Page 78 of Hot Streak

But Connor only was to a point. Because when the game went to commercial, he hit the mute button on the remote and turned to Jackson.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“Uh, talk about what?” Jackson asked stupidly. Realizing, far too late, that he’d been lulled into complacency, but only until Connor decided to strike.

“You know what about,” Connor retorted.

“We said everything that needed to be said,” Jackson said cautiously. “It’s a mistake. For you. For me. We can’t do this. Even in here, in private. It’s . . .it’s too messy. And you’ve got too much to risk.”

“And you’ve got nothing to risk then?” Connor asked archly.

Jackson sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you or to myself. I know my career’s nearly over. I’m not ever gonna be a major league success. Best I can hope for is to get through this season. Maybe play somewhere next year, if I’m lucky. That’s it. But you, you’ve got a stellar future ahead of you, Connor. Even today, when you pissed me off so much I could barely stand it, I knew how goddamn amazing you pitched.”

“Tristan thinks you worrying about me means you give a shit about me,” Connor said.

“You talked to Tristan about me?”

Jackson didn’t know what to think about this. Tristan Nicholson, who’d set records his rookie year, who had millions of followers on social media not just for his football prowess but because he was a beacon of queer hope to so many, knew his name. Knew his situation.

There was a momentary awe over it—and then of course, the fear came sliding in. What did Tristan really think of him? Did he think he was a coward? Did he think less of him because Tristan had come out and Jackson never had, officially?

“Yeah, I hope that was okay. I didn’t . . .well, I didn’t share a lot of details,” Connor said, suddenly looking nervous and picking at the blanket.

“It’s not like I’m some big secret, Connor,” Jackson said wryly.

“So is he right, then?”

“Of course I give a shit about you. I give a shit about everyone on this goddamned team,” Jackson muttered.

“Right.” Connor didn’t look happy about his answer, but what else could Jackson have said? Of course you’re special, of course you’re different than TJ or Ro or Kevin.

If he did, then Connor wouldn’t let this go.

He’d drag them both in, no matter how Jackson fought it.

But even then, even knowing what he knew about the situation and about Connor’s stubborn streak, Jackson still nearly said, no, wait. I didn’t mean it. Come over here, and I’ll show you how much I don’t mean it.

Instead, Connor turned the mute button off and returned his gaze to the TV like that was all he cared about.

But somehow Jackson didn’t feel like the crisis was averted; it only felt delayed.

Chapter 13

Connor dug his cleat into the mound and, under the brim of his hat, eyed the batter. Behind him, Jackson’s gaze was steady, reassuring even, as he held out his mitt, ready for the ball.

A moment ago, Jackson had given Connor the pitch signal. Slider, outside left corner. It was the middle of the third inning. In the second, he’d let a fastball hang a little too high, fingers slipping on the leather of the ball, and the asshole had hit a home run off him, but that was the only run he’d given up.

It had been a good outing so far. Jackson hadn’t even given him any pointers between innings other than a gruff, “Keep it going.”

He hadn’t even ragged on him about that fastball. He’d just shrugged, like, that happens sometimes. And it did.

Connor even thought he’d done a good job getting past it. They were already two outs down in this inning—a really nice fly ball TJ had caught and a strikeout when the batter hadn’t had a clue what to do when Connor brought the real heat.

Now they were on the fourth batter of the order, the best hitter on the team.

Even if Connor hadn’t learned, Jackson’s demeanor would identify him as clear as day. He always shifted a bit, crowding the guy in at the plate as much as the ump would allow, and he took his sweet time giving the signals.

Charlie had told him once catchers did that because the best hitters were patient—and it was always important to test that patience as much as possible, because if you could make them lose it, they’d lose their advantage.

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