out to put the spotlight on myself. Hopefully, the guys who knew me wouldn’t make a big deal about me being back.
“Well, it looks like they were right,” I said sarcastically as I reached into my bag to get my glove.
The kid slid closer to me on the bench. “Is what they said true?”
I slammed the glove down next to me and turned to face him. “Maybe I’d know if I had any clue who they are. Do you mean your teammates? Management? The press? Who?”
I was being a dick, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. This was exactly the type of drama and bullshit I’d have much rather avoided.
“Everyone,” he said quietly. His earlier awe had been replaced by insecurity and slumped shoulders. I hated that I’d done that to him. “Well, I mean not the press because we’ve all been warned that if anyone talks about what really happened, they’ll find their ass on the next bus out of town.”
“I don’t think it actually works that way, kid.” And, of course, if anyone did get cut for fanning the flames of the homophobic bullshit that’d been spreading faster than a wildfire in California during a drought, it’d all come back on me.
Fucking wonderful.
No one would blame the assholes who couldn’t manage to keep their thoughts to themselves. No, it’d all come down to me being a punk who couldn’t stand a little bit of hazing. “I guess it’s safe to assume the rest of the team knows why I’ve been out?”
There was a chance I hadn’t been the topic of conversation in the clubhouse. Then again, bored ball players were some of the worst gossips around. They put old church ladies to shame. “Yes, sir. They said you and Mercer got into a fight and that you told him you were gay. Is that true?”
“Yeah, it is,” I said bluntly, snagging my glove and walking out of the room. I wasn’t going to pussyfoot around the topic if someone asked me, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to lie.
But that didn’t mean I was going to stand around and share my life story with someone I just met, either. Especially when I couldn’t figure out if he’d be disgusted, impressed, or indifferent if I managed to turn around and look at him.
I wasn’t here for social hour; I was here to play a game. And I only had four weeks to get my ass in shape instead of six like everyone else.
It didn’t take long to realize I was being irrational. Where in the hell was I supposed to go? There was no one out on the field for me to take batting practice. But now that I’d committed to not hanging around the clubhouse, I needed something to do. I wound up in the training room, figuring a hard workout would help my mood. I’d be tired and sweaty by the time we were called out to the field, but I didn’t care. Like I said, I needed to make sure I was in top shape if I wanted to squash any chatter about how I’d only gotten away with walking off because I was a third generation player.
To my surprise, Duquette hunted me down in the training room. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him walk in, but that became impossible once he was standing in front of my treadmill. I slowed to a walk, but didn’t say anything.
I’d promised Brian that I wouldn’t cause any problems when I came back and I intended to keep that promise. That posed an issue, because everything I wanted to say to Duquette would’ve started another fight. He needed to know that I’d lost all respect for him and that the team would be better off without assholes like him in charge.
“I wanted to apologize for my part in what happened.” I stared at him, trying to figure out whether he’d been sent down here or if he was sincerely sorry about what he’d said to me. He kicked at the base of the treadmill and refused to make eye contact. “Times are changing, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that we don’t live in the same world as we used to.”
“Not an excuse,” I ground out, wishing I had my earbuds so I could tune him out. “You don’t get to apologize for being a homophobic asshole by blaming the past. I’m so fucking tired of hearing people tell me that the clubhouse isn’t used