t slept all night. My stomach is in knots and I can feel the start of a tension headache setting in. I’ve always hated the trade deadline. It can be an emotional day for fans, players, and families. As a coach, I’ve seen players and prospects come and go for years, but never once have I had to worry that my boyfriend might be one of those players.

Until now.

Until that phone call. A warning from Marisol.

Detroit is looking to buy, and Seattle is looking to sell.

Our playoff hopes have been dashed thanks to a string of bad losses and Detroit has come out of the gate swinging after the All-Star break. The Mustangs haven’t made a championship run in more than ten years, and it sounds like they have the determination – and the payroll – to beef up their roster for the home stretch of the season. They’ve been hit with a wave of injured pitchers, and have a farm system full of prospects they’re willing to part with.

Twelve hours.

We just have to get to a minute past three this afternoon,and we’re in the clear. A minute past three, and Max and I have the rest of the season free from the anxiety of the trade deadline. We’ll play through the rest of the season, and Max can retire, having spent his whole career with the Olympians. And next season I’ll have someone to come home to at the end of the day. He’s trying to convince me that his retirement would be enough for us to live on more than comfortably, and I could retire too.

Max has this crazy idea in his head that we’ll both retire and take a cross country road trip for however long it takes us to fill our national parks passports. The passports include parks, monuments, historic military parks, and historic sites. It would take us ages to fill our passports. But as my phone dings, and I see a notification of a trade deal going down already, I’d rather pack everything up today and head for the first park on the list than spend the next seven hundred twenty one minutes overcome with uncertainty.

The east coast players have been awake for hours already working on deals, I wonder if any of the front offices on our coast worked through the night, or if we’ll start off already at a disadvantage today. And, to top it all off, we have an afternoon game today. I turn my phone screen side down on the nightstand and burrow deeper into my bed, hoping for an hour or two of sleep before getting up and facing this day. Three hours later, after getting dressed and heading downstairs, I join Max and Elise for breakfast.

Elise is staying home today. She doesn’t want to be in the stadium in case whatever might happen happens during the game. I can’t say I blame her, and part of me wishes I had that option. I’d like nothing more than to burrow into my bed and stay there the rest of the day, hiding from the world, the notifications on my phone, and the possibility of a life changingtrade.

But I have a job to do.

And so does Max.

In a cruel twist of fate – and the baseball scheduling gods – Max is starting today.

When we leave for the stadium, Max hugs his sister tight and leaves a bag by the door. I wish I could ignore it, but it’s his “just in case” bag. The one Marisol told him to pack. The one with enough clothes for a few days while we figure out next steps.

Just in case.

The ride across The Sound is tense. I sit beside Max like I always do. His arm around my shoulders, his body shielding mine from most of the wind as we cross. There are a few regular commuters with us, the ones who know who we are but treat us like regular nine-to-fivers and not Maxwell Harrison and Sutton Davis of the Seattle Olympians. Except for today.

Today, as we’re getting off, The Suit – always in a suit, always on his phone, always with a backpack slung over one shoulder – claps Max on the shoulder as we disembark, wishing him luck today. And it only gets worse from there. The usual atmosphere of the clubhouse is gone and in its place a tense silence settles in. No music. No laughter. Only nervous glances and near-whispered conversations.

Roger has a trade contingency plan in place. A “break glass in case of emergency” mid-game game plan in the event we have someone pulled mid game from the dugout or from the field.

“It’s business as usual,” Roger says as he wraps up our coaches meeting just before the game starts. “Aside from these plans, we have to go out there and coach like it’s business as usual. If you can’t do that, tell me now.”

Roger makes prolonged eye contact with me as he wrapsup the meeting and I hear him loud and clear. He’s giving me an out. But I’m not willing to take it. I’m staying, even if it means the game I love so much breaks my heart.

The game gets off to a great start. Max pitches an immaculate top of the first inning, and our batters give him the run support he needs in the bottom half. It’s one o’clock. We have two hours until the deadline. And for the first time today, I’m feeling okay. I was worried we wouldn’t make it to game time. Surely no one would trade for him in the middle of a start.

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