Page 145 of Hot Streak

Not just the last home stand, the last five games of the season.

Of his career.

Jackson had thought he’d be sad and maybe full of bitter regret, but all he felt was pure fucking joy as he took the field every day.

Part of it was, of course, Connor. He was in love, and loved in return, for the first time in his life, but it wasn’t just him. Wasn’t just that they could retreat behind a closed door and fall into that loved-up bliss. It was Jackson finally beginning to embrace who he was, without shame or denial. It was enjoying this team, experiencing a resurgence. It was growing closer, with every at-bat, to setting the record.

It was beginning to figure out where his place was gonna be after he hung up his cleats. News that he was thinking of hanging out his own shingle and going into business as a consultant had spread and he had more offers than he knew what to do with.

Including from Alejandro Guiterrez, who had caught Connor when he was in the majors. The message he’d sent had not only indicated that he’d be interested in some personal coaching, but that the team was interested in potentially hiring Jackson to continue mentoring Connor and their other young pitchers over the offseason and through the next season.

When he’d called his mom and told her he wouldn’t be coming home and crashing on her couch after all, she’d just laughed at him. “Did you really worry you’d be doing that?” she’d asked him.

He had. He couldn’t deny it.

First he’d angsted about that. Then, after Connor, he’d agonized over being forced into following him around like a helpless puppy.

Would that change their relationship for the worse? Would Connor fall out of love with him if he didn’t have anything of value to bring to their relationship?

But Jackson had begun to realize that wasn’t true. Even if he was penniless, essentially a house husband for Connor, he’d still have value in Connor’s eyes.

Why was that?

Because Jackson was learning how to respect himself, and an integral part of that was knowing he was going to be doing something of value, something other people—a lot of other people, it turned out—valued, too.

“Hey, Evans, you just gonna sit there and stare gooily out onto the field?” Kevin shouted from the bullpen.

“Yeah, Clark’s not even out here yet,” Ro retorted, as he scooped up a ball and tossed it to TJ, the ball making its way around the outfield and then back to the infield, as part of the team’s warmup.

“Sorry, was spaced out for a minute there.” He caught the ball as it made its way to him, and tossed it to back to Ro.

Jackson straightened his chest plate and settled back into his stance, waiting for Connor to head over for his final warmup.

This would be, in all likelihood, his last regular season minor league start, and Jackson knew he was feeling the pressure to pitch as well today as he had during his last major league game.

There were only two more games period, in the regular season, and the Rogues needed to win both of them to make it to the postseason—and it meant that Jackson only had two more games to hit two last home runs and finally set the record.

Before, he might’ve let the pressure swamp him and ultimately defeat him, but Jackson couldn’t help but grin with pure unbridled delight as Calvin, the first baseman, tossed him the ball and he leapt to his feet, making a nice long throw towards Ro, who was monitoring second.

“Nice,” Andy called out.

“Showin’ off your thirty-three-year-old catching skills, huh?” TJ teased as he jogged into the infield.

“Hey I could still throw someone out,” Jackson claimed good-naturedly. But TJ was right; he was not as quick as he’d been when he’d been in his twenties, that was for sure.

“Where is Connor?” Ro asked.

That was a really good question. When he’d left him in the clubhouse, he’d seemed fine enough. Nervous, maybe, but game for this challenge.

And . . .though only he and Connor knew this . . .wearing the underwear he’d worn for his last start, when he’d been in the majors.

“Not sure,” Jackson said.

“Thought you kept an eye on him,” Ro teased.

They hadn’t explicitly talked about it, not since Connor had come back to Raleigh, but it was clear that most of the team knew—or at least suspected, if the gentle teasing they’d received was any indication. Even Mikey had pulled him aside and asked, rather bluntly, “Is it helpin’ him and not hurtin’ him?”

When Jackson had started to answer, Mikey had held up his hand and said, “Don’t need you to tell me, Jackson. Just yourself.”

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