Page 76 of Breakout Year
“I didn’t know if you remembered.”
“I always remember when it comes to you.” Though Akiva was wearing that look he’d had on at Cosmos Stadium, one that made Eitan want to wrap him in his arms again. That probably would go over less well here. Akiva spun the ball in his hand. “I used to be all right at this.”
All right. An understatement. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Eitan said, “but some part of me was glad you quit so I never had to face you in a real game.”
“After I quit, I stopped throwing.” Akiva made a face. “I don’t want to know if I’m still any good.”
I’m sure you are. But no, that wasn’t what Akiva needed to hear. “How about this?” Eitan stood up on the picnic table and waved his arms to attract the attention of the kids playing in the park and the people walking by. “Anyone want to play catch with two pro ballplayers?” he yelled.
For that, he got a few curious looks, then the streak of a kid running over shrieking his last name. Then a few more came over. Then a few more. Isabel snapped photos as a crowd formed around them.
“Here, pass these out.” Eitan grabbed balls from the bag and winged a few at Akiva, who caught them and handed them off to kids. A few minutes later, the group assembled into an elaborate system with kids throwing balls to one another and parents coming in to help the younger ones catch and toss.
Somehow, Akiva was in the midst of it. He was smiling, face lit. A ball rolled away from a kid over toward where Eitan was standing. Akiva chased it and scooped it up, just as the parent of the kid who’d dropped it came over.
“Here you go.” Akiva offered her the ball, which she took. Already it was smudged with grass and scuffed with dirt, not Eitan’s any longer.
She was looking at them both, Eitan in recognition, Akiva more quizzically. “Are you on the Cosmos too?” she asked him.
Akiva shook his head. “I used to play, but that was years ago.” Said without his usual discomfort. “Now I’m just here to support Eitan.”
That got another look—she glanced from Akiva to Eitan and back. Whatever she saw made her smile. “Gotcha. It was nice of you all to come here after the whole…” She shook her ankle meaningfully at Eitan. “Wild they didn’t suspend Goodwin, but that’s the league for you.”
Eitan bounced on his heels. His ankle gave the slightest twinge, possibly the product of having it wrapped for a few days. “Feeling fine. In case anyone asks.”
“If you decide to pop that guy one,” she said, “the whole city’s got your back.”
Akiva rolled his eyes theatrically. “Please don’t encourage him.”
What he might have said when they were fake dating to sell their story. Eitan might have elbowed him after, told him good acting. Kissed him on the cheek for the cameras and gone home alone.
He wanted to kiss him now—not on the cheek, not as a goodbye—but settled for the tap of his knuckles against Akiva’s. If the woman thought anything of it, it didn’t show.
“I promised him I’d be on good behavior,” Eitan said. “Now, let me see if I brought a Sharpie to sign that ball.”
28
Akiva
It was only midafternoon by the time they got done at the park. Once the crowd had thinned, Isabel went over to Eitan and showed him the screen of her camera. “Send me that one,” he said about a photo and another and another, until she offered to put all of them in a folder and let Eitan take his pick.
Nearby, a few kids were still playing catch. What Akiva would have done at that age—played catch, peppered any pro player with questions, or just lay on the scrubby grass of the field and dreamed about playing in a big-league park.
Once, Sue had told him that the most important part of a book wasn’t solving the actual crime or finding a long-lost artifact. No, it was a series of introductions and goodbyes as characters became their future selves. He’d said goodbye to his career, then his parents’ house, then finally to those last lingering wisps of childhood, the ones that clung until you realized that whatever situation you found yourself in, you were the one responsible for getting yourself out. He’d said goodbye and goodbye and goodbye. Now, here, he wondered what the next week might bring. The next month. Or would he have to say goodbye to Eitan again?
Eitan bounced up to the picnic table Akiva was sitting on, forcefully enough that Akiva tsked.
“My ankle is fine,” Eitan said. “Better than fine. Rested.”
“You should probably rest it more. Get off your feet.”
“I promise I’m being careful. Tomorrow will be easier on my ankle.” He extended a hand, nominally to help Akiva down.
The same little touches he’d been doing all day—a hand at Akiva’s shoulder or at the line of his waist or the curve of their palms together. All perfectly platonic. A selfish part of Akiva wanted to go to Eitan’s apartment. To get him off his feet through the simple action of tossing him into bed.
But Eitan had been right about this tour: all day people had come up to him and offered the invariable consensus that Goodwin should be suspended, fined, and possibly launched into space. That the league was all a bunch of bums, and that Eitan had been standing on that base not just for his own pride, but for the pride of an entire city. Another day would only help in this charm offensive.
“Where’s next on the tour?” Akiva asked, at the same time that Isabel frowned.
