XXX CHAPTER 20 XXX
A home run in the ninth inning against Tampa Bay brought the Mariners' eight-game losing streak to a grinding halt, and a celebration was in order. The back room at Lotus Flower came alive with laughter and animated conversation—the sounds of men waking from a long, nightmare-riddled sleep.
Emmett could not have been happier for the "W" and the break in tension, but as the pitcher who could clip the winning streak to one with his appearance on the mound tomorrow, he kept his enthusiasm on a tight leash. He finished off the Sapporo he'd been nursing all night and cracked open a fortune cookie, tossing the paper insert into the bowl without looking at it.
"You're not gonna read that?" Martinez asked.
"Nope."
"Aren't you even a little bit curious? Maybe it's a message about tomorrow's game."
Or about my doomed love life. "I think I'd rather be surprised."
Tomlinson grabbed the fortune, scanned it, and broke out into a wide grin. "Now this is profound."
"Fine," Emmett said with a sigh. "What's it say?"
"When hungry, order more Chinese food."
"Thanks. I'll carry that with me along this journey we call life."
Tomlinson clinked his beer bottle against Emmett's. "You do that, bro."
Emmett's phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a twinge of disappointment, he hit answer.
"Hey, Tam. Let me get where I can hear you."
Waving his phone at Fuller, Emmett said, "Be right back," as he stepped outside the restaurant.
"You okay?" Emmett asked into the phone.
"Yeah. Sorry to bother you. I didn't want to call too late. I know you're on tomorrow."
"Yep. What's going on?"
"I, uh . . . shit, this is weird."
"Tam?"
"All of a sudden, it feels like we were actually a couple and I'm actually breaking up with you."
"Oh."
"Yeah. I'm sorry."
"Aw, no worries. I'll just have to go out and scrounge up some new eye candy."
The tension broke, and Tammy's rich laughter spilled into his ear. "Gee, you really know how to turn a girl's head."
"That's not really my area of expertise."
"So I noticed."
Emmett chuckled, putting the pieces together. "Does this mean that photographer you were flirting with at the gala . . . Is he hitting on you?"
"Oh brother. Are you jealous now?" Amusement seeped into her voice, and Emmett could picture her standing there, hand on hip, rolling her eyes at him.
"No. I just don't want you with some douche nozzle who thinks it's okay to hit on another guy's girl."
"Damn, you really are the sweetest non-boyfriend a girl could hope for. No, he's not hitting on me. He friended me on Facebook, and we've chatted a little. Very innocent, nothing inappropriate, I promise. I'd just really like to explore this and see if there's anything there, which obviously isn't going to happen with Big Mac looming large."
Emmett recognized in her voice what he'd been experiencing for the last four weeks—that magical flutter of possibility. "You are hereby released from beard duty. Now go forth and get your photographer. And keep me posted."
Tammy let out a soft sigh. "Thanks, Em. I guess we'll need to work out some kind of story to tell."
"Yeah, we'll figure it out."
"Hey, how's yours going anyway?"
Emmett craned his neck to check that the coast was clear. Leaning his back against the wall of the restaurant, he cradled his phone closer and spoke softly. "Good and bad, I guess."
"What does that mean?"
"We're getting to be pretty good friends."
Tammy chuckled. "Is that the good part or the bad part?"
Emmett tipped his head to the night sky, searching for answers in the black infinity. "Yes."
"How messed up are you, my friend?"
"Pretty fucking."
"Do you think he knows how you feel?"
"Honestly, I don't. He's told me he's gay, and he's made some insanely flattering comments, but nothing the least bit flirtatious."
"He's probably worried he'll lose your friendship . . . or his front teeth."
"Maybe."
"So you think he'd be game if you make the first move?"
"That seems highly likely." He pinched his eyes closed with his fingers. "Ugh, it's getting harder and harder to be with him and at the same time, I've become addicted to his presence in my life."
Tammy let out a huff. "Yeah, I'm familiar with that sentiment."
"Shit, Tammy, I'm sorry."
"Oh, stop apologizing. It's not your fault I fell for you, and I'm gonna be just fine."
"Well, that's one worry I can cross off my list."
"You can. Now . . . back to your fucked up love life."
Emmett chuckled into the phone. "Yes, because this is so much fun."
"How bad do you think it would be, really? It's 2014. Same-sex marriage is legal now in almost half the states. Michael Sam—"
"Yeah, Tam. I've been telling myself all those things for the last month. And then I remind myself my contract is up after this season. The better part of valor would be to bide my time, see how my numbers pan out, put my best foot forward at the negotiating table. I've waited twenty-six years; I suppose I can wait another few months."
"Few months? It could be almost a year! Not to mention . . ."
"What?"
"You're all twitchy."
It was an irrational response, but Emmett scanned the area again. "How do you know? Are you watching me on a webcam or something?"
"No, fool. There's this new invention called a television?"
"Are you talking about my pitching?" Emmett punctuated his question with a hefty degree of back-off, but his best friend had never been one to shrink from the truth—probably the main reason he'd always trusted her judgment. Right now, though, he really wasn't in the mood for a man-on-the-street opinion about his performance.
"Emmett, listen to me," she said, her voice unwavering but gentle. "If you're out to protect your career, maybe you should consider the possibility that denying your feelings is doing more harm than good."
He pulled the phone from his ear and rested it against his thigh. Angry responses were fighting to get out, and he knew better than to let them. Drawing in a few deep breaths of Florida air, Emmett regained control.
"I gotta go. The guys are piling out, and I've got a long day ahead of me."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"I know."
XXX
Emmett's day didn't start well. He'd found himself staring at the clock as the hour switched from five to six, envious of Fuller and his ability to sleep like the dead. His pre-breakfast run through the streets of St. Petersburg left him cranky and drained, his mind a whorl of anxiety and unchecked frustration. Most of the team was crowded into one hotel room playing video games and watching pay-per-view. The bus wasn't leaving for the stadium for another two hours, and Emmett thought he'd go berserk if he watched another movie.
His phone buzzed with a new text, and he pulled it lazily out of his pocket. Kick some Ray ass. Emmett chuckled; his sister didn't mince words. He scrolled through his texts, the usual suspects offering him well wishes on his outing. They were all there—Mom, Dad, his agent, Tammy, Jas, Alice, a few of his buddies from UCLA—but each one left him feeling empty and tense. There was only one person he really wanted to hear from today, and he'd effectively scared the guy away on game day.
Like the fat kid opening the lid on the cookie jar, Emmett clicked open his Twitter account. Edward's tweet wasn't hard to find among the few Emmett followed: ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The inevitable winning and losing streaks add an extra element of excitement.
The retweets were chock full of MacPerfect hashtags and encouraging messages about keeping the winning streak alive. Wonderful. With a knot in his stomach the size of a baseball, Emmett typed a message to Edward. Just the kind of excitement I need!
Hey! You're here?
Bored out of my mind. You try being holed up with eight guys in a room with two beds and a tiny love seat.
The moment he hit send, Emmett realized his error. Cringing, he awaited Edward's response.
Doesn't sound too awful to me.
Typical Edward—honest to a fault. Come to think of it, under different circumstances, Emmett wouldn't have found the situation awful either. Hate to burst your bubble, but everyone's dressed.
Way to ruin it for me!
Emmett chuckled out loud, looking around sheepishly to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, his teammates were all deeply absorbed in their own devices, and nobody much cared what Emmett was doing or who was making him laugh.
Sorry, dude.
Did you run this morning?
Emmett briefly considered the can of worms he might be opening, but typed his response anyway. Yes. Not my best.
Uh oh. Can I help?
The offer was surprisingly comforting. Whatever yearning had prompted Emmett to start this conversation, Edward seemed to have a knack for satisfying it. Could he help? Truth was, Edward already had, just by being on the other side of his screen.
Juggle for me?
Sure. Hang on—let me grab the flaming swords.
With a great deal of difficulty, Emmett let the "flaming" reference slide. Careful, Coach. Don't want to catch your jersey on fire.
No worries. I'm not dressed.
YOU'RE JUGGLING NAKED? Emmett shifted on his corner of the bed, instantly regretting not having this conversation alone in his room. Now, that IS entertaining!
Hey, whatever works. :)
As a matter of fact, I am feeling a little more relaxed.
Excellent! So, aside from singeing my three chest hairs, anything else I can do?
Fuck me! A smooth chest. Emmett took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Edward's pretty pictures were stirring things up—things that were better left unstirred at the moment.
Setting aside the clown routine and the perilous imagery, Emmett considered Edward's offer. After all, he'd reached out to Edward for a reason, even if he wasn't fully clear about what he needed. Emmett agreed with both Jasper and Tammy; Edward was the cause of his tension. Was it possible Edward might also be the solution?
Maybe it was time to find out.
I guess I could use a bit of your voice in my head tonight.
Oh! Sure. I'm honored. Did you want me to sprinkle my sage advice here, or should I call you?
Call me? That wasn't exactly what Emmett had in mind. Certainly not now, not here. Messaging would be safer by far. Emmett could take his time, moderate his thoughts, delete before sending. His oral filter wasn't quite that reliable.
"Sprinkle away," Emmett typed and erased. How much more effective Edward's actual voice in his head would be! Gimme ten minutes to get away from these happy idiots, and I'll call you.
Sure. I'll be here.
And put some clothes on! Emmett wasn't sure how Edward would take that last bit, but the words flew from his fingertips and off they went. Huh, so much for moderation. He shoved his phone into his pocket without waiting for the response.
"Someone knock on my door when it's time for lunch," Emmett said to no one in particular as he headed for the door.
Five minutes later, Emmett was stretched out on his bed, phone in hand. Part of him hoped Edward would say something helpful, because Lord knows he needed it. Then there was the other part of him that suspected he'd be hopelessly addicted if this actually made a difference.
Coaching is coaching, Emmett concluded while dialing, steeling himself for Edward's answer.
"Hello, number sixty-nine." Right off the bat, Edward had him chuckling.
"Hey, Coach. You ready to impart some pearls of wisdom?"
"I'll try. Can you describe the problem I'm trying to help you solve?" Ever the mathematician.
Emmett closed his eyes and imagined the two of them jogging along the beach. "I need you to slow me down."
"Ah, okay. Did you happen to know you're the best early game pitcher in the league by every meaningful measure?"
"Actually, no. I didn't. Did you just make that up?"
"Nope. That's factual. You're doing something very well at the beginning of your games, and for some reason that falls apart as you get into the later innings. Are you aware of the shift?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"What's your thought process when you first take the mound?"
Edward deserved an honest answer, though revealing his thoughts wasn't easy for Emmett. "Lately, it's been this irritating guy running behind me, tugging me back when I get out of control."
Edward laughed. "I've always wanted to stand on the pitcher's mound. Okay, so what happens to this annoying bastard? Why is he not with you later in the game?"
"It's harder to hold back as you get deeper into the game, especially when my team falls behind. I shake off the bastard so I can break free."
"Yeah, you do that when we run, too."
"I do?"
"Mmhmm. The run back after the turnaround is always quicker, which is counterintuitive because your muscles are fatigued."
"Tell me about it," Emmett said, rubbing his shoulder.
"What if every inning you go out there becomes the first? Picture yourself running toward the bend where we turn around, rather than heading home. And whatever you do, keep that irritating guy with you!"
"Could get crowded out there."
"I'm guessing you already have a few other voices in your head as well."
Emmett chuckled. "You could say that. I like this, though. It's simple. I'll give it a shot tonight."
Emmett could hear Edward smiling through the phone. "I hope it helps. Let me know, okay?"
"Yeah, talk tomorrow?"
"Sure, whenever you like."
That evening, Emmett followed his new coach's advice. The irritating, annoying bastard stuck with him through all 120 pitches, holding the Rays to one run against the Mariners' three. When Emmett was relieved in the eighth inning, he jogged to the dugout feeling loose and relaxed, with nothing more than a twinge of discomfort in his shoulder and another "W" for his stats.
Author's Note: *singsong voice* Somebody's getting addicted!
Twific meetup was an absolute blast! I HIGHLY recommend the experience to all of you! What a kick to hang out in a room with a bunch of ladies who have the same crazy passion for this story and this universe...but ultimately, they're just really great gals who know how to have fun! What a kick to finally meet some of you lovelies in person and reconnect with familiar faces. I'll be floating for a while...
I shall see you all on Friday...oh, and the 7th review is going to put us at 1000 so WHEEEE! :*
XXX ~BOH