The silence in the room wasn’t empty; it was heavy, like the air right before a summer thunderstorm breaks over the stadium. I stayed pinned over him, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for him to tell me I was too much. Waiting for him to tell me I was suffocating him.
But then he said it.
“I’m obsessed about you too, Ryan Lindson.”
The way he used my full name—the name that usually belonged to the headlines and the back of the jersey—made it feel brand new. He reached up, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumbs brushing over the stubble on my jaw.
“You think I don’t watch you?” Ozzie whispered, his eyes searching mine. “I’ve had your rookie card tucked in my wallet since I was twelve, Ryan. I used to stay up late in Rock Hills just to watch your West Coast starts. I didn’t just want to be a ballplayer. I wanted to beyourballplayer.”
I felt the air leave my lungs. I’d spent so much time worrying about being his “Captain” that I’d forgotten I was his hero first.
“When I got called up,” he continued, his voice cracking, “I was terrified you’d be a jerk. Or worse, that you’d be boring. But you’re neither. You’re the most intense, stubborn, brilliant man I’ve ever met. I’m obsessed with the way you pull your cap down when you’re about to throw a strikeout. I’m obsessed with how you always make sure I have a water bottle waiting for me in the dugout. You’re my baseball hero, Ryan. You’ve always been my favorite player.”
He pulled my head down, his forehead resting against mine.
“So don’t you dare think you’re alone in this. If you’re a statue, then I’m the one who’s going to keep you from ever turning back to stone.”
I let out a shaky breath, the last of my defenses crumbling. I didn’t have to be the “Golden Boy” here. I didn’t have to be the leader. I just had to be his. I slid my hands down to his waist, pulling him up so our bodies were perfectly aligned, the heat between us enough to burn down the whole hotel.
“Then we’re both crazy,” I muttered against his lips.
“The best kind of crazy,” he whispered back.
7
OZZIE
Chicago felt different the moment we stepped off the plane. The “Windy City” air was biting, a sharp contrast to the humid tension we’d left behind. We were here to play the Chicago Blue Sox, and the pressure was mounting. The standings were tight, and the scouts were everywhere.
The team bus ride to the hotel was an exercise in pure willpower. I sat near the front with the rookies, while Ryan was tucked into the back, the shadow of his cap obscuring his face.
My phone buzzed in my lap every few minutes.
RYAN:Look out the window to your left, baby. We’re passing the stadium.
I looked. The iconic marquee was lit up, the steel structure of the park looming over the neighborhood.
ME:It’s huge. You ever played here before?
RYAN:A dozen times. The wind is tricky for baseball sometimes. Don’t worry, I’ll be watching your back from center field. Like always, my rookie.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. We were getting good at this—the text flirting, the secret glances reflected in the bus windows, the way we moved in a choreographed dance to ensure we were never in the same frame for a fan’s photo.
* * *
The locker room at the Blue Sox stadium was old, cramped, and smelled like decades of pine tar and sweat. It made hiding things even harder. Chicago smelt like NYC.
I was at my locker, taping my wrists, when Miller walked by and bumped my shoulder. “Hey, Ford. You’re looking a little distracted lately. You seeing some girl back in Rock Hills or something? You’re glued to that phone.”
Shit.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan freeze while he was putting on his cleats three stalls down.
“Just family, Miller,” I said, my voice only shaking a little. “My mom’s obsessed with the stats this season.”
“Right,” Miller grunted, looking skeptical. “Well, tell ‘Mom’ to let you focus. We need those double plays today.”
As Miller walked away, Ryan caught my eye for a split second. He didn’t smile, but he adjusted his cap—the signal we’d agreed on. I’m here. We’re okay.