Page 49 of Breakout Year
The girl made a grabby-hand gesture to the book on the floor. Dutifully, Eitan picked it up, shaking it to knock off any dust, and handed it to her. Clarence calmly deposited her on one of the long backless benches lining the gym. She was short enough that her feet didn’t quite touch the floor.
“Seems like you all could use a reading nook,” Eitan said to Clarence.
“We could use a lot of things.”
“Huh.” Eitan started composing a mental list. “So tell me.”
18
Akiva
A few days after what Akiva termed The Rec League Incident, Eitan texted him with uncharacteristic brevity.
Eitan: hey so some personal news
Three dots appeared, and Akiva experienced a minute of un-caffeinated panic. That Eitan had somehow been traded again, despite it being the beginning of September. That he’d found a real boyfriend and was gently but firmly breaking things off with Akiva. Amicably parting ways didn’t feel so amicable to the churn in Akiva’s belly.
Until Eitan dropped an article into the thread. Akiva took exactly two seconds to skim the headline then hit the FaceTime button.
“National League Player of the Month!” Akiva yelled in greeting.
Eitan must have just woken up to the news—he was shirtless, hair bed-messy, pillow lines still decorating his face. “National League Player of the Month!” he yelled right back. “I woke up to a bunch of Insta tags. It’s weird to get those without people being mad at me.”
“Congrats. Mazels. Really, that’s amazing.” Akiva couldn’t help himself. He read off the article—which cited Eitan’s tendency to work at-bats, his ability to hit to all parts of the field. His strengths as a defender and his speed on the basepaths and how he’d had a better month offensively than any other position player in the league. After about the fifth sentence, Akiva took a breath and found that Eitan was grinning at him, pleased and slightly sheepish.
“What’d your parents say?” Akiva asked.
“Haven’t told ’em yet.”
Akiva knew his most tri-state-area feature was forgetting the specifics of other parts of the country. Ohio was…an hour behind? Two? “’Cause of the time difference?” he asked.
Eitan shook his head. “Cleveland’s on Eastern Time. I just wanted to tell you—to see if you wanted to celebrate.”
He called me first. Something Akiva shouldn’t relish except for how he was. “I’m free tonight.” Mentally, he rearranged his schedule until it was true.
“Let me see if I can get a reservation.”
“Eitan, you were just named the National League Player of the Month. You could probably get the keys to the city.”
“Well, at least someplace loves me.”
It was as negative as Eitan had been about his old team or his old city. “Can I tell you something?” Akiva asked.
Eitan’s eyebrows rose in question. “Sure.”
“I know you wouldn’t say this in public—that maybe you’re too nice to say it at all. But fuck Cleveland. They didn’t know what they had, or if they did, they didn’t value you the way they should have. Either way, they shouldn’t have traded you like that.”
Eitan’s mouth—the part of his face Akiva had spent the past few weeks both obsessed with and studiously avoiding—curved up. Akiva wanted to kiss him there, to learn the exact topography of his smile, something real, something lingering. “You sound pissed,” Eitan said mildly.
“You ever get angry on behalf of someone else ’cause they can’t?”
“More than I should. But I appreciate it.” Eitan was silent for a second, his forehead pinched in concentration as if he was scrolling through something on his phone, leaving Akiva to wonder if anyone else got mad on Eitan’s behalf.
“You in the mood for anything in particular tonight?” Eitan asked.
You. “Nah, your pick. Text me the details.”
After their date—a back room, a bottle of wine followed by two tumblers of scotch delivered compliments of the owner—Eitan turned to him as they were leaving the restaurant. “It’s a nice night. You up for a walk?”
