Page 85 of Crew
I headed for the dugout, giving the three of them a wave as I walked down the steps. I wanted them to have their moment, but I couldn’t ignore them either. Grady and Mallory were extremely important to Crew, making them equally significant to me.
Inside the clubhouse, music was blasting, and Perez started passing around champagne bottles. I grabbed a pair of ski goggles from my cubby that I’d brought in for this exact moment, then popped the cork and sprayed my teammates.
Crew was by my side seconds later, and I pulled him in for a hug. It started off as one of those back-thumping, teammate sort of embraces. The kind we’d done after every win. Only this time, it lingered.
“Just kiss him already!” Jacobs yelled from across the room.
Laughter broke out around us as someone added, “Worst-kept secret on the team!”
Crew looked at me. We’d planned on coming out to the team, but then he found out about Grady, and that took priority. Then, we didn’t want to become a distraction as we made a run for the playoffs.
Apparently, it hadn’t mattered.
“No reason to hold back now.” I smirked.
“I guess not,” he replied, and then he kissed me.
It wasn’t anything over the top. Just a solid kiss between boyfriends.
The room exploded with cheers.
“Finally!” Walker shouted, spraying more champagne over our heads.
“Worst-kept secret, huh?” I laughed at my teammates.
“You two were so obvious.” Perez smacked me on theback. “You’re probably going to announce next that the Grady kid is Stratton’s son.”
“What?” Crew’s eyes widened. “You figured that out too?”
“Man, he looks just like you. I’m starting to worry you guys think you play with a bunch of dumbasses.” Turner cracked up.
“Glad we don’t have any other secrets,” Crew whispered in my ear.
I glanced around the locker room, taking in our team celebrating not only our win but us as well.
“Seems like we don’t need to keep any.”
The NLDS hadn’t gonethe way we wanted. We split the first two games on the road, then lost game three at home.
Now, it was game four, and things weren’t looking good.
Our bats never got hot, we committed a couple of errors, and suddenly, it was the bottom of the ninth, and we were down 5-2.
We had two outs.
And I was up.
I could feel the weight of the entire season on my shoulders as I stepped into the batter’s box. The crowd rose to their feet, hoping we could rally.
The first pitch was a belt-high fastball down the middle of the plate.
I didn’t hesitate.
My swing was solid, and the crack of the bat echoed through the stadium. The ball was headed for right field, and I took off for first.
Then I watched as the first baseman leaped and snagged the ball above his head.
I stopped halfway down the line, frozen briefly as the Braves rushed the mound to celebrate.
