Page 134 of Hot Streak

“More than half-obsessed, if I’m being honest,” Jackson said wryly. “I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Andy said conversationally.

“I shouldn’t have . . .it was a bad idea . . .it’s still a bad idea,” Jackson admitted.

“And inevitable, too, I’d guess.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, but yeah, that was the best way to describe it. No matter how hard he’d tried to resist Connor Clark, giving in had felt like the rightest move in the world.

“Does everyone know?” Jackson asked.

“I think most of the guys aren’t blind, if that’s what you’re asking.” Andy’s voice was matter-of-fact. “You think they give a shit? Do they give Deke shit?”

“Well, no, but Deke’s boyfriend isn’t on the team,” Jackson said.

On the field, Tony Lombardi, the Rogues’ second baseman, hit into a double play, ending the inning, but because Jackson was the designed hitter this game—not catching—he didn’t have to go strap his gear on.

“Neither is Connor.”

Jackson glanced over at Andy. He respected the man so much. He was a legend. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“We both know it is,” Andy said. “I know what happened with you and Davy Robinson. That sucked. But things aren’t that way, everywhere, and they’ve begun to change.”

“I’m not gonna cost him a chance at a Hall of Fame career,” Jackson said. But wasn’t he, already? He was so fucking tired of feeling guilty, but he didn’t know how to dismiss the feeling entirely.

But to Jackson’s surprise, Andy laughed. “That what you think you’re doing?”

“Come on. You can’t say it’s not a concern,” Jackson said.

Andy shrugged. “I can’t say it’s not a problem. But I think you’re overestimating how much a good manager cares about who a guy takes into his bed. He wants a player who can play. And we both know Connor can fucking pitch.”

“Yeah.” Jackson didn’t say—but what about me?—but he was thinking it.

Andy nudged him. “You were a different story. Did they love you and Davy? No way. But they also had Alejandro Guiterrez in double A. They knew he was coming up and fast.”

“I knew he was behind me,” Jackson said. Because of that, he’d known he couldn’t take a step out of line, because everyone was so high on Alejandro. Thought he was going to be the next big catcher.

And yet Jackson had let his dick take over and paid the price.

“You were never gonna be the guy, because they’d already decided he was the guy,” Andy said.

“Wait, what.” Jackson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But maybe he could all the same.

“Ironically, they ended up trading Alejandro away, and you, too, a few years later, but in the end, you both ended up here, in the same farm system. He’s catching Connor now, isn’t he, up in Tampa?” Andy’s question was casual, like it wasn’t a big fucking deal.

“Yeah,” Jackson said, distracted. “Wait, are you saying Davy wasn’t why I got sent down?”

“I mean, I can’t say it wasn’t a factor,” Andy said with a shrug. “That manager was old-school. No big surprise he retired a few years after that. Of course, everyone thought it was his choice, but no way he wanted to call it quits. Still, everyone knew he was freaking in love—and not like that, Evans—with Alejandro. I’m pretty sure it would’ve gone down the same, if Davy had been a woman.”

Jackson couldn’t believe it.

He’d always known about Alejandro, of course.

But he’d still believed that the Davy affair was the nail in his coffin. And if it wasn’t . . .if what Andy was saying was true . . .

“Wait, you thought this whole time they shunted you to triple A ball only because you were gay?”

Jackson shot him a look. “It was not an insane assumption.”

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