His eyes fluttered open, and he raised his head to look at me. “I was about to say that he was a very lucky sailor.”
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt the story.” I wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock and returned to sucking. Each time my head bobbed, the cock head slipped a fraction of an inch deeper toward my throat.
Chase’s deep, throaty whisper continued the story. “The God of baseball knew how to perform artificial respiration.”
I grinned to myself. I took the cock so slowly that my gag reflex never engaged. It was a first time for that, and Chase grunted when I swallowed against his head. The muscles in my throat gripped him tight and then released.
“The sailor was so handsome that the rescue was more like a kiss. The sailor suddenly coughed, and he could breathe again. When the baseball God pulled back…oh DAMN!!”
I was doing my best to blow Chase’s mind. I quickened my stroke at the base of his cock and held the head in my throat giving myself just enough space to breathe. I cradled his balls in my other hand, and they were beginning to ride up. I knew that I didn’t have long to wait for the eruption.
Chase was on the edge, and I pulled my mouth back to let him ride there for a moment. I stared up into his face, and his eyes were open and watering. I asked, “Did they live happily ever after?”
“Oh fuck, I’m so close. Don’t stop, Aaron…please…”
I stroked his cock hand over hand and stared into his eyes. “Answer the question.”
I lowered my head and took him into my mouth again. One of my hands drifted up over his muscular torso, while the fingers of the other hand stroked. Chase blurted out, “Oh yes, yes…happily ever after…the God and the sailor happy…FOREVER!”
Chase bellowed like a bull after the last word, and his cum shot into my throat. I swallowed hard. It was a huge load, and some of it leaked out of the corners of my mouth. My fingers kneaded at his chest and I sucked to make sure I got every single drop.
He reached down and tugged on my arm. “Get up here beside me.”
I followed his request and slid forward placing my head beside his on the pillow. While we kissed, he reached down and proceeded to give me the most sensuous of slow hand jobs. I whispered, “Thank you for the story.”
“We’re going to make it true. Tell me that we’ll make it come true.”
I leaked precum over his fingertips, and my body shuddered, as he took me to the edge. In my best defiant tone, defiant against the rest of the world, I insisted, “We’ll make it come true. Over and over again!”
My body shuddered once more, and I knew that I was on the edge of the cliff ready to fly. I buried my face in the side of Chase’s neck and growled just before my cock erupted and shot ropy white cum over Chase’s sculpted abs. I was breathless, but I’d never felt happier in my life than I did at that moment. I whispered again, “I love you, Chase. I’ll love you forever.”
15
Chase
Fortunately, the shoulder injury turned out to be nothing serious. Two days later I only had a slight dull ache when I threw a ball in from the outfield. Aaron smiled and said, “I’m relieved. You moved like an old, injured man. Take care of your body. It might as well be a solid gold sculpture.”
As the pain subsided, my hitting picked up again. Three days after I first pulled the muscle, I pounded out three hits and earned four runs batted in. I was back in a groove.
Unfortunately, the groove didn’t last. The next day Eric looked white as a sheet when he caught up with me in the locker room. I was hanging my T-Shirt in the locker wearing just my underwear, and I was getting ready to pull my jersey out to put it on. I asked, “What’s wrong with you. Are you sick?”
In a halting voice, Eric asked, “Have you seen Aaron today?”
“No.” A chill swept over my body. “Is something wrong. Is he hurt? What happened?”
“I think you need to sit.”
I sat and pounded my hand on the bench. “Fuck! Why don’t people just say, ‘I’ve got bad news.’ Why do they try and hide it by saying, ‘You better sit down.’”
“Chase, I’m sorry. Yeah, I think I’ve got bad news, and maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.”
“But you’re going to anyway.”
“You’d be pissed if I kept it to myself. The Yellowjackets fired Aaron.”
I heard the words, but I didn’t process them immediately. When my brain finally caught up to the meaning, I growled “What the hell? You must have heard it wrong. They couldn’t fire him. He was looking at another job, but Huggins suggested that he look at it. Firing him is crazy.”
“I think they can do whatever they want, and I heard it from Eckert. He said they already have feelers out for a replacement.”
For a moment, I thought about living in Charlotte with Aaron not working. It wouldn’t be so bad. I was earning plenty of money. Aaron would be pissed, but I guessed he could get another kind of job or eventually he would get over the firing and enjoy a more leisurely life.
Eric interrupted my thoughts. He said, “Eckert also said Aaron’s had two job offers already, too. They’re both for head batting coach positions. One is in Philadelphia, and one is in San Antonio.”
“Was he smiling when he spread the news?” I asked with a grunt. I lowered my head into my hands.
“He was trying to sound serious, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes.” Eric leaned in close and whispered, “Eckert’s an asshole, but he did promise to only say good things about Aaron to other teams.”
I raised my head. “San Antonio? Isn’t that like the desert or something? I bet it’s hotter than hell there. We haven’t played the San Antonio RoadRunners yet.”
“It’s another expansion team,” said Eric He mused, “I bet Aaron could be helpful there.”
I never did see Aaron before the game. The firing took effect immediately. I tried sending a text message just before the game started, but I didn’t get a response.
My game was a disaster. I couldn’t get the image of a ceiling caving in on me out of my mind. I committed two errors in the outfield. It was the first time that ever happened to me in a big league game. I couldn’t remember a game with two errors in the minors either.
The first error was a ball that I bobbled when I should have caught it. The ball literally rolled between my legs. After I threw it back into the infield, Eric asked, “Are you okay?”
I said, “I’m pissed, but physically? Yeah, I’m okay.” I shoved him back toward center field and said, “Get over there and play the game.”
My first time at bat, I grounded the ball to the shortstop, and the next time I struck out on three straight strikes. Mo yanked on my jersey and slapped his other hand against my chest when I returned to the dugout. I asked, “What are you doing? Stop pawing at me.”
He said, “I’m just looking at the jersey up close. I was making sure it’s really you because it looks like someone stole Chase O’Rourke’s jersey and is impersonating him on the field. Up close, you do look and feel like Chase.”
“Damn, Mo, everybody has a bad game sometimes.” I growled and sat alone in the back corner of the dugout.
The rest of the game didn’t get any better. I struck out again. This time at least I slapped one foul ball into the seats. The crowd cheered when a little boy caught it in his glove. Two strikes later, a collective groan rose from the throng. I’d stranded two runners on base, and we were a run behind.
In the eighth inning, the game was tied, and the other team’s batter hit a fly ball to right field with two outs and a man on third base. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric start to jog a few steps toward the dugout. He was confident.
At the last minute, somehow, the ball seemed to veer to my left. I dove for it, but my glove came up empty. Eric had to chase the ball down and throw it back in. The runner on third scored, and I wanted to throw my glove into the stands. I heard a fan yell, “Get a new glove, Chase! That one’s got a hole in it!”
; In the ninth inning, I had a final chance to redeem myself. It was a repeat situation of earlier in the game. We had two runners on with two outs. We were down a run. A simple base hit was likely to score both runners.
As I dug in at home plate, I tried to keep Aaron out of my head, but it didn’t work. I was distracted and thinking about living in Charlotte without him. I would hang out with Eric until he found a woman, and then I would be alone.
I watched the first strike go by. It was one I could have hit, but taking a good look at one strike wasn’t always a bad thing. I looked at the signs from the third-base coach and dug in again.
This time I swung at a fastball down the middle. When I missed it, I thought about the fan’s comment that I had a hole in my glove. I had a hole in my bat, too.
I didn’t get another chance to swing. I was sure the final pitch was outside, but the umpire called it strike three. The game was over, and we lost. I wasn’t the hero of the game. In fact, the most accurate narrative had me holding much of the responsibility for the loss. I dragged the bat in the dirt behind me as I returned to the dugout.
Five minutes after I entered my apartment, I received a phone call from Aaron. I was relieved to hear his voice. He said, “I’m sure you’ve heard all the news by now.”
“What the fuck, Aaron? Why did they do that? And where the hell are you?”
“I’m packing for San Antonio. My plane leaves in the morning.”
“What? Already? No, I get at least a week to say goodbye!”
I could hear anger starting to rise in his voice. “Can’t you help at least a little bit with this? I’m the one that got fired. I’m the one that’s having my life ripped up while I get sent halfway across the country. Don’t piss on me while I’m down, Chase. What the fuck was that game about anyway? Who was the guy dressed up like you.”
I felt like Aaron slapped me about a dozen times. I sniffed and tried to stop myself, but I started to cry. I whimpered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who it was in the game. Aaron, don’t go.”
“I’ve got to go, and it’s not all a bad thing. I promise it’s not. Can you meet me at the airport in the morning?”
“Why do you want me to go to the airport?”
“So I can say goodbye.”
I heard the word that I didn’t want to hear. It sounded so final. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I knew that I would regret it if I let Aaron go without saying anything to him. I sniffed and got control of myself. I whispered, “Yeah, I can meet you there. I love you.”
16
Aaron
Chase found it impossible to be an adult in the face of adversity. He met me at the airport the morning that I left Charlotte for San Antonio, but I didn’t escape the city without enduring an ugly scene.
We hugged when we met, and Chase whispered in my ear that he loved me. I told him, “I love you, too. At least now we can be open about our relationship.”
He smiled and reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. He said, “I’m going to shout it from the top of the highest hill in Charlotte that I’m in love with Aaron Beck.”
“Well, not right away. Give me a few weeks to settle in at San Antonio.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Chase frowned first, and then he started to throw a tantrum. He accused me of not wanting to be out and open. I accused him of wanting to control my life and not listen to my needs. Then he said I completely ignored his needs. He believed that I wouldn’t go to San Antonio if he were first in my considerations. When Chase raised his voice to shout at me, I turned and left.
I headed for the line through airport security without a hug or a kiss. When I finally turned back to see what Chase was doing, he was gone. A shudder raced through my body. I’d never had such a physical response to a breakup before, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a breakup. It was a fight. It was the first one I’d had with Chase, and I was terrified. I wondered if it was all over in just a few short minutes.
By the time I arrived in San Antonio, with the help of two drinks and an hour’s worth of the Beatles on the plane, I was somewhat relaxed. Harv Reynolds, the San Antonio pitching coach, met me at the airport. He said, “We’ve heard incredible things about you. The scuttlebutt I’ve heard is good, too. They say the ego in Charlotte was too big to keep an assistant with real talent. I know Eckert, and that makes sense. I’m surprised he can wedge his head through the front office door.”
I smiled at Harv, and we both laughed. We got along well from the beginning. I said, “This is a good start. Maybe I’m going to like it here in San Antonio.”
“What’s not to like?” asked Harv. “We’ve got warm weather year round, a beautiful river downtown, and the Mexican food is out of this world. You do like Mexican food, don’t you?”
I grinned and asked, “What about the baseball team? I heard there was one of those, too. Are they worth watching? Have they shaken off the expansion team blues?”
Harv said, “Not so bad, and I heard a new guy is going to make them even better. We’re going to be the envy of the league when he gets done.”
In my first batting practice session with the RoadRunners, it was blatantly obvious that they needed some help. Nearly every player appeared to be failing to live up to his potential at bat. I couldn’t figure out what the previous batting coach was doing with his time. He didn’t make much progress with the players.
They were receptive to my suggestions, and I saw some progress within the first two games. Unfortunately, I felt like I would soon hit a brick wall. My assistant batting coach in San Antonio was as inexperienced as me.
I thought back to my time in Charlotte, and I realized I’d gotten used to Chase helping mentor the players. We worked out a system so that he didn’t anger his teammates. He observed while waiting for his turn, and we watched film together. I took notes from his comments, and then I relayed them to the players the following day.
Fortunately, my San Antonio field manager was pleased with what he saw. Our team hit three home runs in the third game I coached. After the victory, I went out for a drink with Harv, and he congratulated me. He said, “It’s nice to finally have a guy on the batting end who knows what he’s doing. We can only do so much with the pitching. The team has to hit, too.”
I asked Harv about his life in San Antonio. He seemed happy enough, but he was single, and his life sounded rather mundane. He mentioned a lot of things that he could be doing in San Antonio, but he didn’t go out and do any of them. Harv sighed and said, “Baseball doesn’t leave time for much else. I do my job, and I go home to relax. Isn’t that how it works for you?”
It wasn’t how it worked for me in Charlotte. I went out frequently with Chase, Eric, and Javier. Chase and I enjoyed private meals, walked through parks, and occasionally went out to see a movie. We considered taking a cooking class together, but we were worried that we would be seen as celebrities and cause a disturbance for the instructors.
I asked, “What happens in the off-season? Do you live somewhere else, or do you stay in San Antonio?”
Harv said, “Oh, I have a little place on the beach near Corpus Christi. I go there and stare at the water for the summer. It’s a little hot, but I like to swim, so I deal with the heat by getting in the water.”
By the time the evening was over, I had found myself stretching and yawning and making excuses to go home. If I wanted a rewarding social life, it wasn’t going to be with Harv. I wasn’t quite sure where else I should look. I hung out with my other coaches in Chattanooga. We cooked out together and went for hikes in the nearby mountains. For the first time since I started coaching, I felt lonely. I wondered what Chase was doing.
I remembered a comment that my mom made when I complained about being bored as a teenager. It made no sense to me then when I was in high school, but now I was older with a different outlook on life. She said, “If you’re ever bored at home, take out a different pair of glasses. Look at home like you’re a stranger. Look at it like you’re a to
urist seeing it all for the first time.”
On the next day off, I decided to visit the Alamo, tour the missions, and in the evening I booked a ride on a boat along San Antonio’s famous Riverwalk. It was a perfect summer day. It was hot, but the humidity was low. I dressed in walking shorts, a short-sleeved button-up shirt and joined the tourist crowds. My mom was right. The boredom eased, and I gained a new appreciation for my latest home city.
As I settled myself into a boat along the Riverwalk, a boy who looked to be about thirteen said, “You look familiar. I’ve seen you on TV before. Are you on a show?”
I shook my head, smiled, and said, ‘You must have me mistaken for someone else.”
He had the body of a young athlete. He had some muscle in his biceps, and he moved gracefully for someone so young. He said, “No, I’m sure I’ve seen you on TV.”
The boy’s father elbowed him and tugged on his arm. I saw him whisper something and the boy responded saying, “But, Dad…”
They sat on the opposite end of the boat. During the ride, I thought about Chase again. I’d heard nothing from him since I left Charlotte. I didn’t send him any messages either. I read the baseball box scores, and, after two more bad games, he started to return to a high-performance groove.
I knew that I couldn’t be enemies with Chase. When I watched for results of games, I hoped that he did well. I cheered to myself when I read that both Chase and Mo were selected for the All-Star game. They deserved all of the accolades that came their way.
While the boat glided through the water along the Riverwalk, I felt my phone buzz. I pulled it out of my pocket. My hand was trembling. I knew that my subconscious mind hoped it was Chase calling. It wasn’t him, but it was about him. Eric sent me a text message. I read it three times over and then wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. His message read:
A Brand New Ballgame Page 10