Page 65 of Hot Streak

“Did they give you a hard time?”

“Actually,” Deke said, leaning forward, voice dropping low, like this was a secret. “I find that nobody actually gives a shit, you know? I was all worried about it, when I was drafted a few years back, but I’ve never run into a single speck of trouble. How ’bout you?”

Jackson stared at him a little incredulously. Never run into a single speck of trouble. And here he was, completely convinced that his sexuality had demolished his hopes of making it in the majors.

It was a truth he’d held, bitter and sour, close to his chest for what felt like forever.

Of course nobody would treat him that way to his face, but there had been whispers, a handful of times, all early on, right after Davy.

But it was one thing to hold this to his chest, like an ugly secret, and it was another to tell someone else. Especially someone he didn’t know all that well, like Deke.

“Honestly, not much from the other guys in the clubhouse,” Jackson said. “And I’ve been in a lot of clubhouses.”

“Yeah, you have,” Deke said, leaning back and sipping his beer. “You got nobody special, then?”

Jackson laughed without humor. “Relationships in general in the minors are fucking brutal. How am I supposed to have one?”

“I got someone,” Deke said. “Well, we’re off and on, some. I’ll admit that. It’s not easy.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve never—not really. Not in any way that matters.” It was harder than Jackson had thought, admitting out loud that he’d never cared about someone that way. That he’d never understood what it was to love someone so much he’d willingly throw caution to the wind.

Davy hadn’t been love; they’d only been hooking up. And when he’d been traded, leaving Jackson behind, he’d only felt bitterness at how extraordinary talent could paper over any concerns over a guy’s sexuality, not sadness. He’d never really missed Davy. Not the way he was sure he was supposed to, if he’d had feelings for the guy.

“That’s fucking sad, man. I’m not gonna lie to you,” Deke said.

“I know,” Jackson said wryly.

“Sadder even than the fact Rob and I don’t get nearly enough time together. Sadder even that we’re breakin’ up every six months or so ’cause it gets too goddamn hard.”

“That sounds like it fucking sucks,” Jackson said.

Deke shrugged. “It’s not great. I know it would be better to let him go, you know? But I love him. He loves me. He doesn’t want to hold me back. Fuck it, I don’t want to hold me back. I wanna get to the show. Find some stability. Make some real money. Take care of him.”

“You’ll get there,” Jackson said, even though he hardly knew if that was true.

“Not if I can’t get this fucking drought off my back. I’m zero for the last twenty at-bats. We’re losing. I’m going to end up—” Deke stopped abruptly, but Jackson knew what he’d been about to say. I’m going to end up like you.

He couldn’t even be offended by it, because it was true.

“I get it,” Jackson said. “I know I’m the cautionary tale.”

“No, no.” Deke smacked the table. “You wanna know the actual truth? You’re actually the aspiration, Jackson. You played this game with integrity, no matter how many times you got traded and moved up and down. You were always yourself. Always gave your all. Even when the team you were on didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t deserve it.”

“Not much to show for it, though,” Jackson pointed out.

“Except maybe you’re gonna clean up Connor Clark—and that’s something that could be a real legacy, if he makes it.”

“He’s gonna make it.” Even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming the whole goddamn way.

“So you think you can fix the Comet, huh?”

“Does he really need fixed?” Jackson said lightly, even though he, more than anyone else, knew that he did.

Connor was only a self-destructive streak away from imploding.

“You know he’s a mess. He’s been better since you showed up, though,” Deke said thoughtfully.

“Well, he’s a real pain in my ass,” Jackson admitted. More than you know.

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