XXX CHAPTER 48 XXX

Emmett woke well ahead of his seven a.m. alarm. The call list he and Edward had put together last night was twenty-five deep, and on his way to the kitchen, Emmett had already thought of five additional names to add.

Edward shuffled in a few minutes later to find Emmett busily scribbling notes on the page. "How'd you sleep?"

"I didn't."

"Sorry." Edward stepped behind him, placed his hands on Emmett's shoulders, and kneaded the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "Should we practice again?"

Emmett leaned back against the comforting presence of Edward's bare chest. "Nope, I'm good."

"Let me at least make you a pot of coffee."

"I accept." Emmett smiled up at Edward to let him know his support was very much appreciated.

Wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, Edward skated around his kitchen, preparing breakfast for the two of them—filling the coffee machine, lining up cereal boxes on the counter, setting up bowls and spoons, chopping the perfect ratio of melons to berries. Sawyer's questions about marriage popped into Emmett's head. Could he see marrying Edward? Hell, yes. The conclusion didn't even surprise him anymore.

These private moments with Edward would always stir the fire in Emmett's blood, but after today, they wouldn't have to lock themselves away from the world to enjoy each other's company. And, of course, if things didn't go as planned, Emmett would have oodles more free time to spend with his lover. A shiver tore down his spine, and Emmett shook off the negative energy.

Emmett stretched his legs out in front of him and clasped his hands together behind his head. "What's your plan for the day?"

Leaning back against the counter, Edward said, "I have some tests to grade, and I have to tweak my lesson plan for my Math Concepts class. So basically, I'll be sitting here, sick to my stomach, waiting to hear how things are going."

Somehow the idea of Edward worrying himself sick melted Emmett's heart. "Are you planning to get dressed or sit around like that all day?"

Edward caught the flirtatious hint in Emmett's voice and followed him down the trail of happy distraction. "Neither. Actually, I find I work much better in my underwear. As soon as you leave, I'm gonna take off these shorts, blare some Bob Seger, and Risky-Business around the living room for a bit before I settle in."

Emmett allowed himself to sink into that tantalizing scene, then immediately wished he hadn't. "Don't forget the socks."

Saved by the coffeepot. Chuckling, Edward turned around and filled two mugs. "Should we just play it by ear later?"

"Yeah," Emmett said with a sigh. "I have no idea how any of this is gonna go." He had a pretty good idea Scott would be calling him that afternoon with the news, but Emmett wasn't going to stress Edward out with that little detail. Plus, Emmett was holding a little something up his sleeve.

Edward set the coffee down on the table in front of Emmett. "I get it. Well, don't worry about me. I have plenty to keep me busy here."

"Okay, Professor. You do your thing, and I'll do mine, and we'll meet up and compare notes at the end of the day."

XXX

Danny Fuller was generally an easygoing guy—not that any of the batters who faced him in the final innings of the game would agree—but he was pacing outside Easy Street when Emmett pulled up.

"Jesus, Mac! What's with the cloak-and-dagger routine? You couldn't tell me why you wanted to meet?"

If it was possible, Emmett felt relaxed compared to the bundle of nerves in front of him. Emmett pulled Fuller into a one-armed hug. "I think you better stick to decaf this morning."

Fuller socked him in the arm. "My imagination is running wild here, okay? I know you haven't signed with anyone yet—it'd be all over the news."

"Let's go sit down."

Truth be told, Emmett's stomach was a bit sour, and he wasn't entirely sure another cup of coffee was the best idea. He compensated by pouring half of the little silver pitcher of milk into his mug.

Fuller fidgeted with the sugar packs while Emmett screwed up his courage. This one was definitely harder than Sawyer. If Fuller can't accept this, he's not your friend. Right. That worked well when you were saying it to someone else, but sitting across the table from the man you shared a hotel room with for the better part of the summer, a guy who has the right to think he knows you pretty well? That shit was hard.

Fuller folded his hands on the red laminate surface, his white knuckles a dead giveaway that all was not well.

Emmett cleared his throat. "So, thanks for meeting me."

His friend met Emmett's eye. "You're welcome."

Okay, small talk was out of the question.

"I, uh . . . need to share something with you."

Fuller unclasped his hands and gripped the edge of the square table. "Oh-kaaaay?"

Emmett willed the words out, but they were good and stuck. "Fuck, this is really hard."

"Goddammit, Emmett. Are you sick or something?" Fuller's voice cracked a bit, and Emmett's heart sank.

"No, no, nothing like that. Okay, look, here it is . . . I'm gay."

Fuller's cheeks met his forehead in the space where his eyes were supposed to be. "What?"

Emmett leaned forward and spoke a little slower. "Did you not hear me?"

"Did you just say you're—"

"Shhh! Jesus! Keep your damn voice down." Emmett was beginning to question the wisdom of holding this conversation in a public place.

The vein in Fuller's neck bulged with the effort of whispering. "You're gay?"

"Yes." Emmett watched his friend warily; the man seemed ready to snap.

"Since when?"

Grinning, Emmett answered. "I'm not sure exactly when it happened. I'm guessing sometime between the sperm meeting the egg, and my first birthday."

"Thanks for the biology lesson," Fuller said, adding a significant eye roll. "What about Tammy?"

"Friend."

"Fooled me."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"Right. Kind of the point, eh? Wow, all this time . . ." Poor Fuller shook his head in utter disbelief. "Wait, have you actually done something, or do you just think you prefer men?"

"You're trying to find me a loophole?" Emmett chuffed. "Oh, I've done stuff. Would you like details?"

"No!" He threw up his hands to ward off the possible details about to be shared, then repeated his answer more quietly. "No, thank you."

Emmett chuckled. "I'm sorry. I know this is really weird, and I'm sure you have a million questions, and I'm trying to be patient, but damn, you should see your face right now!"

The tension in Fuller's facial features relaxed all at once, settling into a gentle frown. "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Oh, I don't know. I had this crazy feeling it might make things weird between us?"

A nervous laugh escaped Fuller. He locked his gaze with Emmett's, seemingly reconciling this new paradigm with the reality he'd understood ten minutes earlier. Emmett tried to put himself inside Fuller's head, behind the intense stare, but he found Fuller's expression completely unreadable. So, Emmett did what was hardest for him—he sucked down more coffee, and he waited.

Fuller's eyebrows lifted and lowered again. He gave his head a slight shake and stared some more.

Emmett leaned in. "Yes?"

"You're not"—Fuller wagged a finger back and forth between Emmett and himself—"You don't—"

Guess I should've seen that one coming. Despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, Emmett cracked a smirk. "No offense, Fuller, but no, I'm not attracted to you."

A loud sigh left Fuller's mouth as he slumped back into the metal chair. "I don't know whether to be insulted or relieved."

Emmett's chuckle grew into an uncontrollable, side-splitting laugh, and soon they both were holding their bellies and wiping away tears. When Emmett could finally speak again, he broke up laughing halfway through. "What can I say, man? You're just not that hot."

"Fuck you."

Fuller's indignant expression set Emmett off again. "Wow. I needed a good laugh. Thank you."

"Does anyone else in the clubhouse know?"

"Just Trey."

Fuller nodded. "It's not easy to keep a secret from Trey."

"Nope."

"I assume he was cool with it."

"Yeah, I knew he would be. I just didn't want to burden him with the secret."

Fuller went quiet again, his glance bouncing all over the walls of the café. "So, why are you telling me now?"

Emmett sighed. "I'd planned to wait until my contract was nailed down, but then . . . it all just felt so dishonest. I mean, let them know who they're getting, right?"

"Why the hell would the team care who you sleep with?"

"In a perfect world, they wouldn't."

"Hell, Mac, I sure as shit don't need to tell you we're a far cry from perfect, but once the game ball leaves the umpire's glove, I care about one thing: Can this player produce? I'm pretty sure management feels the same way."

Emmett wanted to believe him, but the devil on his shoulder had worked his pitchfork pretty deep under Emmett's skin. "What about all the rhetoric about role modeling and reputation?"

"Jesus, Mac! You're the squeakiest clean player we've got! Far as I know, you haven't murdered, raped, or assaulted anyone. You take on more public appearances in the community than anyone else. You're steroid-free; you barely drink. You show up to practices on time, and you work your ass off. Every man on the team looks up to you. Oh, and not for nothing, you're the best damn starting pitcher in the league!"

Emmett attempted to hide his blush by pulling the tepid coffee to his lips. Fuller took it as an invitation to ramble on.

"Has it ever occurred to you that coming out might actually make you a role model for a thousand other guys who've been too afraid to step forward?"

This was heady stuff, and honestly, not the response Emmett had expected from his otherwise quiet teammate. "I feel like I owe you an apology, Fuller."

"For what? Thinking about guys while you were whacking off in the bed next to me? Hey, a man can't help his fantasies."

"That might be worth a separate conversation—or not—but no, that's not where I was going." They both paused for a much-needed smile. "I don't think I gave you enough credit, and I'm sorry for that."

"Hey, I don't blame you for being skittish. I'm sure there are a couple guys who won't want to shower with you after this comes out, but I think overall, you'll be very happily surprised. And if anyone dares to say anything on my watch, I will squash them."

Emmett's eyes teared up again. Perhaps this day wouldn't be as difficult as he'd imagined.

"Thanks, man." Emmett sent a fist halfway across the table, and Fuller met it with his own.

"So, I have to ask . . ." Fuller hesitated, leaving Emmett to fill in the blank space with a list of questions he'd hoped not to answer—mainly involving details of intimate acts. "Are you seeing someone?"

"I am."

"Mmhmm. Does he play chess by any chance?"

Apparently, Fuller hadn't been so blind to his activities after all.

"Yep."

"The infamous running coach you credit for your newly acquired patience?"

Emmett couldn't keep the smile off his face. "That's the one."

Fuller grinned, clearly proud of himself for fitting the final piece into the puzzle. "Seems like a great guy."

"He is. Way too good for the likes of me."

In a rare, unsarcastic moment, undoubtedly inspired by Emmett's spilling his guts all over the table, Fuller countered Emmett's modesty with a single syllable that said it all. "Nah."

Emmett took in the compliment with averted eyes.

Fuller pulled out his wallet, chuckling as he tossed a ten on top of the check. "Now go fucking sign your contract, and get your ass to Peoria."

"Will do."

XXX

Emmett was walking on clouds. After spending the better part of the morning making phone calls to the rest of his teammates and a few assorted friends, which thankfully turned out to be largely uneventful, Emmett went home, poured himself a whiskey, and phoned the Mariners' GM.

"Trader Jack" was in a tight spot, and Emmett fully appreciated his reluctance to take the call so close to the end of their contract negotiations. Only by sweet-talking Zduriencik's assistant did Emmett secure three minutes with the boss.

As Emmett had suspected, the man was all business. "Okay, Mac. You're on the clock. Go."

Nothing like a little pressure to make an awkward conversation ten times worse. "Hello, Mr. Z. Thank you for taking the call. I really appreciate your time."

"You and I are not having this conversation."

"Right. Okay." Emmett had stared down 3-0 counts with bases loaded without a fraction of this anxiety. Bolstered by all the support he'd received that morning, Emmett launched into his statement. "Not that I feel it will impede my performance in any way, but in the interest of full disclosure, I want you—I want the Mariners—to know that I'm gay."

Welp, there it was, a fresh, steaming pile of dung plopped in the middle of the great ether pasture. At least it was over.

"You're telling me you're gay?"

Had everyone suddenly gone deaf? "Yes, sir. That is correct."

Zduriencik didn't respond again for a full thirty seconds, and when he did, there was no discernible emotion in his voice. "As I'm sure you're aware, the Mariners do not discriminate based on sexual orientation."

No, but they could find a dozen politically correct justifications for canning his ass anyway, not the least of which being how long his agent had kept them twisting.

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks for the call, Emmett." The brushoff.

"Thank you, sir."

Call ended. Emmett couldn't help but wonder if his career had just met the same fate.

Too stunned to move, Emmett texted Scott. Shitting bricks here. Z quoted me labor laws.

Keep the faith and hold onto your phone.

The second part was easy; the first tried Emmett's soul.

XXX

The call came in, a mere one hundred sixty-seven minutes later.

"Well, Mr. McCarty, I hope you won't get a swelled head when I tell you the Mariners just agreed to the highest contract in the history of baseball."

"Jesus, Scott. What'd you do?"

"Seven years, 200 million plus a 20 mill signing bonus, half now, half in October."

"Gimme a second?"

Emmett set the phone down on the table, dropped his head between his folded arms, and cried like a fucking baby. It wasn't about the money for money's sake, but the money happened to be a handy measure of a player's worth, and two hundred twenty million dollars was a very respectable measure.

He cleared his throat and picked up the phone. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. You deserve it, Emmett. I shed a tear or two myself."

Emmett chuckled. "Bullshit. The avenging agent? I don't believe that for a second."

"Okay, maybe I didn't shed a tear, but I got moist. It's the closest I've ever come."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"Yes. Meet me at Safeco at five for the press conference. They're drawing up the papers now. And wear a jacket. This picture is going viral; we're making history here."

"Would you care to write my speech as well?"

"Nope, you'll do just fine. Speak from the heart. People will eat it up."

"My heart, huh? That poor thing's gonna need a rest after today."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Long day?"

Emmett cast his glance down the long list of checked-off names. "Good day."

"Good. Go for a jog, take a shower, have a shave—but not a close shave, Seattle loves your scruff—and use that extra sparkly whitening toothpaste."

"Hey, Scott, I think I forgot to say thank you."

"You can tell me in person while the ink is drying. See you at five."

This day was getting better and better, and the best was yet to come—sharing the news with the people he loved. With shaky hands, Emmett flipped his list over and started a new one. The page filled quickly with family and friends, but there was one name Emmett had purposely omitted. He had plans for Edward. Very big plans.

Author's Note: Did anyone else get moist? Heehee.

Emmett's record-breaking contract as of April, 2015 has already been surpassed. I'm thinking of taking up pitching next. Pays a bit better than writing romance. :)
XXX ~BOH