I tightened my grip around him, pulling him closer.I love you, Oz.
* * *
I woke up. The sun hasn’t been fully up the Chicago skyline before my phone started exploding. It wasn’t just sports blogs anymore; it was everything. News outlets, celebrity gossip sites, even the morning news.
CHICAGO SKY NEWS:Viral TikTok video from@OzzieFordhas homophobic people shaking in their seats! The LGBTQ+ community is now standing with the Beavers and are fighting against discrimination of sexuality in the national baseball league!
TikTok video?
I rolled over in bed, going on the TikTok app, and then I saw it. Ozzie had done more than just save the recording; he’d burned the bridge and used the embers to light a fire with a video. I look at his caption.
@OzzieFord: “This is what happens behind closeddoors when you’re just trying to play the game you love. We aren’t going anywhere.”
The TikTok video already had ten million views. It was the audio of Henderson’s gravelly voice—“I don’t tolerate queer players”—played over a montage of us playing together, turning double plays, and that slow-motion clip of me brushing the dirt off his cheek.
Ozzie risked his career forme…
I looked over at him on the bed. He’s sleeping peacefully besides me, his hair messy and looking innocent.
God, I love this man…
* * *
By 8:00 AM, the official statement from the Rock Hills Beavers front office hit the wire:“Effective immediately, Head Manager Bill Henderson has been relieved of his duties. The Beavers organization is committed to an inclusive environment…”
“He’s gone, Oz. Thank god.” I whispered, showing him the headline. “You really went out of your way to post that audio?”
Ozzie sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looking at the chaos he’d unleashed with a single ‘Post’ button. “I had to, Ryan. If we let him keep his job, he would have spent the rest of the season trying to sabotage us. Now? Now he’s the one who’s replaceable.”
I smile and lean in to kiss his forehead. “My good boy.”
* * *
The hotel lobby was a sea of flashes. Usually, we’d duck our heads and hurry to the bus, but today was different. I looked at Ozzie—really looked at him. No more hiding. No more “Wingman Protocol.”
I reached out and took his hand, my fingers interlocking with his.
“You ready for this, babe?” I asked. “The second we walk through those doors, everything changes. No more secret bus bathrooms or anything else.”
Ozzie squeezed my hand, his chin lifting with that same grit he showed when a 98-mph heater was coming at his head. “I’m ready, Lindson. Let’s go give them something to talk about.”
“I love you, Oz.” I said, looking in his eyes.
“Love you more, my Cap.”
We walked out of the hotel doors together. The wall of noise was deafening—reporters screaming questions, fans cheering, cameras clicking like a thousand insects. But I didn’t let go. For the first time in my career, I wasn’t just the “Captain.” I was just a man standing next to the person he loved.
11
OZZIE
The flight back to Rock Hills was a blur of flashing lights and microphones, but the moment the team plane touched down on home turf, a sense of calm finally settled over me. We were back where we belonged. The media storm was still howling, but inside the gates of our home stadium, the air felt different.
We were finallyus.
Our new coach, Fred Tiller, was a veteran of the game who had seen everything. He’d pulled us aside before the first home game and said, “I’m here to manage a ball team, not a fucking soap opera. You two produce on the field, and I’ll have your backs until the final out. Now go get changed.”
“Yes, sir.” Ryan and I both understood.