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  Connor grabbed his arm as he walked past. He stood and cupped Graham’s face between his hands. “Thank you. Thank you for last night. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me the story.”

  Graham didn’t know what to say. The awe in Connor’s voice made it hard for Graham to swallow.

  Connor leaned in and kissed him softly, so sweetly that Graham’s eyes prickled behind suddenly heavy lids. “We’d better get going. It’s time to return to the real world.”

  Chapter 23

  THE REAL world sucked. As Connor predicted, things went back to normal when they returned to Green Valley. Graham went to classes, went to practice, went home, did his homework. All of that daily, mundane stuff. But since that weekend in Chicago, the mundane was stifling.

  The first Monday back, Graham carried his tray toward the table where the other soccer players sat. His path led him right by Connor, who sat next to a pretty redhead. Connor glanced up as he neared and their eyes met. Graham smiled and paused to say hi. Before he could form the word, Connor dropped his gaze. Then he actually turned his body away until he faced his girlfriend.

  Graham ground his teeth together and headed for the soccer players’ table.

  He hadn’t expected Connor to rush forward and tell the whole cafeteria about their crazy weekend. Connor wasn’t ready to share parts of himself, not with Graham, and certainly not with the student body. But he hadn’t expected Connor to treat him like a complete stranger either. They were friends at least, right?

  Since he and Connor didn’t have any classes together and were not part of the same teams or after-school clubs, the Saturday detentions were the only times he got to see Connor. The connection they’d developed was gone, replaced by a distant coolness on Connor’s part that drove Graham crazy.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Graham demanded their second Saturday detention after Chicago. He was tired of the stranger-danger vibe he’d been getting. They’d been working in the shed for more than an hour, and Connor hadn’t said a single word, had barely made eye contact.

  Connor looked up from a five-gallon bucket full of grungy tennis balls. “What do you mean?”

  “Really?” Graham tossed aside a ratty towel he’d come across behind a stack of boxes. “Don’t play dumb, Connor. You’re too smart for that.”

  Connor squeezed his hands into fists, but didn’t speak.

  “Fine. Why do you act like I’m either invisible or some annoying cousin you put up with because you have to, but who you refuse to engage with?”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do. Are you afraid I’m going to say something to someone? Give away your secrets? I thought you knew me better than that. Or you should.”

  “It’s not that.” Connor sighed and slumped to the floor.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Look, I like you. You’re a nice guy. Funny. Smart.”

  “So why can’t we be friends?”

  “It’s just that I can’t be around you. People might talk.”

  Graham’s chest constricted, a painful squeeze to his heart. He took a deep breath. “Why? You think people will suspect you’re gay if they see us together? Like you’re queer by association? That’s insulting.”

  “Believe me when I say it has nothing to do with you.”

  “How can it not have anything to do with me?”

  “When I’m around you….” Connor paused as though he searched for the right words. “When I’m around you, I want things I can’t have. Can’t have yet,” he clarified. “And if I spend too much time around you, with you, I won’t be able to hide my feelings, and I won’t be able to focus on my future. You’re a distraction. A distraction I can’t afford.”

  Graham shook his head. “That’s fucked up. You know that, right?”

  “It is what it is.” Connor ran a hand through his hair, making his curls stand up in a dozen directions. “Or, it is what it has to be.”

  FOR THE rest of the next week, Connor refused to make eye contact or even acknowledge Graham’s existence. The constant ache in Graham’s chest irritated the hell out of him. He knew he should blow it off and focus on what was important. Maybe he could if Connor didn’t look so damn depressed whenever Graham saw him.

  That maybe explained why Graham spent one of his rare no-practice afternoons sitting on a steel bench getting ready to watch a high school baseball game. Graham had never really paid any attention to baseball before. It was America’s pastime and all that, but it had never sparked his interest. It wasn’t like he had nothing better to do. He had a never-ending supply of homework he could be doing. He had research on colleges he should be doing. He could even be texting his buddies in St. Louis—the few who still talked to him—if he wanted to slack off. But no, here he was, sitting in the bleachers in a sea of green and white waiting for the State Champion Green Valley Vikings to take the field.

  The crowd the game drew was impressive. At his old school, only the football games managed such a turnout. The Green Valley baseball team even had their own cheerleaders.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for your Green Valley Vikings.” At the announcer’s magnified voice, the crowd began to scream and chant. “On first is senior Matt Macy. Second base, junior Marc Delgado.” The anonymous voice continued down the starting lineup. As each player was named, the cheerleaders did a personalized cheer, the band made some noise, and the crowd roared. When Connor’s name was called, Graham watched him run out from center field and make his way toward home plate. Graham didn’t know how Connor managed to look hot in all the protective gear, but somehow he did. Connor pulled off his face mask and waved to the fans.

  “Hey, Graham, right?”

  Graham looked up as someone settled next to him on the bench. The pretty girl with sleek red hair pulled back into a ponytail wore a jersey-style shirt and abbreviated denim shorts. She smiled, and Graham’s stomach twisted in recognition. Connor’s girlfriend, Allyson. Something else that sucked. Watching Connor walk around school hand in hand with the redhead gave Graham heartburn. Or maybe cracked his heart. Either way, the organ suffered from a searing pressure that made him nauseous.

  “Oh hey. Yeah,” Graham said.

  “Connor’s told me that you guys have been making a lot of progress on that old shed. I can’t believe Baxter stuck you guys with that. I’m Allyson, by the way.”

  “Yeah, Connor’s mentioned you.” He kept his gaze focused on the field. If he didn’t make eye contact, she wouldn’t catch a hint of his guilt, right?

  “It’s nice to finally meet you. Connor was thrilled to go to that Cubs game a few weeks ago.”

  This was too weird. Was he actually sitting here with Connor’s girlfriend? After what happened in Chicago, talking with the friendly redhead made him feel like a home-wrecker. How many times had he heard the phrase “it just happened”? He’d never thought it was a good excuse for cheating on someone, and Allyson probably wouldn’t either. It had just happened, and he hadn’t meant to get in the way of Connor and Allyson’s relationship. How was he supposed to talk to her now when he’d give anything for Connor to dump her and go out with him instead? Don’t be nice to me, he wanted to say, I kissed Connor. The people in the stands booed good-naturedly as the announcer introduced the opposing team.

  The opposing pitcher wound up and released the ball. He really needed to learn more about baseball. The batter swung but missed. The smack of the ball into the catcher’s glove was loud enough that Graham could hear it all the way in the stands.

  “Strike one!”

  The batter got a piece of the second ball, knocking it into foul territory.

  “Did anything happen while you guys were in Chicago?” Allyson looked away from the field.

  Graham’s heart stuttered in his chest. Did she know something? Suspect something? “What?”

  “Ever since you guys got back, he’s been really withdrawn. And he was so excited to be going to see the game, but when he got back, I practically h
ad to drag any details out of him. All I know is the Cubs won and that it was a good game.”

  “I didn’t notice anything in particular.” Nothing like Connor dancing in a gay club, kissing him, or declaring himself gay. No, nothing unusual at all. “Maybe it’s pressure about midterms?” Lame, Parker.

  “Hmm. I guess I’ll check with Marc and see if he’s noticed anything off.”

  “Good idea.” Graham turned his attention back to the game. He may not have known all the subtleties of baseball, but the conversation with Allyson was getting beyond awkward.

  “Go Vikings!” Allyson shouted at the end of the first inning, at which time the Vikings led with a score of one to zero.

  Graham spent the next few innings figuring out different points of the game and trying to keep his eyes from straying too long toward Connor. Both tasks were equally difficult. Baseball seemed too simple. No sport that had as long a history and following as baseball could be as basic as it looked. And keeping his eyes off Connor, that was tough. He was so… eye-catching. Whereas the pitcher moved with the speed and dexterity of a striking snake, Connor moved with the power and grace of a panther. Watching him leap to his feet to catch a pop-up foul or to wing the ball to the second baseman was pretty awe-inspiring. As Connor sprang to his feet once more, Graham could only imagine that the boy had bionic knees and thigh muscles the size of small children.

  By the top of the ninth inning, Graham was completely caught up in the game. The Vikings had maintained their one-point lead going in, so the pressure was on to keep the other team from scoring. There were two runners on base—one on first and one on third. The batter had a full count, a term Allyson had explained to him earlier. It was likely that the game would be settled on this last pitch. The only thing that kept it from being like a cliché high school movie was that it wasn’t the state championship.

  The pitcher reared back and let it fly. The ball moved so fast Graham could barely see it. The batter took a tiny step forward and swung. The bat hit the ball with a crack that echoed across the field. The single-bounce drive went straight to second base where Marc snatched the ball up. The runner on third—the tying run—sprinted toward home. Marc didn’t hesitate. He hurled the ball to Connor, who hovered over the plate, ready to tag the runner. The runner charged forward. Connor snagged the ball out of the air and braced himself for the collision that was coming. The two ballplayers crashed into each other in a cloud of dust. The crowd held their collective breaths, waiting to see the result. When the air cleared, the ball was in Connor’s mitt and the runner hadn’t touched the plate.

  “Out!”

  Of course the crowd erupted in cheers. The runner stood up with jerky movements and brushed the dirt off his pants before stalking to the dugout.

  Connor lay on the ground, hunched over his leg, rocking in place.

  The noise disappeared like water through a drain. Nobody moved for a count of ten. Then chaos erupted. Players in green-and-white uniforms rushed forward, only to be pushed back by Coach Petrewski and the athletic department’s trainer. Petrewski unhooked the left leg guard as the trainer started poking and prodding Connor’s knee.

  “Oh no.” Allyson grabbed Graham’s arm and bit her lip, eyes wide with alarm.

  Connor’s sweat-soaked face was pale, his teeth clenched against the obvious pain.

  Without conscious thought, Graham jumped down the bleachers, pushing his way through gaping spectators, Allyson close at his heels. They were stopped before they reached the center of the action. A double ring of officials blocked any access to Connor.

  “Connor!” A tall girl with long, wildly curling blonde hair came running. Most of the crowd parted to let her through. It didn’t take a big leap for Graham to recognize her as Connor’s sister, though he’d never met her.

  “Becca.” One of the school administrators drew her aside. “Can you call your parents? They’ll need to meet Connor at the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Becca’s face paled and she pulled out her phone.

  A few minutes later, an ambulance drove onto the diamond. EMTs jumped out. With a little help from Coach Petrewski and the EMTs, Connor got to his feet and hopped on his right leg, keeping his left leg elevated. The watching crowd clapped their support, and Connor waved gamely at them. He was practically carried to the ambulance and settled inside. Graham watched the ambulance leave, feeling helpless and hating it.

  “Becca, do you need a ride to the hospital, or are you going home?” Allyson asked when Becca disconnected her call.

  “Ah, hospital, I guess. Mom said the twins could stay at home on their own and she’s bringing Abby, so it doesn’t really matter where I go. I’d like to go to the hospital, though.”

  “I’ll take you.” Allyson and Becca rushed to the parking lot while Graham stood there. Helpless and hating it.

  Chapter 24

  THE TEARING pain centered at his knee hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt. By the time the EMTs had cut off the leg of his uniform pants, Connor’s knee had already swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe. Every start and stop of the ambulance made it throb worse. Coach sorted through his shoulder bag and the files that contained the team’s emergency medical information while he consulted with an EMT who kept poking around his leg, rotating his ankle, and a bunch of other stuff he didn’t quite understand.

  The minute he and the last runner had collided, he’d felt something pop in his knee and then unimaginable pain. Connor didn’t consider himself a wimp, and luckily he’d never had too many serious injuries during his life, but nothing could have prepared him for the agony he felt. A knee injury for a catcher was a bad, bad thing.

  I’m not going to think about that yet, he told himself, breathing deep in an effort to get above the pain.

  “I had no idea,” he gasped to the EMT, “that I was such a wimp.” He squeezed the rails of the gurney when the EMT hit a particularly bad spot. He managed, barely, to keep from squealing. This was the kind of pain that made his throat close even as he tried to inhale, resulting in a sound like a stuck pig. He remembered this reaction from the time Becca had kneed him in the groin when they were in middle school. Not one of his fondest moments, that’s for sure.

  Coach leaned over and pushed back Connor’s sweat-dampened hair. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Fitzpatrick. Only you could manage to ensure the game-winning play while messing up your knee like that.”

  “You always say,” Connor said, telling himself that the pain was easing—please God, let it be easing—“that we should take one for the team. Just doing my part.”

  Coach looked at the EMT. “Can’t you give him anything for the pain?”

  “Sorry,” the EMT said, and he actually looked it. “We’re not allowed to administer pain medicine except in rare circumstances. The doctors will take care of it when we get there. Luckily, it’s a quick ride, so hang in there, okay?”

  Connor squeezed his eyes shut, grateful that Green Valley was a small town. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the vehicle slowed and the EMT grabbed his clipboard and prepared to exit the ambulance.

  He’d gotten settled into an exam area surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol when his mom and dad arrived in a flurry of movement and a demand for answers. Abby, in a very un-Abby-like manner, stood solemnly at his mom’s side, gripping a handful of shirt in the chubby fingers of one hand. His mom glided forward, Abby trailing in her wake. “Hey, baby,” she said, “you’re going to be fine. The doctors will take good care of you.”

  He loved Mom. He really did. She sometimes forgot he was seventeen and not three, but her soothing words reassured him anyway.

  “What happened?” Dad loomed like an irate bear in the tiny curtained space.

  For some reason, having Dad there made him realize he was still halfway suited up for the game. The chest pad was still in place, as was the right leg guard. He had no idea where his face mask or hat had ended up. Connor pushed up to unhook the leg guard and hisse
d through his teeth as the movement caused pain to lightning through his injured leg.

  “Ryan,” Mom said, turning to his dad, “can you get that stuff off him? I wouldn’t know where to start.” She must have been trying to distract Dad. Connor had been in and out of the gear since he was in Little League, and she’d helped him as much as anyone when he was younger.

  Dad looked over and noticed the gear. Was he mad? His hands trembled as he undid the clasps on the chest pad, easing it off before removing the leg guard. “What happened?” This time when he asked it, Connor’s dad’s voice was calmer.

  “I took a hard hit while covering the plate.”

  His dad nodded.

  Coach Petrewski spoke up. “And he managed to hang on to the ball and make the out, ensuring the Vikings won.”

  “That’s my boy,” his dad said and squeezed Connor’s shoulder.

  “I did something to my knee when we hit, though.” Connor looked at his knee, which seemed to have quadrupled in size.

  Abby walked to the examination table and patted Connor’s hand. “I can kiss it better,” she offered.

  The pure sweetness of the offer warmed his insides like hot chocolate on a snowy day.

  “Thanks Abs, but we better save that for a really bad boo-boo. I don’t want to waste your kisses.” He brushed his hand over her blonde curls.

  The doctor pulled aside the curtain and sailed in, white lab coat billowing behind him. “Connor. Let’s see what we’ve got. I hear you did something to your knee.” He nodded at Connor’s dad. “Hello, Ryan.”

  “Hey, Doc.” Dr. Jonas was a frequent customer at the shop. He drove an ancient Mustang that he refused to upgrade. Whenever a part wore out or something strange cropped up, he’d bring the red beast into Fitz’s. Connor had worked on that car off and on for as long as he’d been helping out at the shop.

  A nurse peeked her head in. “Mr. or Mrs. Fitzpatrick? I’m going to need someone to fill out some forms.”