Page 6 of Diamond Ring
“Incident?” Because the way Jake says it sounds more likefight.
His skepticism must show because Jake grins self-effacingly. “Nothing serious. They gave me the option of paying a clubhouse fine or, uh...” He flushes slightly. “My other option was dressing as a Care Bear.”
Alex isn’t going to laugh. Or he is, but Jake’s laughing with him.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember that,” Jake says.
“Didn’t get to Elephants camp until the end of spring training.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” Which makes Alex bristle until he adds, “I was out the last couple days.” Jake points to his jaw. “Emergency root canal. I really did look like a Care Bear for a while.”
So not too good to come introduce himself to Alex then. “You have pictures?” Alex asks, mostly to make Jake laugh and roll his eyes.
Jake nods to the screen where their video game avatars sit, paused. “I could be convinced to show you them”—he plucks Alex’s controller from where it’s loosely cradled in his lap—“if you tell me what I should do.”
“You gonna play for me?” Alex asks.
“That’s what we’d do in a game situation—we gotta learn to trust each other, right?”
“Yeah.” Alex swallows dryly, wishing he brought some Gatorade. “I guess so.”
Alex’s uncertainty follows him on the day of Jake’s start: to the batting cages and the clang of the weight room, to his pregame meal, food leaden in his stomach.
He calls Sofia, hoping for the comforting chaos of home in the background—Marianne’s drumming or whatever project Evie is working on. Instead Sofia is as upbeat as a pep rally over the phone, the same cheer she got before his high school games like a polite indulgence, until his senior year when things really mattered.
Thingsreallymatter now, especially the big-league check that’s coming next week, half of which is already earmarked for her. He changes into his uniform, too early, too eager. A few guys razz him about it, teasing Alex extinguishes with a glare.
He aims a similar look at Jake when he bounds up as Alex is winding athletic tape around his wrists—and semi-covertly trying to tape over the clear plastic spacer through his left nipple. A piercing Alex got on impulse that he doesn’t regret until it gets caught on his chest protector. Thus, tape. He lays a piece across his chest, about to pull on his undershirt, when he catches Jake staring.
Ninety percent of getting people not to ask you questions you don’t want to answer is to just wait them out. Don’t ask what they want. Don’t offer to help them. Just let silence stretch into awkwardness until they dismiss themselves from the conversation.
Jake is apparently in the other ten percent. “Wow, did you get hurt? You should really talk to a trainer if that’s going to be a problem playing.”
He stops when Alex shakes his head. “I have a nipple piercing.”
Jake’s eyes widen. A flush colors his cheeks, like Alex managed to scandalize him. “I—Oh. Why?”
“Why what?”
“I mean, I get like earrings or whatever.”
Because it feels good when guys tug on it during sex. Something he definitely cannot say to Jake, who might swoon onto a nearby rolling chair. “I was in a punk band.”
Jake nods, as if that explains everything. “What’d your parents think of that?”
“My aunt was kind of pissed”—Alex lets that sit for a second—“that I got it done at a shop that wasn’t owned by one of her friends.”
Jake’s mouth goes slack in surprise. It takes Alex’s mind off the game they’re about to play. Momentarily. “Is your aunt the one who was here for our first game?” Jake asks.
And Alex will probably have to tell guys at some point, a process that’s always a little like unwinding athletic tape from his wrists. Better to do all at once, even if it rips some hair out. “My dad died when I was a kid. My aunt adopted me.” There. A chaotic year boiled down to its salient points. Hopefully without the rude questionWhat about your mom?
He expects a pitying look, the big-eyed sympathy Jake seems made for. Jake’s hand curls like he’s pressing his nails to his palm. He issues a quiet “I’m sorry to hear that” then adds, “You ready for the game?” like he knows Alex wants to change the subject.
“Guess I’ll have to be.” Not what any pitcher wants to hear before their first big-league start. “We’ll be okay.”
Jake glances around, wary, then sits in the nearby rolling chair, unlacing and relacing his cleats, as if imparting luck. “You really think so?”
And he smiles, bright and trusting, when Alex nods.
