Page 1 of Stetson

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STETSON

“Home sweet home.”

“Home is where the heart is.”

“There’s no place like home.”

Most times, when people think of home, it’s a house. They might reminisce about their hometown, a nearby landmark, the ocean. Maybe even a person. But for me? It was the diamond. The smell of fresh cut grass, the weight of a ball in my hand and the smooth drag of leather against my skin. The scent of greasy, fatty food wafting over from the stands and the endless chatter of the fans.

Thatwas my home, from the time I was old enough to pick up a bat.

At twenty-three, I was the youngest player on my team. I grew up in a near-microscopic town in southeast Georgia, endlessly seeking a way out. According to my parents, I’d always marched to the beat of my own drum. It soon became evident that I was destined for something way too big for that town. I started in peewee baseball, just to have something to do with all my energy, then worked my way up. From there, a university in California offered me a scholarship, and that was where I became the most sought-after rookie in the entirety of Major League Baseball. Drafted by the Atlanta Thrashers, I packed my bags and moved home, where I worked my ass off to earnmyspot on the starting lineup.

“Heads up Holloway!”

I snapped to attention, the ball soaring my way. With my eyes on the prize, I shuffled backward until I hit the fence. The ball passed over my head, but not far enough. I stretched my arm out as far as it would go, and the ball smacked into my glove. I retrieved it, and held my hand high, relishing in the groans from the “shirts” half of our shirts-versus-skins battle.

The Atlanta heat was relentless, even with the setting sun casting a golden glow over the field. Half an hour ago, we’d gotten the twenty-minute warning that the stadium would be closing, but we’d been too caught up to stop the game.

I approached the other guys, swept up in smacks on the back and ruffles to the hair. But neither of those compared to the frigid water dumped over my head a second later. My lungs seized and my heart seemed to stop. Between cheers from the skins, someone pulled me in by my shoulder.

“Killer catch, Rookie. Keep it up.”

I reared back to respond, but movement on the edge of the field commanded my attention. A man stood in the dugout—agorgeousman. Even from the distance, his tan skin glowed like he was fresh from a beach vacation. A plain white t-shirt stretched across his form and his hands in the pockets of his worn-out jeans pulled the denim tight across his lap. Dark, shaggy hair curled from beneath the brim of a backward ball cap. When I finished my thorough onceover, my gaze returned to his face where he'd pushed his sunglasses onto his head. Dark, serious eyes gazed back at me, and uncharacteristic nerves made my head spin.

I ignored the fluttering in my stomach and goosebumps pebbling up my arms, only managing the slightest grin before he vanished. My teammate, Harrison, stood next to me, so I tapped his shoulder and indicated the dugout. The stranger was gone, but I was too intrigued to let it go. “Did you see that guy watching us from the dugout?”

Harrison didn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, he’s always hanging around. What about him?”

“Who was he?”

“Levi Grant.” Sensing my apprehension, he continued. “He’s a sports agent and reps a few guys on the team, including me. Probably just making sure we’re keeping our asses in gear.”

I chuckled, picking through the pile of shirts to find mine. “Is there a reason he checks up on you?”

Harrison laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ll have to ask Matt what happenedhisrookie year. He may or may not tell you. And if he won’t, I will.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Matt hollered, “What are you doing over there, Harrison?”

“Nothing!” Harrison aimed a glance in my direction. “Just making sure Rookie’s coming out tonight.”

I hesitated, which was apparently the wrong move because he raised a brow at me. “I probably shouldn’t. You know, first game coming up and all.”

Harrison’s grip tightened. “Which means this is our last chance to let loose for a while. You got us our win which means Matt’s buying. Could be fun…”

I shuffled on the spot. I needed to prove myself, both on and off the field. Wedidhave two days before our first game against the Hellbenders. That was plenty of time to kick a hangover, right?

It was Matt’s voice who broke me out of my reverie. “Are you coming or what?”

My mouth twitched into the Holloway smirk. “If I’m lucky.”

That earned me a chorus of groans, which widened the grin into a full smile. They headed to the clubhouse to shower, and I followed behind.

Did I go around announcing my sexuality? No, but it wasn’t a secret either. I’d been lucky to be met with unwavering support from an early age. I started coming out in high school, when I started to think it would matter. Turns out, it didn’t. Most people weren’t fazed. There was the odd person that had something to say, but it was all water off a duck’s back.

By the time college rolled around, I started to think of the guys on my team as family. That was even more important now that I was a pro. And if my family couldn’t accept me for who I truly was, then I didn’t want any part of it.

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