Push & Pull (The Midwest Series Book 2)

by Brigham Vaughn

  When they were both done, Lowell turned to look at him. Time to get the awkward part over. “Um, I want to apologize about last night. And this morning.”

  Brent raised an eyebrow at him.

  Lowell took a deep breath. “Look, I got kinda wigged out last night, and I’m sorry. The stuff that went down with Micah ... well, it soured me on having any sort of regular thing with a guy.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Brent said slowly.

  “But I know I was the one who kissed you in the first place, so this is totally on me. I shouldn’t have initiated things, and I definitely shouldn’t have flipped out after. What do you say we just focus on hanging out this summer as friends? So things don’t get really awkward. Again.”

  “Sure. That’s probably a good idea.” Brent hesitated. “And, look, I get that stuff is pretty shitty with your parents. But could you maybe not assume I’m just like them?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, maybe the joke I made earlier about gay Cosmo was a bad choice, but I just said it because you’re obviously really into fashion and stuff. You must read about it somewhere, right? That’s all I meant by that. I don’t think you’re dumb at all. In fact, you seem pretty fucking smart to me.”

  “Oh.” Lowell smoothed down his shirt, which was wrinkled all to hell from his nap. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  “Maybe for the rest of the summer you should just assume that if I say something stupid that sounds like I’m being mean, I’m probably just being an idiot. I spent so much time playing the dumb jock I guess I turned into one. I’m trying to fix that, but it’s not going to happen overnight. And I know I was a total dick at the beginning of the trip, but honestly, I like you, Lowell. The past few days I’ve been having fun. I want to just ...” He dragged a hand through his hair as if he were frustrated. “Just keep having a great time with you, okay?”

  Lowell nodded, feeling even worse for how much he’d fucked things up in the past few days. “I’d like that.”

  “Friends?” Brent stuck out a hand, and Lowell shook it.

  “Friends.”

  A weight lifted from Lowell’s shoulders. Maybe he hadn’t totally ruined their entire trip.

  May 29, 2013 – Chicago, Illinois

  Brent

  Brent finished toweling his hair dry, then dressed in a pair of cargo shorts and a Cubs T-shirt. He wiped at the bathroom mirror to clear the steam there and frowned at his reflection. Ugh, he was going to have to get a haircut soon. His hair kept falling in his eyes, and it was driving him crazy. Oh, well, he’d be wearing a ball cap today anyway. He’d worry about it later.

  Lowell was still lying on the bed when Brent left the bathroom. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We really need to get going if we’re going to make it to the game by three.”

  “Shit. Yeah. Give me ten minutes, and I promise I’ll be ready to leave.” Lowell made a beeline for the closet and started pulling out clothing.

  “It’s going to be pretty soggy too,” Brent called out.

  Lowell poked his head around the corner. “Soggy?”

  “Yeah, it’s raining like crazy. It was sprinkling when I got back to the hotel, and I wasn’t even halfway across the lobby before it started to pour.” Brent tugged back the curtains. “Oh, never mind, it looks like it’s clearing up again.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t realize we were supposed to get rain today at all. Check the weather forecast,” Lowell suggested. Brent tried not to stare as Lowell stripped out of his wrinkled clothes and hurriedly dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a white tee. He added a belt and shoes before grabbing his Cubs hat. Even on the way to a baseball game, he looked perfectly put together. He glanced over at Brent. “I’m ready to go. Did you check the forecast?”

  “No, sorry.” Brent reached for his phone.

  “It’s okay. I’ll check now. No point in leaving if the game gets delayed or cancelled before we get there.” Lowell’s fingers flew over his phone screen. “I think we’re okay. Scattered showers until two p.m., and it’s supposed to be sunny the rest of the day. Just to be on the safe side, let’s take a Lyft there.”

  ***

  They made it to Wrigley Field in plenty of time. Brent followed Lowell to their seats and gave a low whistle when he stopped in row I, slightly to the left of home plate.

  “Jesus, these seats are amazing.” He was nine rows back. Nine. It was crazy. He’d probably never have another opportunity to sit this close to the field.

  Lowell took a seat with a grin. “I thought you’d like them. Better than box seats as far as I’m concerned.”

  Brent snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t exactly spend a lot of time in box seats, so I can’t really compare. But, hey, I have no complaints about this view.” He gestured toward the field. “Thank you. I know it was a pain dealing with your parents.”

  “I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior that night either,” Lowell said quietly. Brent wondered if he was talking about more than the dinner with the Prescotts. Unsure how to respond, Brent watched batting practice instead. It was crazy how well he could see everything they did.

  “Did you know Wrigley Field is the second oldest baseball stadium in the major leagues?” Lowell asked after an awkwardly long silence.

  “Yep.”

  “And they still use the manual scoreboard.” Lowell pointed toward it.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”

  The majority of the games Brent had been to were at Comerica Park in Detroit, but Wrigley Field had roughly the same capacity. It did have a much older feel though. Brent had seen the ivy-covered walls that ringed the field on TV plenty of times, but it was even better in person. Although, the stadium here felt a little too enclosed. He liked how open Comerica Park was, and that from the upper deck, you could see right into the heart of Detroit.

  He mentioned that to Lowell, who nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to check it out sometime.”

  Brent bit back the instinct to offer to take him. It wasn’t like he and Lowell were likely to see each other a lot after this trip was over.

  “So you root for the Tigers then?” Lowell asked.

  “Yeah, my whole family does.” Brent tugged at his baseball cap. “We’re pretty much die-hard fans.”

  “Phillips and Hernandez are having a pretty good season so far.” Lowell shifted in his seat, his knee brushing Brent’s. “I don’t think Santos is doing as well as they hoped though.”

  Brent grimaced. “He’s been a bit of a disappointment, to be honest.”

  The crowd stood for the pre-game ritual of the National Anthem, and Brent and Lowell took off their caps. Brent didn't recognize the name of the person who was announced to sing the National anthem, but they sang pretty well. Sometimes, the performers were so shrill he thought his ears would bleed. He hadn't recognized the celebrity throwing out the first pitch either.

  Lowell leaned in to tell him it was a local performer. He placed his hand on Brent’s shoulder, and the gesture made Brent’s skin prickle. A flush of discomfort swept through him. He’d always associated sporting events with hyper-masculine behavior, and Brent had spent years forcing himself to play into that. He’d been constantly aware of every little mannerism he had and every contact he made with another guy.

  The Royals were up to bat first, but Brent was a little distracted as the game began and only half-paid attention until Schultz hit a home run with a fly ball deep into left field.

  “Fuck,” Lowell muttered as the crowd in the visiting team’s section went wild. “It’s been twelve years since the Royals have played here,” he added. “It looks like their fans decided to come with them.”

  “Geeze, twelve years,” Brent said. “That’s crazy.”

  Lowell shrugged. “Interleague games are weird like that.”

  “And at the end of the first inning, the Royals lead, one nothing,” the announcer said. The musical interlude played as The Cubs went up to bat. Lowell did a little dance along to the music that ma
de Brent smile.

  The Cubs didn’t have any luck at bat in the second inning though, and the Royals scored, leaving it 2-0 at the bottom of the third.

  “Jesus, I hope the whole game isn’t like this,” Brent said with a groan.

  “It’s a Cubbies game, what did you expect?”

  Brent was beginning to feel antsy. “I’m going to stretch my legs and grab a beer. You want anything?”

  “A cider, maybe? But I don’t think all of the concession stands have it, so don’t worry about it if the one you go to doesn’t.”

  “Cool. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Lowell was already immersed in the game.

  Brent jogged up the stairs, dodging the people milling about, and wandered for a bit until he found a concession stand that did have cider listed. The beer selection in general was crap though.

  He mentioned that to Lowell when he returned a while later with an IPA for himself, the cider for Lowell, and a bag of Chicago mix. “Yeah,” Lowell said absently. “Wrigley isn’t great for beer. That is one thing I’ll say about the Sox stadium—I refuse to refer to it as Guaranteed Rate Field—they have a huge craft beer selection. Thanks for getting the cider though.”

  “You can have some of the popcorn too,” Brent said as he offered the bag to Lowell.

  Lowell groaned and waved it off. “Don’t tempt me. I can’t be trusted with the stuff.”

  “Nathan and I ate a stupid amount of it at a Blackhawks’ game once.” Brent glanced back at the field. It was the top of the 4th. “So, what did I miss?”

  “Nelson hit a double to center field, and Foster scored, so we’re 2-1.”

  “Damn, sorry I missed it.” Brent tossed a handful of the caramel and cheese-flavored popcorn into his mouth.

  “Nelson’s looking rather scruffy too,” Lowell said with a grin. “Rowr.”

  “You like that?” Brent rubbed his clean-shaven face, and Lowell shot him a look from beneath the brim of his hat.

  “It can be hot, yeah. I think I mostly enjoy what a beast he is.”

  Brent snorted. “I don’t know. I bet you could still boss him around.”

  “Oh, believe me, I would. It’s just more fun when a guy is massive. You really feel like you’re in charge ...” The announcer’s voice stating that Massey was about to pitch reminded Brent exactly where they were, and he looked around, wondering if anyone had overhead them. Lowell wasn’t exactly subtle about things.

  But why should he be?

  As if he’d sensed Brent’s unease, Lowell changed the subject. “Gutierrez is at bat now though, so we’ll see.”

  Brent watched intently as Massey pitched a fast ball to Gutierrez, but he connected with a solid crack and drove it high and deep into left field.

  “Home run by Salvador Gutierrez, and The Royals are back!”

  The Kansas City fans went wild, hooting and hollering loud enough to make Brent’s ears ring.

  “God damn it,” Lowell muttered. “3-1 now.” He took a sip of his cider.

  “Ugh, you’d think we were in Kansas City,” Brent muttered. “The fans really came out today.”

  “I haven’t seen the Royals score like that much this season,” Lowell said. “If it weren’t against the Cubs, I’d be impressed.”

  By the top of the seventh, the Royals were ahead 4-3.

  “You know, I’m thinking of ordering a custom jersey,” Lowell mused over the sound of everyone singing along to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”. Brent didn’t think he should subject anyone to his terrible voice.

  Brent made a face at Lowell’s comment as he stretched. “Whose?”

  “Ryan Nelson’s. Why?”

  “Of course, it would be Nelson.” Brent rolled his eyes. “For his stats or the way he fills out the uniform?”

  Lowell grinned. “Can’t it be both?”

  Brent grinned back. “Yeah, fair enough. And he is shaping up to be a decent third baseman.”

  “Decent? Come on! He’s a rookie and he’s batting .282 with seven home runs, 22 RBIs, and 16 walks in thirty-nine games,” Lowell argued. “And at six foot five, that’s a lot of hot he has going on too.”

  Brent snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

  Lowell leaned in. “Honey, I’m never wrong.”

  A couple of middle-aged guys near them shot Lowell a look as they passed by. Brent tensed, half-expecting them to say something, but they walked on with only a sneer.

  ***

  At the top of the eighth, the sky was overcast again, and they were tied 4-4. Brent and Lowell were both on the edge of their seats as Kansas City went up to bat.

  Lowell spent most of the inning with his hands on his head as if he was trying to hold it together. Brent found himself alternately watching the field and Lowell’s reactions. He wasn’t sure which was more entertaining.

  Adam Ray went up to bat and hit a line drive that went straight toward Ken Manning. Manning reached the ball in time, but although he got his glove around it, he bobbled the ball, and it hit the ground. Dumbfounded, Brent stared at the field in shock, but Lowell was already on his feet, screaming, “What the fuck, Manning? How hard is it to hang on to the damn ball?”

  It continued to get worse from there.

  Ray’s double allowed Jimmy Rooseman to score, and the Royals fans began chanting his nickname, “Rooster, Rooster, Rooster.”

  Lowell dropped into his seat with an aggravated sigh, and Brent smothered a grin. If Brent had ever doubted the depth of Lowell’s love of baseball, he couldn’t anymore. There weren’t many sports out there that Brent didn’t watch, but hockey had always been at the top of his list. Baseball came second. Brent was a fan. Lowell was something else.

  Brent felt a cold drop of rain land on his arm. “Shit. Is it raining again?”

  Lowell glanced skyward as the raindrops began to fall. “Looks like it.”

  The rain shower was brief, but it soaked them both thoroughly, and when the game ended 8-4 at the bottom of the 9th, the Cubs fans were noticeably damp and subdued. Unsurprising, considering this was the Royals’ first victory at Wrigley Field since 2001, ending their four-game losing streak.

  “That was depressing, that’s what it was,” Brent muttered.

  “It’s the Cubs. Of course, it was.” Lowell sounded almost philosophical about it now. For all his enthusiasm during the game, he seemed surprisingly okay with the outcome.

  “Yeah, but 8-4? That’s rough.” Brent shook his head. “You guys are gluttons for punishment. It’s been what? A hundred some years since they won the World Series? That’s a damn long time.”

  “One hundred and five to be exact,” Lowell said primly as he turned to head up the aisle. “But you’re from Michigan; don’t you root for the Lions when you watch football? They’re not exactly at the top of the division, and they’ve never qualified for the Super Bowl.”

  Brent laughed. “So maybe we’re both pretty sad, rooting for the losers,” he muttered

  Lowell shot him a horrified look over his shoulder and hissed, “Shut your mouth! You’re still in the park. I’m not protecting you if someone overhears that kind of blasphemy and decides to teach you a lesson.”

  Brent snorted. Given what he’d heard from Ricky, he was pretty sure Lowell would come to his rescue, but he had a good point.

  “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little loyalty,” Lowell said. “Someday, they’ll surprise us both.”

  Brent glanced at the line of people stretched out in front of them. “So, it looks like it’ll take us a little while to get out of here. What do you want to do after this? Check out another bar? Grab dinner first?”

  Lowell grimaced. “I think I’ve done more than enough drinking in the past two days.”

  Brent nodded. “We can take it easy tonight if you want. Maybe watch a movie or something. Why don’t we go get you some kale for dinner, and then we can go back to the hotel.”

  “I can’t believe you
’ve been so nice to me today.” Lowell gave him a funny look as they reached the top of the stairs. “After what a dick I was last night and this morning, you should still be pissed.”

  “It was pretty shitty,” Brent agreed. “But you apologized, and I don’t really like to hold grudges.”

  “You still haven’t talked to Nathan though have you?”

  Brent sighed. “Well, no, but he’s my best friend. He should have known better. I don’t know you well enough to get that pissed.”

  A strange expression crossed Lowell’s face, one that almost looked like sadness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  May 30, 2013 – Chicago, Illinois

  Lowell

  “I had fun in Chicago, but I’m honestly looking forward to leaving,” Brent said the next morning as Lowell pulled the Porsche away from the hotel. “I mean, I’m ready to move on to the next thing.”

  Lowell glanced at Brent out of the corner of his eye. “Where are we going today, anyway? You said we were heading north, but you weren’t really specific about our destination.”

  “Milwaukee.”

  “What do you plan to do there?” Lowell asked. “You never did tell me what your plans for the rest of the trip are.”

  “Sorry.” Brent flashed him a guilty smile. “You really are just along for the ride, huh?”

  Lowell shrugged. “Basically. I don’t really care what we do or where we go. My summer was pretty open anyway, and this is way better than sitting at home and watching Caleb and Nathan slobber all over each other.”

  “Why is that?”

  “That I don’t want to watch two disgustingly in love people be sappy 24/7?” Lowell asked. “I’m all for a little voyeurism but that’s just gross.”

  Brent chuckled. “No, why is your summer open?”

  “Oh. Ugh, it’s stupid, really. Every year when I was growing up, my parents packed my summers full of camps and enrichment activities. After being forced to stay busy all through high school, I’m rebelling by being a total slob in the summers. I mean, I still go to Pilates and yoga classes and stuff, but it’s rather glorious to wake up and know that there’s nothing I really have to do.”