“And keeping distractions minimal. Better yet, non-existent,” he adds as the running path dips behind a hill, passing under canopies of trees.
“Couldn’t agree more. Learned that rule by breaking it.”
Grant tilts his head, his eyes curious. “A guy in every port?”
I shake my head, dismissing that notion. Normally I don’t care if a guy thinks I’m a player. For some reason, I don’t want Grant to think that whatsoever. “No. That’s when I started dating my boyfriend.”
“Was he a ballplayer too?”
I snort. “God, no.”
Even as he runs, Grant seems to tense at that answer. But I don’t need to sugarcoat the risks of dating someone in the same sport. “Getting involved with a ballplayer would be a mistake.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, with Kyle, I managed minor league ball fine when we were dating, maybe because he lived close by. It was casual and all. But when it turned more serious, and it was time for spring training, the distraction became too much. I wasn’t very good at keeping things light and uncomplicated.”
“Are you better at it now?”
I scratch my jaw, but there’s not much to consider. “When I get involved, it’s not usually for very long, and mostly just during the off-season.” I’ve learned I need limits, even if they’re self-imposed. Given the way my parents’ marriage imploded with the force of an F5 tornado, I’m best off keeping relationships on a tight leash. “It’s just easier that way. Cleaner.”
“Less complications and less distractions,” Grant agrees.
“That’s why I had to end things with Kyle. It was messing with my head,” I say. “Worse, it was messing with my game.”
I’m saying it for him.
And, even more so, for me. Because as we run and talk about the minors, I need the reminder.
I can enjoy these mornings with Grant as a workout.
And that’s the limit.
The week unfolds like that—extra workouts in the morning as the sun rises then team time after nine.
Drills, exercises, sprints.
Batting practice and field work, then extra time practicing the new rules for sliding into home, meant to reduce punishing collisions at the plate.
I stay in touch with my friends and family—texting baseball updates to Mom and Tyler, trash talking Fitz, and enjoying Emma’s funny observations after moving to New York City. (So much scaffolding! How can there be this many dry cleaners? I am in diner heaven!)
My favorite text conversation comes from Emma and Fitz in a group chat.
* * *
Fitz: I’ve got a game against Phoenix in March. Want tix?
* * *
Declan: Hell, yeah. So long as it doesn’t conflict with a spring training game.
* * *
He sends the date, and I check my schedule. The timing lines up.
* * *
Declan: Center ice, baby. I want center ice.
* * *
Fitz: And I want first baseline when you play the NY Comets. Do we have a deal?
* * *
Emma: Hello? I’m still here! And I want to go to Phoenix too!
* * *
Fitz: Say the word and I’ll fly you in, Ems.
* * *
Emma: Word.
* * *
As I close the thread with Can’t wait to see you, I smile, glad they’ll be in town.
Yes, life is good.
Ticking along.
I’m One-Track Steele—friends, family, baseball.
The one glaring exception? How much I look forward to morning workouts with Grant. How they’re becoming the best part of each day for the next week.
Saturday morning, it’s a game day, and once more I find Grant on the track, ready to hit the golf course path as the sun rises.
We didn’t discuss switching to the golf course. It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to figure out why we gravitated that way.
It’s more private, with more shade and less chance of being seen. Even if I didn’t find him wildly, insanely attractive, I’m hanging out with the other queer dude on the team. Rumors would fly, and there is no need to fan ’em.
“Have you always been an early-morning-extra-workout person?” I ask.
“Definitely. Gotta stay a step or ten ahead, you know?”
Do I ever. “Work harder and better,” I say with a nod.
There’s an understanding with Grant that I’ve only ever had with Fitz—the awareness that we have to work harder, have to constantly prove we belong.
Sports has changed so much over the last ten years, thanks to a guy named Sandy Hildebrand who bought the Dallas football team, making headlines then as the first openly gay team owner. Soon, he banded together with other queer business leaders and spoke up about wanting queer athletes to have the same sponsorship opportunities, respect, and chances as straight players. Soon more athletes came out—in high school, college, and the pros.
Still, I feel the pressure of what it means to be part of that change. Of being lucky to be on this side of it.
“It’s a good pressure though,” I say to Grant.
“Same. Reminds me of Apollo 13. The movie,” he adds.