And I was getting tired of fucking hiding this relationship.
* * *
By the time Ozzie and I got back to my hotel room, the clip had over two million views on Twitter. The hashtag#LindsonFordwas trending with edits, news, and even t-shirts with the hashtag on it were selling on the TikTok Shop.
I was trying to ignore it. I just wanted to fuck my rookie. After I made Ozzie scream my name on the bed, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. I looked down, and my heart plummeted. It was Coach Henderson.
“Shit. Go clean yourself in the bathroom,” I hissed to Ozzie, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. I pointed toward the bathroom. He scrambled inside, shutting the door silently just as I swiped the screen.
“Yeah, Coach?” I tried to keep my voice steady, the veteran “Cap” voice I’d used for a decade.
“Ryan. My room. Now,” Henderson said. His voice was gravelly, devoid of its usual post-win cheer. “And bring Ford with you. I know he’s not in his room; I already checked.”
The line went dead.
“Fuck!” I stared at the phone, my blood turning to ice. He knew. He fucking knew. I turned to the bathroom door as Ozzie stepped out, his face pale. He’d clearly heard through the thin walls.
“I think he fucking knows about us. He wants both of us in his room immediately,” I said, my voice cracking for the first time.
“Ryan… if he saw the video…” Ozzie started, his hands shaking as he reached for his hoodie.
“We stick to the script,” I said, though my confidence was crumbling. “It was adrenaline. We’re teammates. We’re brothers. That’s all.”
Or was it…. from that video?
* * *
Walking down the carpeted hallway felt like a march to the gallows. We stood in front of Room 502, the door already propped open. Coach Henderson was sitting in a chair by the window, a tablet glowing on the table in front of him. The viral video was looped on the screen—that split second of me touching Ozzie’s face, playing over and over.
“Shut the door,” Henderson muttered without looking up.
We did. The silence in the room was suffocating.
“I’ve got the GM calling me from Rock Hills asking why my star catcher is trending on social media for something other than his ERA,” Henderson said, finally looking at us. His eyes were tired. “I’ve got reporters sniffing around the lobby. And I’ve got a clubhouse that’s starting to trade jokes instead of focusing on the pennant race.”
He looked directly at me. “Ryan, you’ve been my rock for five years. I don’t care who you love in your private time. But the second your private time starts affecting my dugout, it becomes my problem.”
He turned to Ozzie. “And you. You’re talented, kid. But you’re replaceable. If I have to move you to stop a media circus from drowning this team, I will do it before the sun comes up.”
“You’re threatening to take away Ozzie?” I growled.
“Yes,” Coach says. “Because I don’t tolerate queer players in this business.”
It felt like a slap in the face.He did not… he fucking did not say that.
The air in the room curdled. I felt a heat rise in me that was different from the fire of a game—this was a cold, jagged fury. I stepped forward, putting myself physically between Henderson and Ozzie.
“How fucking dare you say that!” I spat, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You don’t tolerate ‘queer’ players? This is the twenty-first century, Henderson. You’re talking about the best ballplayer this franchise has seen in a decade. You’re talking about a man who just won you a game in the dirt!”
I knew he was a homophobic piece of shit from the beginning of this season. I smelted it.
Henderson didn’t flinch. He just tapped the tablet screen, pausing the video on my face. “I’m talking about the brand, Ryan. I’m talking about the fans in the Midwest who buy the jerseys. I’m talking about a clubhouse that stays focused because there isn’t ‘distracting’ energy in the showers. You want to be a hero? Go play for a team in a city that cares about your ‘identity.’ Here, you’re a ballplayer. Period.”
“Fuck you! He’s more than a ballplayer to me,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibrate. I didn’t care about the protocol anymore. I didn’t care about the “Golden Boy” image anymore as well. “If you move him because of who he is, or because of who we are… you’re going to have a much bigger problem than a viral video. I will drop out of this team for the man who I love!”
“Is that a threat, Lindson?” Henderson stood up, finally matching my height.
“It’s a fucking promise,” I said, leaning in until we were nose-to-nose. “I’m the face of this team. If you trade Ozzie for this, I go to the press or I fucking leave this team. I’ll tell the press exactly why you did it. I’ll burn this whole ‘brand’ to the ground on myway out the door. You want a media circus? Try a civil rights lawsuit and a star player walking out on a pennant race. Fucking try me, Henderson.”