But the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway wrenches us apart. A heavy hand pushes on the other side of the door, and the rope connecting Grant and me to this heated moment is severed.
The door swings open, and Grant takes another step back. I move farther away. The man who walks in is a stranger and pays us no mind.
Grant, though, casts me one last glance, his eyes saying I have to go, and then he’s out the door before it closes again.
As he leaves, I know two things with absolute certainty.
I fucked up badly, letting him go.
And I want him back more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
The flush of the urinal reminds me I need to do a better job.
Real classy, Steele.
A bathroom isn’t the place to ask him to be with me again.
End of October
14
Declan
The question of where and when plays in my mind over the next two months, never far from my thoughts.
“Italy or Greece?”
The question comes from Tucker as he and Marissa debate the destination of their upcoming holiday trip.
Neither works in my case, so I keep my focus on the big screen at Tucker’s place, where a bunch of us are gathered to watch the playoffs.
Tucker’s more focused on planning his trip, though. Brady leans closer to Tucker’s laptop screen, checking out the vacay options. Marissa swats a chuckling Brady, an amusing sight since Marissa is a tiny pipsqueak and Brady is a dead ringer for Barry Bonds. But I don’t see if he tries for retribution because Grant has come to the plate in game three of the divisionals.
I return my focus to the screen.
My friends, on the other hand, aren’t as transfixed. Guess not making the playoffs will do that to you.
“You already turned down my homeland,” Tucker points out.
“You didn’t want to go to Cuba either,” Marissa says, laughing.
“And now I want to go to Tuscany. And you should say yes to me, baby. Tuscany has these perfect rolling hills,” Tucker points out.
“Greece has the Greek islands and we can lounge by the sea all day,” Marissa counters, then swivels the laptop around to show her boyfriend the screen. “How can you resist this?”
Tucker shoves the computer at me. “Tiebreaker, Steele. Can you resist this?”
“Looks nice,” I mutter, unable to look away from the TV as Grant swings and misses. A few seconds later, he finds a gap and gets on base with a single, and I pump an oh yeah fist.
“Somebody still roots for his ex,” Brady says playfully.
I jerk my head up. Did I give myself away? How did Brady even notice with the Italy/Greece debate raging?
“Yeah, what gives?” asks Tucker. “You rooting for your old team now? You traitor.”
It’s good-natured ribbing, and I can breathe again.
Ex-teammates.
That’s all he meant. Nothing more.
“Well, we’re not in it, so I can’t root for the Comets,” I point out.
“Thanks for the reminder.” Tucker clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “Marissa and I have a question for you guys.”
“Sure. My answer is you should do both Italy and Greece,” I say with a smile, focusing more on their dilemma and less on cheering for my ex . . . teammate.
“New question, dude. Keep up.” Tucker points to himself and Marissa, then draws a deep breath. “Do you guys want to join us?”
I shoot him an are you speaking Martian look. “Are you asking us for a foursome? Because you’re not my type, Reyes.”
“Dude, nice burn,” Brady says, offering me a big palm for smacking, which I accept.
“Seriously,” says Tucker. “Like a couples’ trip. Brady, do you and Greer want to go with us? And Steele, you and . . .” His brow knits over how to finish that thought. “Well, if you’re involved with someone. I don’t even know if that’s your thing, though.”
“Being involved with someone? Trips with straight couples? Or couples’ trips in general?” I ask—then I smile to put the guy out of his misery because it’s freaking adorable that he asked me to go on a couples’ trip.
I mean, there’s no fucking way I’d go, but I like that Tucker asked.
Who knows what most straight men would do, but I’m pretty sure couples’ trips are not my thing.
Tucker breathes a long sigh of relief. “The couples’ trip, man.”
“We’ve been wanting to ask you guys,” Marissa chimes in, speaking even faster than usual. “I know not everyone loves couples’ trips. But Tucker and I do. We would love if you guys want to come along. I know Brady has a girlfriend. But we don’t know if you’re with someone, Declan.”
Tucker claps my shoulder. “Your dad mentioned a boyfriend at spring training, but I haven’t heard a peep since then. And I didn’t know if you just liked to keep your romantic life, well, to yourself.”
I wince at those memories, the same ones I want far behind me. “Nah, I meant it when I said I wasn’t involved. I’m still not.”
Though, I hope that’ll change soon.
“Playing the field. I hear ya. Must be fun,” Tucker says.
Marissa hisses at him. “Hello, I’m here.”
“I meant for other guys, sweet baby cakes.” He tugs her onto his lap and kisses her noisily.
As the three of them debate their couples’ trip, I picture the holidays I want to take, the private life I want to have.
But I can’t reach out to Grant right now. He’s in playoff contention.
If the Cougars advance, I’ll have to wait even longer.
A week later, I’m alone in my place on Park Avenue when the Cougars lose a nail-biter of a championship series. As my former teammates walk off the field, heads down, my heart is heavy for all of them, especially Grant.
I’ve never made it to the World Series. I was hoping Grant might. Looks like it isn’t the year for either of us.
As I leave my place to go for a walk in the cold late-October air, my thoughts return to the how.
I know this much—I need to see him in person. I need to look him in the eye when I say the hard things.
Maybe I’ll plan a trip to San Francisco to see my mom and Tyler, catch some time with him then. I have a commercial shoot next week with a watchmaker here in New York, but I could go to San Francisco after that.
When I return home, I google flights and look at my schedule. But the next evening, I’m digging my chopsticks into a carton of pepper steak and watching the Sports Network when an opportunity appears, gift-wrapped, on the screen.
Grant Blackwood is one of five finalists in the running for the prestigious Rookie of the Year Award to be presented next week here in New York.
I freeze with my chopsticks mid-air, grinning at the unfolding possibilities. Grant, here, next week.
Setting down the take-out carton, I call Emma and ask her to meet me the next day for help.
Nothing I’ve had before with any guy—not Nathan, not Kyle, not anyone—comes close to what I want with Grant.
And I can’t mess this up a second time.