Double Header (Hardball 2)

The very last thing he’d ever wanted was for Zach to be unhappy. That was one of the primary reasons Javier had ended things with him when he’d left Portland. Seeing each other on the field those first few times their teams had played against each other, that had been hell, but they weren’t required to talk to each other. Every time, he’d reminded himself how hard it would have been to still be together, only seeing each other when their paths crossed during the season, spending those few months of downtime together before going their separate ways again. The temptation to “go outside” would have been everywhere. He’d totally trusted Zach to be faithful. It was his own fidelity he’d been concerned about.

Of course, they’d been broken up for a year, and Javier still had never “gone outside”. Not even for a one-off slump buster. And there had been plenty of times he’d needed a little pick-me-up.

It was clear now that in trying to protect Zach, he’d hurt him, deeply. It was too late for those regrets now. “It’s in the past.”

“Good.” Zach laughed with drunken relief. “So… can you give me a ride home?”

A thousand warning bells went off in Javier’s head. Just how lonely was Zach? Then he considered the way Zach swayed on his feet and the nearly empty bottle in his hand. It hadn’t been his first beer of the night.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

“Will they tow my car?” Zach asked as they crossed the gravel lot behind the bar. “It’s a rental.”

“They won’t tow it, I’ll give them a call.” Javier hit the locks with the key fob. “Watch your head getting in, it’s low.”

“Yeah, it is.” Zach rubbed the temple he’d struck against the door frame as he slumped in the seat. “Same Porsche? You didn’t even trade up a year?”

“I’m not wasteful. And all Porsches look alike, so what’s the point of a new one every year?” Javier buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. He was trying to think of a safe, neutral topic of conversation that wouldn’t turn their new, drunk-born friendship into a rekindling of old animosity when Zach emitted a soft snore.

Javier couldn’t help but smile. He’d complained about that snore the entire time they’d been together. After they’d broken up, he’d missed it so much, he’d been unable to sleep. He’d bought a white noise alarm clock that played the sound of the ocean, but it had been a pale substitute.

He’d gone a few blocks before he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to be taking Zach. “Hey, buddy. Wake up. Tell me where I’m going.”

“Just take me home,” Zach slurred, then sighed happily as he slid back into unconsciousness.

“Fuck it.” Javier turned for home. He’d put Zach up on the couch and hope he wasn’t pissed off about it in the morning.

Javier’s house was in the east part of town, a 1920’s mini-mansion with a swimming pool out back and Spanish barrel-tiles on the roof. Every single house the agent had shown him had boasted some kind of “Spanish flare.” He’d almost fired her racist ass, but then he’d seen this place. It had been recently renovated, with a brand new kitchen, gorgeous landscaping, and a state-of-the-art sound system that ran through the entire house. So what if it had come on the recommendation of a woman who’d asked him if it “reminded him of home in Mexico?” It was perfect for him. And he’d had the pleasure of informing her at the closing that the only time he’d ever been to Mexico had been a drunken weekend in Cabo for his twenty-first birthday.

He pulled the car into the garage and opened the passenger door to nudge Zach awake. “Get up, yo. We’re here.”

“This isn’t home,” he slurred as he struggled to his feet

“It’s my home. I don’t know where you’re staying.” Javier took Zach’s arm to steer him out of the garage and up the ceramic-tiled steps to the door. “You’re gonna sleep it off, and in the morning, we’ll go back and get your car.”

“No funny stuff,” Zach warned with a goofy drunk giggle. “I don’t take advantage of the open relationship.”

Open relationship? Javier bristled at that. It had been his suggestion, when he’d first realized that a long-distance relationship wasn’t going to work, that they just let the occasional, horny lapse in judgment slide, in favor of staying together. Zach had flatly refused, all “I have too much self-respect,” and “That’s not how people in love treat each other.” And Javier had felt—still felt—that he’d been a jerk for suggesting it. It had been his way of saying, “I’m not even going to try to not fuck around on you,” and Zach had rightly called him on it. But now, whoever this Domenic was had somehow been great enough to overcome those obstacles of self-respect and love? He was probably a real charmer.