Page 154 of Hot Streak

He’d fought too long and too hard to give up now. To go down without a fight.

Then he swung, a fucking flawless swing that could make any scout weep, that should’ve guaranteed him a place in the majors, but because of circumstances, never had.

Maybe if Jackson had made it, this season never would’ve happened. He’d never have been here in Raleigh, waiting to school Connor the way he’d needed to be schooled. There, just waiting for Connor to fall in love with him.

Before the ball even cleared the wall, the dugout emptied, the bullpen following with a chorus of exultant shouts, Connor dragged along with them, gathering at home plate, ready to welcome Jackson home.

Connor watched from the back of the pack as Deke hugged him, yelling excitedly about what a fucking beauty that hit had been. Jackson went through every person on the team, smiling and acknowledging and accepting their back pats, and then the crowd parted and he was standing right in front of him.

It was just baseball.

Just baseball had always been enough to tie him into knots, but it had never made him emotional, not like this.

Jackson’s final game, his final at-bat, setting the record.

Guaranteeing the Rogues a trip to the playoffs.

Connor found himself choked up, tears threatening. He’d never been as proud in his whole life. But then, he realized as Jackson opened his arms and he fell into them, hugging him as tightly as he wanted to, not worrying about what anyone saw, what anyone might see, that he’d have been just as proud if Jackson had struck out.

If Jackson had never hit that ball and sent it out of the park.

Because Connor knew, because he knew this man, front and back and every which way in between, that if he’d struck out, and headed back to the dugout unsuccessful, no homer, no run, no record, no win, he’d have held his head high.

He’d have exited his career the exact same goddamn way he’d played every game of it.

“So proud of you,” Connor murmured into his ear, hanging on to him, because he didn’t want to let go.

“Just a hit,” Jackson said, shrugging, but his eyes were bright as Connor pulled back, so he could look at his face.

“Not just for that,” Connor said, and he watched as comprehension dawned on his face. Love mixing with understanding. “For everything else.”

Epilogue

April, next year.

Jackson had done every single fucking thing he could, but he didn’t think he was going to make it. Not in time.

He sighed in impatience as the cab he was in navigated the packed streets around the baseball stadium in downtown Tampa Bay. Who had thought it was a fucking good idea to put a stadium in the middle of a busy area with skyscrapers full of workers hurrying home after a long day and enough baseball fans to fill a stadium on Opening Day?

Jackson supposed he wouldn’t even have cared if everything today had gone to plan.

He’d taken the first flight out of Arizona, hoping that even with the flight time and the time zone difference, he’d still make it to Tampa with a few hours to spare. Enough time to head to the stadium and not only supervise Connor’s warmup, but make sure he was all settled and ready.

But nothing had gone to plan.

His flight had been delayed and they’d landed hours late, only for the airline to somehow lose his luggage, even without a connecting flight.

Instead of sitting there, arguing with the airline staff, he’d finally just left his contact number and headed off, telling them, “My boyfriend’s pitching tonight for Tampa. I need to be there.”

“Wait,” she had said, “your boyfriend’s Connor Clark?”

It seemed that even though this was Connor’s first full year in the majors, Tampa already knew who he was.

Well, they should. Tampa had a whole stable of good starting pitchers, but they’d selected him to be the Opening Day starter, stating without words that Connor was their new ace.

They weren’t really out yet, necessarily, though neither of them really hid anything. Still, Jackson wouldn’t normally have said it so bluntly, but he’d needed her to understand that there was someplace he needed to be, desperately.

She’d put her hand on his and squeezed. “I’ll find your luggage,” she said. “Get to the stadium.”

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