Page 92 of The Battery
We started the game as if we had never played each other. The Austin Lone Stars almost appeared hesitant and, admittedly, so did we. Austin didn’t score anything in the first inning, but Rome managed to get us a run so that we closed out the first inning in the lead.
I leaned against the fencing of the bullpen, tongue endlessly adjusting the nicotine pouch under my lip. I willed Leo to look my way whenever he could. Too far to see his eyes, yet somehow, I knew when he locked that gaze on me. I reined in my imaginings of all the things I wanted him to do to me if we won.
Whenwe won.
The Lone Stars scored a run in the second inning, and we closed it out without any. The score was now tied, one-to-one. Already a pitching substitution was called, our normally strong starter faltered like he was a rookie. Shoji took his place, someone I had once been in competition with for closing but fate took him in the opposite direction. We bumped fists when the call came through the telephone.
“I’ll kiss your boy for ya,” Shoji whispered to me before leaving the fencing.
I tried to elbow him as hard as I could but missed by a mile. He made wet, kissy sounds with his lips as he walked backward, hugging himself and pretending to make out with the air.
I was cackling, uncaring who heard. It wasn’t like he called Leo out directly. The fans knowing would be a different story, but everyone on the team had figured it out, especially after Leo’s display on the flight. I had also come to learn that the sexual tension between us since the beginning was more than apparent to anyone who looked on. Freddie had all but confirmed it. Rome, apparently, never let on and played dumb the whole time.
The Assholes had suspected, which had only deepened their anger toward me, as if I was getting ahead by sleeping with the “boss.” As time marched on and my interactions with Leo became hot-and-cold, the Assholes (and everyone else, I suppose) had pieced it together and backed off. I wasn’t sleeping my way to the top, I was just… having fun.
We prevented Austin from scoring any runs in the third inning and we managed to smash our first home run to bring the score up to two to one. In the fourth, the Lone Stars fought back and gained some ground with a run, then kept us on our back as we failed to score any ourselves. We ended the fourth inning, two n’ two.
The crowd sensed this slow walking of runs and booed and jeered interchangeably like a toddler. The announcers tried repeatedly to keep everyone focused on the game, but the crowd wanted a shutout. They wanted the Riders to dominate their way to the pennant, as if the Lone Stars would just lay down and take it. No, we would have to fight for every inch of ground as if this were a trench war.
They continued to match us. In the fifth inning, we scored a run. Then in the sixth inning, they scored a run. It was as if each inning was dedicated solely to one team scoring a run. By the time the top of the seventh finished, the score was four to three in our favor, and I prayed we’d score a run, but only time would tell.
I jogged down the concrete corridor separating me from Leo. As if he sensed me coming, he waltzed by the end as I jogged toward him, and he motioned with his chin toward a sequestered room—an equipment closet. I stepped inside, painfully aware of the unorthodoxy of having a secret, private moment with him in the middle of the most important game of my career so far.
His hands were on my face as he pressed me up against shelving for spare bats and helmets. A gentle kiss that was used to push emotions through our lips rather than raw lust. I had my hands on his.
“Doing okay?” I asked.
He had his eyes closed; forehead pressed against mine. Outside the room came the muffled cries of the crowd as the seventh-inning-stretch song blasted over the speakers.
“They’re with me,” he whispered delicately, as if saying the words would spook them away.
“Your family,” I said quietly. He nodded, foreheads rubbing together. I pressed a flat palm over his heart. It beat rapidly, like he had been running. “They’re proud of you no matter what. You know that, right?” Another nod. A wordless answer. “You’vealready won, Leo,” I said through a breathy whisper, barely audible to even my own ears. “Don’t be nervous. Be excited.”
I felt him tremble beneath my touch. In all the games we had played, in all the games I had watched him play, I never felt an ounce of timidity or nerves from this man.
Yet here he stood. Like a rookie on the diamond for the first time. Raw, vulnerable, and only for me to see.
“I love you, Cody,” he told me, finally opening his eyes to look.
I heard the song finishing up. Our break was almost at an end.
“Give ’em hell, Spartan.” A quick peck on his lips, then, “Oh, and I love you, too.”
There it was. That crooked grin of his. I collected them like prizes. Little trinkets to add to a growing collection of Leo knickknacks.
We left the supply closet at the same time, thankfully to no one’s notice. We emerged into the dugout as Austin took to the field and the first Riders hitter made his way to the plate. Leo and I took to our usual spot, where I’d remain until the ninth.
They hadn’t used me as a closer yet and wanted to keep it a surprise. Fans and commentators had gotten to know me as a decent setup man and likely would expect me to do the same the next inning. No one would be shocked if I didn’t take to the field during the eighth, but they sure as hell would be shocked to see me thrown in during the last inning of a critical game.
The seventh was a tight one, but our Mr. Perfect, the incomparable Rome Moretti, smashed a triple, then scored after a groundout from Johnson. We ended the inning up by one. Four to three.
I wished Leo luck as he strapped on his gear and headed out for the top of the eighth. I heard the announcer squeak out a modicum of surprise that I hadn’t taken to the field yet. It washard to gauge the crowd’s direct response to that. I pushed it out of my mind. I wasn’t there in vainglory to soak it in.
The entire eighth inning was a series of close plays that had the crowd hissing and sighing, jeering and cheering, fainting and fuming. I stood through all of it in the dugout, pacing with all the other players. The Lone Stars ran through five hitters. Our setup man stayed the course, sweating profusely despite the chill in the air. He showed no signs of fatigue or jitters. He zeroed in on every hitter like a sniper in a war.
And he did his job. The top of the eighth closed without Austin scoring a single run. We entered the bottom of the inning with much needed relief, but it got the better of us. They ran through us in only three hitters. Grounder by Freddie to the shortstop for a quick out. Hard liner to the left with a soaring wall catch for the second out. Line drive down the middle for a diving stop by the second baseman.
Then we were done. The score still at four to three. Which meant…
