Page 57 of Crew
Ramos smirked. “Man could probably convince me to eat kale.”
They both laughed, and that was it. Just normal clubhouse chatter.
Then the door opened, and Gage Statler walked in. Matthewson’s husband was dressed casually in a Seawolves T-shirt and jeans and he made a beeline for Matthewson. The two of them talked for a second, then Gage leaned in and kissed him quickly, like he didn’t care who saw it.
Matthewson didn’t flinch. Didn’t check to see who was watching.
I did though.
No one else seemed to care. Not one guy looked twice.
I turned back to my locker, pretending to dig around for an item I didn’t need, just to give myself a second to breathe. Being around the Seawolves and seeing how easy it was for the coaches to be out and proud made me think more about coming out myself. If I ever did, I didn’t want it to be dramatic.
I just wanted what they had.
Someone I could share my life with. A kiss before a game. Someone waiting for me after home games. Not hiding behind closed doors like when Knox and I played on the Rockies.
The night of the ESPYs, we hadn’t talked about the past. We’d let our time together be what it was; both of us knew it was only a one-time thing. We had mentioned maybe meeting up when the Seawolves played the Twins. Our plan was vague, like neither of us wanted to admit how badly we needed it to happen.
And yeah, it was still weeks away. But for the first time, I wasn’t sure I could keep going like this—acting like I didn’t care, like it didn’t matter that I couldn’t have what Matthewson had. What Parker had.
What I wanted.
Not just with Knox, not just for a kiss before a game, but forme.
Coming out didn’t have to mean coming outwithsomeone. It didn’t have to be some big reveal tied to a relationship or a headline or a public moment I couldn’t control. Maybe it could just be ...mine.
And if the media picked up on it, or if people found out, maybe that wouldn’t ruin everything.
Maybe it would just make it a little easier to breathe …
Three WeeksLater
My shirt clungto my back as I made my way into the clubhouse. Morning drills had been brutal, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I headed for my locker, half-tuned into the usual music from someone’s speaker and guys just shooting the shit.
Then I saw a familiar bag.
It was propped up in front of an empty locker across the room, a temporary nameplate stuck above it. My steps slowed, like my brain was trying to catch up to my body, because I knew whose bag it was.
When I got closer to the locker, I saw the name written on a piece of masking tape: Singleton.
No way. No way it wasmySingleton.
I walked over to the lineup board.
Singleton – 1B
My heart skipped a beat. “Knox Singleton?” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Matthewson, who stood off to the side with his tablet, peeked over at me, then at the board.
“Yeah. You didn’t hear? He got traded to us last night. He’s active today. Starting at first.”
I tried to play it cool. “Huh. Didn’t see the trade news.”
“He’s a solid guy. Played for the Twins, and now he’s with us. Wait … Didn’t you two play on the Rockies together?”
I nodded, still processing the info. “Yeah, we did. He’s a good guy and will fit right in.”
