Fair Territory

The following day, the team has an earlier practice than usual. The game is an afternoon game, starting at one instead of seven at night. Jack likes these kinds of games – they give him time to relax at night with his cat and some sort of fast food while sitting on front of his TV in his slightly upscale apartment in Manhattan. He got the apartment while he was playing for the New York Yankees, before he got moved back down. He’s glad they just let him keep it.

It’s been a little over twelve hours since he blew up at Alex the way he did. He still feels pretty badly about it and he promised himself when he woke up this morning that he’d apologize. How he’s going to do that, exactly, he’s not sure. But he’ll figure it out along the way.

When he walks into the locker room, he avoids John’s eyes, looking down at the floor as he walks the short distance to his locker. He’s kind of pretty embarrassed at what happened yesterday and the fact that John tried to chase after him like some babysitter. It shouldn’t have happened and Jack feels like such an idiot about it. So he just ignores the captain and shoves his bag into his locker, grumbling under his breath about it not fitting in neatly.

“Ready for today?” Brendon asks, appearing beside him and reaching into his locker to pull out the bat that Jack typically uses in every game. “It’s really nice out. Running won’t be so bad. Perfect weather for you to apologize to Alex in.”

Jack groans. “Whatever.”

“Seriously, he’s traumatized. He will barely even talk to me. He’s sitting in the dugout mudding a few baseballs and sulking. Go.”

“I’ll go when I’m ready, calm down,” Jack responds, reaching into his locker and pulling out his batting gloves. He bites down on his lower lip as he tries to think of a decent way to start conversation with the bat boy. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself again. Honestly, Alex seemed like a nice guy, a good kid. A good friend, even. He’s pretty attractive, too. It would be wrong though, of course, to even think of having anything more than a friendship with him. He’s seventeen. Jack’s twenty one. Not okay.

‘I travel too much anyway,’ Jack decides as he leaves the locker room and steps into the team’s dugout. He adjusts his gloves, reminding himself of the fact that he’s barely ever home and Alex is in high school and it would be ridiculous to even think of being in a relationship with him. Besides, they don’t even know each other. All Jack knows about Alex is that he really loves baseball. And all Alex knows about him is that he’s insane and has anger management issues. Great start.

He sees Alex at the other end of the dugout, sitting on one of the benches and staring out at the field. He’s watching the practice with envious eyes, as if he wants to be out there, doing the stretches and running the bases like they are. Jack doesn’t blame him at all. He’d be doing the same thing.

Jack’s been playing baseball since he was a toddler, really. His parents signed him up for T-ball, encouraged him to keep playing in elementary school. He enjoyed it; he was good at it, so he figured he should just keep going in high school. And his parents loved that. They loved that he was doing something other than going out and getting drunk like all the other kids in their neighborhood. Basically, baseball kept Jack out of trouble. It kept him focused. So when he got an offer from the Staten Island Yankees to be drafted after he graduated, they gave their consent as quickly as they could. Jack’s thankful they’re so supportive. He knows plenty of guys who couldn’t follow their dreams like he could because of their parents.

Jack sighs. He hasn’t seen his parents in a while. He should probably drop by and visit them one day this week before the team leaves for a long road trip through Richmond and Jacksonville. He should probably bring over one of those coffee cakes too. His mom loves them. He’s sure he’s got an extra one in his pantry somewhere. Those things never go bad, really (well, after three years they do. Jack knows that much).

A forceful shove to the side brings Jack back to reality, back to the dugout and back to the fact that he has to go talk to Alex. He looks to his right, finding Martin Johnson standing there with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, man,” He says softly, rubbing at his shoulder, “I tripped over a baseball.”

Jack looks down, finding the baseball that Martin must have tripped over not too far from their feet. “Oh. Don’t worry about it. Not your fault.”

Martin smiles weakly before walking away and Jack wants to hit something. Martin’s obviously afraid of him. Well, not him, exactly. But afraid of how he’s going to react to things. Jack doesn’t blame him. Not after that scene he put on yesterday. He’s probably made everyone wary to be around him and terrified to even start a conversation with him. He watches Martin as he sits down on the bench, still looking cautious and, now that Jack looks again, weary. Like he didn’t sleep at all last night. So maybe Jack isn’t the whole problem there.

-&-

It’s not all that surprising, Alex has decided. It’s not shocking that Jack Barakat would be an asshole. He is after all one of the best, one the most well-known, players in the minor leagues. Not to mention, he’s fairly well-known in the majors, too. Alex shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, really. But that doesn’t make it suck any less. He was kind of hoping that maybe one of his favorite players wouldn’t be a dick.

“So it seems that I owe you an apology.”

Alex lifts his eyes, finds a pair of baseball cleats standing in front of him. He knows who it is already. It’s Jack. It’s not because he recognizes his voice – it’s because he knows that Jack wears Nike Air Diamond Elite cleats in navy blue.

“It would help if maybe you looked up.”

The younger boy sighs, drops the baseball he had been holding and lets it roll all the way to the short fence in front of them. He looks at Jack, finds him smiling gently and standing in a way that tells Alex he’s here to apologize – and mean it.

“I’m listening,” he says softly, folding his arms across his chest. “Hurry up, though, because I’m supposed to help Brendon in like two minutes.”

“Brendon can wait,” Jack says with a laugh, sitting down beside Alex on the bench. “Anyway. About last night…at the game? The way I spoke to you was completely unacceptable. I um. I was out of line. I should have tried harder to keep my temper under control,” the first baseman explains, his hands making dramatic motions to get his point across. “I’ve sort of got some um. Anger problems.”

“No shit,” Alex mumbles sarcastically under his breath, but he knows that Jack heard him.

“Come on, Alex. I said I was sorry. I can’t offer much more than that.”

He’s right, Alex knows. But he can still be pissy about the whole thing if he wants to. So he just rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever.”

Jack laughs and shakes his head, “You’re going to be difficult, I guess. So…You’re still in high school, aren’t you?”

Alex frowns. “Yes. But I’m on summer vacation. I’ll be a senior in September.”

“You’re on the baseball team, I’m assuming,” Jack says, leaning forward so that Alex has no choice but to look at him. “What about over the summer? Are you on a summer league team?”

Jack’s showing interest in Alex’s life has made Alex slightly less irritated by him. Actually, it’s making his heart flutter in this weird, annoying way and he has to fight back a smile as he says, “I am, actually. We have a game tonight at seven. I have to leave straight after the game today to make it.” This is one of his baseball idols, taking an interest in him. Who cares if he was an asshole?

“That’s cool – when you’re a senior and looking to get drafted, they’ll look at that. They’ll see you’re dedicated. It’ll help.”

“I hope so…I just really want to play for the Yankees one day. It’s been a dream of mine since I started playing.”

“Would you mind if I came to your game tonight?”

“I…No. No I-I wouldn’t at all,” Alex stutters, not really comprehending what Jack’s just said. “You really want to?”

Jack shrugs and reaches forward, grabbing the baseball that Alex had dropped only minutes ago. “Why not? You seem like a cool guy. I want to apologize for being an asshole to you. Besides, maybe I can give you a pointer or two.”

-&-

“It just sucks, you know?” Alex Grieco says as he completes another sit-up, his chest touching his knees and then falling back so he’s lying flat on the grass. “I feel like I’m being ignored.”

Matt Flyzik nods, reaches forward and grabs Grieco’s knee. “I get it. But trust me – everyone knows you have talent. Nobody’s denying it.”

Grieco sighs as Flyzik presses his knee up to his chest. The sun is shining down on them and although the temperature isn’t too high for this time of the month, he’s still sweating. “I’ve been on this team since I was eighteen. I’m nearly twenty one now-”

“Age doesn’t mean you’re ready to move up.”

“I know that.”

He does know that. He really does. He knows that it takes so much more than time spent on a team to be moved up. But that’s the thing – he has so much more than that. He’s got a stellar batting average; more stolen bases than anyone else on the team; a decent amount of home runs. He doesn’t understand why nobody has tried to talk to him about being moved up. He doesn’t get it.

“You should talk to Squire,” Flyzik says as he releases Grieco’s leg. “Talking to him would ease your thoughts.”

“He’ll just tell me I’m not ready,” Grieco grumbles, staring up at the blue sky, watching the clouds. He feels Flyzik moving, but doesn’t pay him any attention until he suddenly says,

“Hey.”

He’s leaning over him now, blocking Grieco’s view of the sky.

“Who cares what he says? You know you’re ready.”

“He’s my manager. I have to care about what he-”

And then Flyzik’s lips are on his, pressing softly. It feels strange, Grieco decides as he brings his hands up, cupping his face. But in a good way. A really, really good way. He feels the grass tickling the backs of his arms, hears the sound of his teammates yelling at them from a distance. But he doesn’t care because this is what he’s been waiting for, but was too afraid to go after on his own.

-&-

He feels alone. Incredibly, undeniably alone. He’s surrounded by his teammates, doing some running drills on the warning track in the outfield. He’s found himself in the middle of a conversation between Jack and Dallon but he has no idea what’s being said. Because Martin’s too concentrated on someone all the way on the opposite end of the field. Zack.

They’re still not speaking. Martin woke up earlier that morning, finding the apartment empty aside from him and the dog. Zack had left, earlier than he needed to, to get to the stadium and start warming up. Martin felt terrible. He wanted to talk to him before they left. But he didn’t get the chance. And now he’s stuck staring at him from afar, hoping he catches his eye and conveys his apologies.

All through practice, Zack ignores him. It’s a good thing, Martin supposes, because it would probably be suspicious to the others if all of a sudden Martin and Zack started talking. But he just wanted something. Some little form of acknowledgement. But he got nothing. Just the cold shoulder. And when they finish practice and start making their way back into the dugout, Martin has to bite his lip and concentrate on anything else to keep himself from breaking down right there. They’ve never fought like this.

When he sits down on the bench, grabbing his water bottle and taking a small sip from it, he’s not surprised when Ryan Ross sits down beside him, a concerned expression on his face.

“You alright?”

Ryan’s always been able to read people well. He’s always the one who talks people through their problems. He’s usually the one who gets Jack to calm down after a particularly angry outburst. But Martin’s never had anything bothering him like this. So it’s new for him, having Ryan ‘counseling’ him.

“I’m…I’m okay.”

Of course, Ryan doesn’t buy it. He gives Martin a knowing look, saying, “Meet me by my car after the game. I wanna talk to you.”

--

Ryan is easy to talk to. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t try to tell you how to feel. He just listens. And waits until you’re finished speaking to add in what he has to say. But apparently, he doesn’t really have anything to say. He just stares at Martin, eyes wide. And Martin suddenly feels stupid. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“Well…” Ryan finally says, moments of silence passing. “I uh. Wasn’t expecting that,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise.”

They’re in the empty parking lot outside the stadium, sitting on the hood of Ryan’s car. The lot has cleared out, and now it’s just them. Ryan had to sort of lie to Brendon to get him to go home on his own, but Ryan assured Martin it wouldn’t be an issue. Martin felt bad – he doesn’t want to be the reason they argue. But in the excitement of yet another win against the Cyclones, Brendon didn’t mind going home on his own. He told Ryan he’d talk to his parents about moving in with him and call him as soon as he got through talking to them. Ryan told him to take his time.

“I feel terrible about it sometimes,” Martin says quietly, shaking his head. “Because I feel like I’ve pretty much betrayed the entire team. If they all found out…They’d hate me. But then I think about it again and I realize…I love him too much to change anything.”

Ryan nods. “That’s something I can relate to. Brendon…I love that guy more than anything. And I wouldn’t change if it meant losing him. Your secrets safe with me, Martin. I promise.”

-&-

“They said no.”

Brendon collapses onto Ryan’s bed in a dramatic fashion, not out of character. What is out of character, though, are the tear stains on his cheeks and the red coloring his eyes. Ryan sighs, reaches out and takes Brendon’s hand in his own in an attempt to be slightly comforting.

“We knew they were going to, didn’t we?” He asks quietly, pointing out what they knew all along. “They’re not fond of me, really.”

“I don’t care,” Brendon says, sniffling. “I left before they could really piss me off. I just… I don’t understand. I love you. I want to be with you forever. I want to wake up every morning and see you. And go to bed with you. And eat breakfast with you. Every single day. Not just when I can escape my house and get over here.”

“Well-”

“I want to adopt a dog and name it something that you’ll hate and refuse to call it. I just…I want to really be with you. One hundred percent.” Brendon sighs. “But they’ll never really listen to me.”

Ryan isn’t really sure how to respond. He usually always knows what to say, how to comfort his boyfriend. But right now he’s got a lot on his mind – from Brendon’s parents to Martin’s confessions to him after the game.

“You look like you’re thinking about something,” Brendon says suddenly, as if he can read Ryan’s mind. He probably can. Ryan wouldn’t put it past him. “You look like Martin did during the game. He’s been acting weird lately, hasn’t he?”

Ryan bites his lip. “Yeah. I guess. Anyway. Let’s just go to bed. We can try to talk to your parents again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Brendon agrees, standing up. “I love you.”

Ryan smiles. “I love you, too.”