I roll my eyes, then surrender to my heavy lids and close them. “Changes nothing between us, Madz. I wasn’t lying when I said that. Just try not to fondle me too much while I’m sleeping. Though if you do, I like my balls being played with.”
A choking sound comes from above me, and I pop one eye open. I grin at Maddox’s slack-jawed expression. “I’m just kidding, man. I mean, I guess it’s okay. A ball massage is as good as anything else.” I pause. “Shit, did that cross a line? Joking like that? I don’t really think you’d—” Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. This is why it’s better to just not speak.
“Relax, East.” He flops down next to me, his body shaking with silent laughter. “You’re something else; you know that?”
My chest warms. It’s not like what he said was even a compliment, but there was so much affection in his voice I can’t help but float off on a happy cloud.
“You’re right, though,” he whispers. “Half the stuff people laugh about…it isn’t harmless. It’s like a quiet way of continuing the homophobic narrative. Hidden inlightheartedjokes.”
“I’m sorry, Maddy. I’ll be more thoughtful going forward.”
His lips don’t move, but he still somehow smiles at me. It’s his green eyes, I think. All soft and glowy. “I know, East. You’re one of the good ones. All we can do is try and be better, yeah?”
I curl into his side and pull out my phone. Gotta grab a selfie. I collect them of us. I love looking back over the years at us together. They’re instant happy.
“Smile, Maddy.” I see him roll his eyes in the camera, which only has a full grin spreading on mine. I snap the picture. That’ll be going in my favorites for sure.
As long as I always have Maddy, everything will be okay.
Me and Maddy. Best friends for life.
That’s a bond that won’t ever break.
three
Maddox
PresentDay–Julyafter Junior Year at GCSU.
I walk over and shove a fresh beer in Easton’s hands. It’s either that, or he’s going to go bald from the way he’s pulling at his hair. And that would be a true tragedy, those toffee locks gone.
The day’s finally here.
The draft.
The one where both Easton and I are eligible. I know my name won’t be showing up—maybe if the draft was still the forty rounds like it used to be—but while I love baseball, I’ve never had what it takes to make it big time. Not like East.
Baseball has never been to me what it is to East. East and baseball are interwoven; it’s an essential part of him. So, for me, the sport has always equated to…East. It’s been less about the game and more about the connection it provided, the memories we built on and off the field because of it.
Would I have loved playing alongside him in the big leagues? Fuck yeah. But only because it would mean being with East. What excites me now is getting my doctorate in physical therapy—the chance to help athletes like East keep living their dream. That’s my calling.
East paces the living room of his parents’ house, wearing a path in front of his couch, the draft coverage streaming from his baseball app to his TV. He’s completely ignoring the beer in his hand, but at least he’s not fisting his hair any longer.
Last night was the first day of the draft, when the first three rounds went. It wasn’t any surprise East’s name didn’t come up then. The advisor he’s been working with has a good feeling Easton will go in the first ten rounds, though. The host on the TV calls the last player in the fourth round. Another round gone.
Easton freezes.
I can practically hear his thoughts. There’s usually a steep drop-off in signing bonuses after the fifth round. Not always the case, but more often than not. My chest is so damn tight I can barely breathe. God, I hope he goes this round. He deserves it so much, has worked so fucking hard. Outside, I’m calm, cool, and collected, though. East feeds off anxiety, and then it breeds like rabbits. He needs someone to ground him while he spirals.
“E, come here and sit,” Shelby, Easton’s girlfriend, says softly from where she’s cuddled up on the couch in one of East’s tees and a pair of his pajama bottoms.
Shelby’s another person who helps ground Easton. They met during the middle of sophomore year in class and became fast friends. I wasn’t at all surprised when it evolved intomore. Shelby had heart-eyes for East from day one. Don’t we fucking all?
She’s really good for him. The organ in my chest twists painfully tight. A piece of it tears off every time I admit that. But in the end, all I want is for East to be happy, to have someone who balances his nervous, anxious nature. Someone who appreciates and understands him. I can’t ever be that person, not the way Shelby can.
Shelby drags him to the couch because he’s still frozen, gaze locked on the screen. She shoves him to sit down, walks around the back, and then starts massaging his shoulders, murmuring soft words of assurance to him. A small amount of tension eases from his frame.
I catch her gaze, and she smiles, but there’s strain behind it. She feels the same way I do. We feel every ounce of his anxiety right now. We’re right there with him. All the horrible what-if’s our minds make up are loud. There’s no way hewon’tget drafted. I’m like ninety-nine percent certain. But it’s still fucking terrifying. And there’s this thing about getting drafted in the top ten rounds… It means something. It’s not just getting picked; it’s validation. It’s proof you’re the real deal, you know? Easton is the real deal. He’s going places.
