Page 74 of Breakout Year
Eitan’s breath was a faint puff on his neck. Akiva wouldn’t think about that or the beat of his heart through his ribs or the way their bodies fit together like tumblers in a lock. He would hug Eitan the appropriate amount and stand at the appropriate distance from him and in less than two months, some baseball team would reward Eitan with a check with a staggering number of zeros for his restraint. Gay, but not in a way they had to think about it. The way Akiva’s team hadn’t minded that he was Orthodox but hadn’t exactly gone out of their way either. At the time, he thought that was the kind of oversight that money couldn’t cure. Now, he knew that money couldn’t fix it—but the lack of money certainly didn’t help.
He eased himself from Eitan’s arms. Climbed onto one of the benches lining the front of the dugout. The bench had two levels; the higher one allowed him the full view of the field. “It’s just grass,” he said, mostly to himself. “We have that in New Jersey too.”
“If you’re good here, I’ll be back in a little while.” Eitan tapped his hand against the bench near where Akiva’s knuckles wrapped around the railing. Not a kiss—not even contact—but maybe the idea of one. “Do you have a notebook?”
Akiva frowned, dug through his bag. Held up a notebook—this one had a dark green cloth cover. The color of Eitan’s bedspread. “Yeah?”
“Write me something while I’m gone.” And with that, he left Akiva sitting there.
For the first few minutes, Akiva didn’t do much more than watch the breeze ripple the ballpark grass. It was a nice day, air cool with the coming fall. He could sit here at a safe distance from the field. He eyed it as if it might leap up and bite him. Then he got up. Climbed the dugout steps. Displayed his visitor’s badge in case someone came over to ask what he was doing there, but the groundskeepers didn’t do much more than wave to him in greeting. Maybe they’d seen him and Eitan hugging. Maybe, without the team present, the park went back to being just another piece of the city in which no one much cared if you were queer.
Akiva walked near the foul line, sneakers over the curated dirt. Sure, they had this in New Jersey, the same way the dictionary had the same words as a novel. If this was like everywhere else, they wouldn’t pay them millions of dollars to play here. He watched a groundskeeper duck down to trim an errant blade of grass. How Eitan must feel the same as that grass: present but cut to someone else’s specifications.
A woman trudged up from the dugout and approached him, her team ID on a lanyard around her neck. Akiva was about to retreat to wherever in the stadium he’d cause the least hassle—probably outside of it—when she put up her hands, indicating he should stay put. She was dressed like she worked in an office. Her fluffy black hair was beginning to slip from its ponytail. “I’m Isabel, one of the PR staff. You’re here with Eitan?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know whether to be apologetic, but he wasn’t. “He’s with the doctors. I’m just waiting for him.”
“You’re Akiva, right?” She said his name correctly, meaning she’d probably heard it from Eitan and hadn’t just read it off some Reddit thread.
“Yeah.” He braced himself for a lecture like Eitan got from his agent, that Akiva should hide himself away until the world deemed him appropriate. Which would probably be never.
“Great. Well, whenever he’s done, I wanted to confirm everything for tomorrow.”
“Confirm…what, exactly?”
“He didn’t tell you? He’s taking me on this little tour of his.” Whatever Akiva’s face was doing made her laugh. “Maybe I should let him explain.”
“I’d prefer to know now, to be honest.”
“Eitan felt that after what happened last week, it might be a good use of his time off to see New York.”
A selfish part of Akiva had wondered if that was something he and Eitan would get to do together. But distance would probably be easier to maintain with a team chaperone. “Yeah, he did mention that.”
“So he asked me to arrange a couple visits.” She pulled a camera from her bag. “If a few candid shots make their way onto social media or to the press, that might not be so bad.”
We’re supposed to be off camera. Which would have been easier to stomach if Eitan hadn’t also arranged for a literal camera. Akiva had spent seven years hiding. There was no reason he couldn’t do it a little bit longer, even if something within him rebelled at the idea. “His agent, uh, told him to stay out of the public eye.”
Isabel smiled at that, a PR grin that was hard at the edges. Maybe hard was the wrong word. Determined. “Well, I don’t work for Eitan’s agent. I work for the team, and Eitan’s on the team.”
“I can see why you and he get along.”
That got a laugh. “Do you want me to get a few pictures of you on the field while we’re waiting?”
Akiva looked around at the manicured grass, the plastic circle of sheeting covering the mound. In another lifetime, he might be out there, throwing. In another lifetime, he might have met Eitan in Arizona, and they might have been nothing besides friends. Now he was something else—at once less and more than that, doubly unsatisfying.
Except…did he have to be just that? He thought of Eitan holding him, unsteady as he was on a bum ankle. How the two of them might be able to steady each other, somehow.
“Nah, I’m good,” Akiva said. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’ll let you know when Eitan’s around.” Then Akiva went back to the dugout and pulled out his notebook and his favorite ballpoint pen. Sat himself down on the bench. And with the smell of expensive dirt in his nose, he began to write.
27
Eitan
u/make_it_anywhere: I don’t care what anyone says about Rivkin. Dude’s a few days off an ankle injury and already back out there. A straight-up dawg for this city.
u/cosmos_gazer: Who’s that with him?
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