Page 155 of Hot Streak

He’d jogged out to the cab area, grabbing the first one he could find, and of course, topping off the most frustrating day in his memory, this driver was about eighty and actually seemed to be afraid of the gas pedal.

From the mapping app on Jackson’s phone, he was pretty sure he was only a block or two away, and if the crowds decked out in the team colors were any indication, he could probably get out and make a run for it.

Maybe have a minute to see Connor before he took the field for one of the most important starts of his career.

“I gotta go,” Jackson said between clenched teeth, shoving a few twenty-dollar bills towards the elderly driver and getting out in the middle of the street, dodging more cars and heading towards the sidewalk. He joined the sea of people on their way to the stadium, speeding up to the fastest jog he could manage, moving around anyone walking too slowly, making decent time. But a glance on his watch told him he still might not make it in time.

He reached the side door, flashing his Tampa credentials to the door man and racing in, dodging staff in the private hallways, hoping that he remembered just how to reach the dugout door.

Would it be the end of the world if he didn’t get to see and speak to Connor right before he went on the field? No, it wouldn’t. Connor was so much steadier than he had been only a season before, a real kind of confidence—not the trumped-up confidence that actually hid apprehension and anxiety—blooming inside him for the first time.

But even though Connor didn’t need it, didn’t need him, it didn’t matter to Jackson.

He’d said he’d be here, and in the eight months since his last at-bat, he’d done his best to balance out his new work responsibilities, flying around the country and coaching pitchers and catchers to improve not only their skills but their mindsets, with his blooming relationship with Connor.

It wasn’t easy, but this would be the first time he’d missed something he’d promised, and while Jackson knew it was inevitable, the idea of missing Connor’s very first Opening Day start was painful.

He finally reached the dugout door, panting hard—he was going to have to start putting more hours in at the gym, not just lifting weights, but doing more fucking cardio, if he was going to keep having to run like this—and pushed it open.

Alejandro looked up at him from the bench in the dugout as he dug through his duffel bag of gear. “Oh, you made it,” he said, sounding relieved, which immediately worried Jackson.

Did Connor really need him? Had he been more of a mess than he’d seemed?

What if he hadn’t made it?

Jackson resolved to never cut things so close again. Jobs were important, and he genuinely enjoyed what he was doing, but it wouldn’t ever be worth it if he wasn’t here for Connor when he needed him.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine,” Alejandro said, chuckling. “I saw the panic on your face. I mean, he wasn’t happy about it, but he’s fine.” He jabbed a thumb towards the field. “He’s just out there.”

“I’m not—”

But before Jackson could remind Alejandro that he wasn’t even wearing his Tampa Bay staff polo, just his credentials around the lanyard around his neck, and that they probably wouldn’t want him out on the field, Alejandro interrupted him.

“Just go out there, Evans. We’ve only got a few minutes before first pitch.”

“Alright,” Jackson said, nodding.

He climbed the dugout stairs out to the field and took in the field. It was spread out in front of him like a jewel green carpet, framed on all sides by seats, the sky achingly blue overhead.

And then he looked down and saw the most beautiful thing in the world.

Connor Clark, smiling, as he walked towards him.

“You made it!” he exclaimed and didn’t hesitate, tugging Jackson into a hug.

They certainly weren’t hiding anything, but they did generally try to keep PDA to a minimum while they were working.

Though, Jackson supposed that right now, he wasn’t technically working.

He wasn’t here as a consultant; he was here as Connor Clark’s boyfriend. Had a seat in the friends and family section, even.

“Sorry I was so late,” Jackson said softly. “You all good?”

Connor nodded. His tan was deeper after a winter spent in Tampa, getting ready for his first major league season. “Just glad you’re here,” he admitted. He dropped his voice lower, angling his body, so he hid most of Jackson from the people around them. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Jackson had spent a week in Arizona, helping one of the Diamondbacks’ newer pitchers deal with a placement problem.

Connor was standing there, so golden and stunning in the sunlight, so his, it was impossible to resist the urge to touch him again. “You’ve got this,” Jackson said, reaching out and giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re gonna go out there and do this.”

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