Page 31 of Hot Streak

“You saw that?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “I caught you for a lot of fucking games, Connor. I know when you’re shaking off a sign.”

That was true. He’d done it to Charlie a lot. So often, in fact, that eventually Charlie barely blinked when he did it. Certainly didn’t argue with him the way Jackson had. Hadn’t made him pay for it, the way Jackson had.

Connor knew that it definitely wasn’t normal, the relationship he’d had with Charlie, that most pitchers didn’t have that kind of control over the games they threw, but he’d told himself it was different because he was different. He was better.

“You got the juice to go the distance. Don’t let your stubbornness ruin all that,” Charlie continued.

“I’ll think about it.” Connor paused. “He’s not always right, you know?”

“I don’t know, he’s pretty damn good. Look at how Kevin’s coming along.”

Kevin had pitched lights out today in the seventh and the eighth. His control had been nearly flawless, and he’d thrown some really sick stuff, pitches he was pretty sure Kevin had excitedly told Connor about, last week after Jackson had worked with him.

Connor had only vaguely nodded along, not wanting to hear how great Jackson was then—or now, really.

“I’m happy for Kevin. He deserves some success,” Connor said, meaning it.

“And what about you?”

Connor flashed him a grin, but it was a shadow of what he could usually dish out. He knew it. “Already got it, don’t I?”

“Sure,” Charlie said, a little dubiously.

Something in the base of Connor’s stomach trembled uncertainly. What if he didn’t make it? What if he failed?

It would be so much worse than Kevin—because nobody had ever thought he had it—but all of baseball believed that Connor was the next great pitcher.

Maybe you should listen to Jackson.

But what the fuck does he know? If he was all that fucking great, he’d be in the majors. Where you’re gonna be.

“I wish he’d just go back to his wife and family in Asheville,” Connor grumbled under his breath, lifting his beer to his lips.

Charlie laughed. Literally threw his head back and cackled. “His wife? Who’ve you been talking to?”

“He said he had family in Asheville, just last night,” Connor argued. Of course, he hadn’t specified, but Jackson was in his thirties, wasn’t he? And the way he looked . . .surely someone had locked that down?

“You mean you don’t know?” Charlie leaned in. “His sister and mom live in Asheville, sure. But Jackson doesn’t have a wife there. Doesn’t have a wife anywhere. And won’t, ever. He’s gay.”

There was a horrible clanging noise in Connor’s brain and his mouth was suddenly painfully dry.

He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay.

But you’re not. You’re not. No matter what kind of dreams you’re having. Promise.

“Connor.” Charlie smacked him on the arm. “Don’t look like that. He’s a good guy. Don’t be a shit about this.”

“I—” Connor’s voice came out strangled.

He should really be handling this better. He knew Deke was gay. It had never been an issue.

“Connor,” Charlie warned again.

“No, no, it’s not . . .you know I don’t give a shit. I knew about Deke.”

“Then why did you look like I dropped a bomb on your head?”

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