Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Hey, baby,” he answered. “I just sent you a text about Seattle.”
“I know, I just saw it,” I said miserably. “Seattle sounds fucking nice right now.”
“Hey.” His tone gentled. “What’s going on?”
“Maybe it’d be best for you to sit down.” I sighed. “I’ve fucked up everything.”
“Tell me.”
20
TUCKER
I couldn’t figure out how I felt when Patrick told me that Barker knew about us. Part of me was relieved because I was already over this hiding shit. Patrick was mine, and everyone would have to learn to deal with it, but then when he told me Barker made it pretty fucking clear that Patrick needed to go to Royals management, taking the choice out of our hands, heat scorched a path up my spine. “Fuck him. Did he threaten you?”
“Simmer down, Tuck. It wasn’t like that, but he has a point. If he found out about us, anyone could, and what do you think is going to happen if we haven’t told them first? Jesus, he asked if we’ve thrown games for each other. Keeping it a secret is going to make us look even more guilty.”
My jaw tightened as I fought to control my anger. “He asked if we’ve thrown games? Not endearing that motherfucker to me at all.”
Patrick sighed. “I thought I was supposed to be the hothead?”
“You are with everyone except me, because you know you can always be real with me. You don’t have to pretend with me, and I like to feel like I’m defending my man’s honor.”
Patrick chuckled but sobered seconds later. “What are we going to do?”
I paced my living room, all of our options swimming around in my head. A text. A stupid fucking text, and now the choice of how we did this was taken away from us. “It shouldn’t be up to him or anyone else if we announce our relationship.”
“You don’t want anyone to know? At this point, the only other option is to end it.”
“What? No. Fuck no. I’m not walking away from you, and I don’t give a shit who knows about us. It’s just not fair that we don’t get to decide. And now people are going to scrutinize every game of ours, doubt our loyalty to our teams, question our integrity—I mean, throwing a game? Fuck that shit.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, taking a hammer to my anger and breaking it apart so that all that was left was what really mattered—him.
“Hey, what do you have to be sorry about? This isn’t your fault.”
“It was my text he saw.”
“And I’m the dumbass who sent it. This isn’t on us, baby. It’s on them. Don’t blame yourself for something that’s not your fault. The shit hit the fan, and now we figure out how to deal with it together.”
“What if you lose your career?”
Me. It didn’t escape my attention that he only asked about me. How had I ever thought he was selfish? “Neither of us are losing our careers. I won’t let that happen.” He groaned, and I added, “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“Holy shit. How did you know?”
“I know you…and you’re mine, okay? I’m not losing you. The rest of it doesn’t fucking matter. We’ll get through it together. No matter what happens, you’re worth it—we’re worth it. Don’t let that head of yours tell you anything different.”
The silence stretched for too long before Patrick said, “This isn’t going to be a small thing. This is going to be a mess.”
Yeah, yeah, it was. I felt that deep in my bones. “I’m in if you’re in,” I told him.
“I’m in.”
I went to my agent, Travis, first. He needed to know what was going on, and to say he wasn’t happy was putting it mildly. He almost got his ass fired when he asked me if I was sure Whitt was worth it. There wasn’t anything in this world he wasn’t worth, and now that I could admit that shit out loud, it was a relief, no matter what happened.
It was my agent who called the meeting with Coach Baker, Larry Dixon, our team owner, the GM, and Paul and Cynthia from PR. I wasn’t one to beat around the bush, so the second we were seated and Larry asked, “What can we do for you Malik?” I spit it out.
“I’m in a relationship with Patrick Whitt.”
“What do you mean a relationship?” Paul asked as Coach Baker cursed.
“He’s my partner…boyfriend…mine, whichever way you choose to see it, but I’m pretty sure you knew what I meant.”
“Malik,” my agent warned. I was coming in hot and knew I needed to relax, but I was pissed that it came to this. That I didn’t know what was going to happen and knew that no matter what it was, Patrick would blame himself.
“How long?”
“Who knows?”
“Has he told the Royals?”
“Patrick Whitt?”