Home Field Advantage Read online

  HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

  By Shae Connor

  This work is copyright @2013 by Shae Connor.

  Second edition 2019. First edition published 2013 by Dreamspinner Press.

  All rights reserved.

  Transmission or distribution of any part of this work in any form without express written consent of the copyright holder is forbidden.

  This story is fiction. Any resemblance of characters, events, or locations in this work to real persons, events, or locations is coincidental.

  Purchase of this book licenses it to the purchaser only.

  Duplication or distribution by any means is a violation of international copyright law and subject to criminal prosecution.

  Cover art copyright @2019 by Shae Connor.

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only.

  Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  Home Field Advantage

  Toby MacMillan lives for baseball and loves his hometown Atlanta team, which is owned by his grandfather, Ray. When Toby meets new team member Caleb Browning, an innocent welcome-to-the-big-leagues dinner leads to a not-so-innocent night together. Toby quickly calls things off, afraid of the ramifications of their tryst, but the two men develop a friendship that soon becomes more. After Caleb takes a fastball to the head, thought, their budding romance hits the news—and Toby’s grandfather hits the roof. When Ray MacMillan demands Toby deny the relationship, Toby must choose between the team he’s loved all his life and the man he could love for the rest of it.

  Home Field Advantage was previously published as part of the Playing Ball anthology. It has undergone minor editing for the second edition.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Dani and Brynna for edits (and just for generally being awesome).

  And to Charlie—get better soon!

  “Hey, Toby!”

  Toby looked up from where he was picking up another discarded towel, just in time for a wad of athletic tape to bounce off his forehead, thrown by one of the other clubhouse staffers.

  “Funny, Charlie.” Toby grabbed the tape and dunked it into the trash can next to him with one hand and, with the other hand, dropped the towel into the large rolling laundry basket he’d been pushing around the room. The clubhouse was a wreck, as it usually was after a game, but Toby and the rest of the staff would have it back in shape in no time.

  “So, what are you doing over the break, Tobes?”

  The question came from Marty Boynton, the assistant team trainer who’d become a mentor of sorts to Toby. Toby grinned. “As little as I can get away with until Tuesday,” he said. “And then it’s back here for two days of prep work.”

  Marty shook his head. “Don’t know why you do it at all, when you could be sitting in box seats in Phoenix Tuesday night if you wanted.”

  Toby shuddered. “Who wants to sit in Phoenix heat this time of year? Besides, you know the clubhouse gets an overhaul during the All-Star break. You’ve been here almost as long as I have.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t share a last name with the team owner.”

  Toby sighed. “And that’s why I’m down here, and you know it.”

  They’d had this conversation before. Yes, Toby’s grandfather was Ray Macmillan, who’d owned the Atlanta major league baseball franchise for almost thirty years. And yes, Toby himself would soon own 30 percent of the team, left to him in trust when his parents died almost ten years earlier. For Toby, all that meant was he had to work twice as hard to make others believe he wasn’t some rich-kid slacker. That was why he worked with the clubhouse crew and the team trainers while in college, and not in some cushy desk job in the front office—or worse, no job at all.

  Marty laughed. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time, kid.”

  Toby snorted and tossed two more towels into his basket. “‘Kid’? What are you, all of thirty?”

  “Thirty-one, and that’s still ten years older than you, kid.”

  A noise at the door caught their attention before Toby could respond. He looked over to see a (cute, his mind noted) man stick his head inside, blinking blue eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.

  “Um…. Hi,” the man said. “I’m Caleb Browning.”

  Toby blinked. “Oh, hey, we weren’t expecting you yet.” He dropped another towel into the basket and headed toward the door. “Come on in. I’m Toby. Did you come straight from the airport?”

  Caleb nodded as he stepped inside, looking distinctly uncomfortable, his pale skin lightly flushed. “I got the first flight I could out of Jackson.” His voice was raspy, making Toby wonder if he’d napped on the plane or if it was always like that. “Kinda hoped I’d get here before the game ended, but I guess not.”

  Toby smiled. “Nope. But I can give you the buck tour before you head home. Or to a hotel, I guess? Does the front office know you’re here?”

  Caleb shook his head, that enticing blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “No. I didn’t call anyone. I just…. I guess I was so surprised to get the call that I figured I’d better get here fast before they changed their minds.”

  Toby had to laugh at that. He might not work in the front office, but he did keep up with the goings-on of the franchise, including the farm clubs, and he knew about Caleb Browning. One of the rare players who’d finished his degree before heading to the minors, he’d spent the past few seasons as a good defensive catcher with too much tendency to strike out at the plate. This was his first cup of coffee in the majors, all the way up from Double-A, and Toby couldn’t blame him for finding it hard to believe he’d actually made it.

  “We’ll take care of you,” Toby assured him. “I’ll give you a lift over to the Hyatt. We have a team account with them, so unless they’re booked up, they’ll get you a room without you having to pay an arm and a leg.” Taking a half step back, Toby gave Caleb a teasingly appraising look. “You might need those come Thursday.”

  Well, Toby had intended the look to be teasing. From the flare of heat in Caleb’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure he’d succeeded. Half expecting Caleb to get the wrong idea (well, technically the right idea) and lash out, Toby took another step back, but Caleb just nodded, gaze locked on Toby’s.

  “Sounds good” was all he said, and Toby let out a soft sigh of relief. He kept his sexuality under wraps around the ballpark, even with the way things had been loosening up over the past couple of years. If nothing else, his grandfather didn’t know, and Toby didn’t want to tell him until it became unavoidable. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation one bit.

  “Let me get the last of these taken care of”—Toby waved toward the pile of dirty towels in the basket he’d left behind—“and I’ll be right with you. Feel free to have a seat.” He nodded toward the small grouping of padded leather seats near the doors, set up during the last renovation as a place for quick postgame clubhouse interviews.

  “’Kay.” Caleb let the duffel bag over his shoulder slide to the floor, next to the rolling suitcase he’d pulled in, and lowered himself to the cushioned seats as Toby went back to work. Toby rolled his eyes as he gathered up the last of the used towels that lay discarded in front of lockers, despite the open basket he’d left sitting near the showers all day. Ballplayers were generally nice guys, but most of them were used to having someone else clean up after them, especially at the ballpark. Which, of course, was part of why Toby and his coworkers were there.

  The last few towels corralled, Toby pushed the loaded laundry cart into its usual spot right outside the showers and gave the room one last look. The other crew members had finished up their tasks and were headed out the door one at a time, a few pausing to speak to Caleb or give him a nod of greeting. Toby suppressed an urge to do one last
walk-through, as he often did when they had another game the next day. Thanks to the All-Star break, they didn’t play again until Thursday, and the whole place would get a thorough cleaning and restocking before them. He could leave with a clear conscience.

  Besides, Caleb was waiting for him.

  Toby gave himself a mental shake. Caleb was off-limits for many reasons, not least of which that Toby had no clue about his sexuality. Toby could enjoy Caleb’s eyes, his body, the shy smile he was giving now as Toby walked back toward him…. But that was all he could enjoy.

  “Do you have a car? I mean, obviously not with you, but….”

  Caleb nodded as he pushed to his feet and reached for his bags. “I didn’t try to drive out because I figured I might not be here long. I left it with my roommate back in Pearl.” He named the tiny town outside Jackson where his former minor league team played.

  “Okay, well, if you call the office in the morning, they can probably set you up with something, so you’re not spending all your new salary on cabs.” Never mind that the major league minimum salary of nearly half a million was probably ten times more than Caleb had made in his entire career to this point. As Caleb noted, he might not stick around long, so he’d better bank all he could while he had the chance.

  “Yeah.” Caleb slung his duffel over his shoulder and, dragging his roller bag behind him, followed Toby out the door and down the passageway toward the staff parking lot. “I just kind of threw everything into my bags and went when I got the call. Didn’t think about what would happen on this end until I was in the air.”

  “Understandable.” Toby waved to the security guard next to the entrance as they stepped outside and then shot Caleb a quick grin. “I keep up with things. I know how long you’ve been waiting for this.”

  Caleb gave him an inscrutable look. “Yeah, I guess you’d keep up, since you work here.”

  It hit Toby that he’d never mentioned his last name, so Caleb likely had no idea who he was. “You could say that,” he admitted, leading the way to the parking space that would give him away anyway. When Ray Macmillan was out of town, Toby sometimes used his reserved space. He knew the moment Caleb realized where they were headed, because the man stopped in his tracks.

  “Macmill… wait a minute.”

  Toby turned and gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Toby Macmillan. Grandson. Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be all incognito or anything. I just didn’t think about it.”

  The look on Caleb’s face sat somewhere between “holy shit” and “oh my God,” so Toby leaned in a little closer. “Hey.” Caleb slowly focused on Toby’s face. “I’m not a spy. I’m not going to report back to the owner on your every move. Maybe if I saw you robbing old ladies on a street corner, but I don’t think that’s quite your style, is it?”

  Caleb relaxed visibly. “Nah. I’m more into card counting. Don’t take me to a casino.”

  Toby laughed as they climbed into his Accord. Once they were buckled in, Toby pulled out and headed toward downtown. “Have you eaten?”

  Caleb, who had been absorbed in checking out the area around the ballpark, shook his head. “Not since breakfast. Like I said, I wasn’t really thinking about anything but getting here.”

  “There’s a pretty decent restaurant in the hotel, so we can hit that if you want.”

  Caleb turned his head then, blinking at Toby like he didn’t understand. “You want to have dinner together?”

  “Sure,” Toby said, stopping at a light. “Unless you have a fear of Macmillans, which would be a tough thing, working in this organization. Or maybe you’d just rather be alone to settle in—”

  “No!” Toby was surprised by Caleb’s vehemence at first, but then he realized he probably didn’t know a soul in town and would be happy for a little company. “Dinner’s great.”

  Toby nodded. “Okay.” He took the turn onto the interstate and accelerated to highway speed. “There are a couple of ways to get downtown without getting on the interstate, but most of the time, this is fastest. Only a few exits up and a couple of turns to the hotel.” He smiled Caleb’s way. “With any luck, you’ll find a place quickly and not have to do this again anyway.”

  Caleb sighed and dropped his head back against the seat back. “This is all just…. It’s like I’m gonna wake up and be back in a crappy little apartment in Mississippi, you know? I haven’t been to Atlanta in years. I don’t have a clue where to start looking for a place.”

  Toby maneuvered around a slow-moving, beat-up pickup truck and changed lanes to head for the exit. “Call the front office tomorrow,” he urged. “They’ll take care of you. They have info on, like, furnished apartments, so you don’t even have to worry about that stuff right now.”

  Caleb chuckled. “Like I said, I barely even took time to pack. Didn’t have all that much but clothes with me anyway, but I left a couple boxes for Marvin to ship when I get an address for him to ship ’em to.”

  “Well, you’ll get set up fast.” Toby turned left at the end of the ramp and drove toward downtown, the late Sunday afternoon traffic all but nonexistent. “I’ll give you my number, too, in case you need any tips. I’m sure it’s a big adjustment. Good thing you have a few days to get settled before the team’s back in action. And then a home stand too.”

  He turned right onto Peachtree Street, watching from the corner of his eye as Caleb craned his neck to look up at the giant neon-lit guitar hanging on the front of the Hard Rock Cafe on the corner. He sure gave the impression of country-boy-come-to-town, though if Toby remembered correctly, he’d grown up in the Chicago suburbs of northwestern Indiana. Still, coming on the heels of almost ten years living in rural areas, first in college and then the minor leagues, Toby could understand the culture shock.

  Toby pulled into the drive in front of the hotel and stopped. “Hop on out and head inside to check in,” he suggested. “Be sure to tell them you’re with the team. I’ll get the car parked and meet you.”

  “Okay.” Caleb opened the door and unfolded himself from the car, pausing to grab his bags from the backseat before pushing the doors shut and heading inside. Toby elected to climb out there, too, and turned the car over to a valet in exchange for a claim check. He could’ve parked much cheaper on a surface lot nearby, but sometimes the convenience was worth it.

  Walking inside, Toby nodded to the staff members he passed and headed toward the registration desk, where Caleb stood talking to a clerk. Caleb passed over ID and a credit card as Toby arrived, and the clerk, a young woman who looked mildly familiar to Toby, did a double take and then smiled at Toby in recognition before entering information on the keyboard.

  “All set?” Toby leaned against the counter.

  “Will be in a minute.” Caleb shot Toby a quick grin. “Just the smell from the restaurant has me freakin’ starving. It’s been a long day.”

  “I bet.” Toby turned and tilted his head back to look up at the hotel atrium, rising some twenty stories above their heads. “I love this place. I’ve been coming here for all kinds of stuff as long as I can remember. Funny how the atrium never seems to get any smaller, even though I was a tiny thing the first time I remember seeing it.” He glanced around. “It looks a lot different at this level, though. They just renovated the place again the past couple of years.”

  “Here you go, Mr. Browning,” the clerk said, drawing Toby’s attention. “This is your room number, and you’re in the Atrium Tower. All elevators go to all floors. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thanks so much.” Caleb turned, key card in hand, and grinned at Toby. “Let’s eat!”

  An hour and a half later, stuffed with shrimp, grits, and peach cobbler, Toby set down his fork and leaned back in his seat. “That was….”

  “Amazing.” Caleb, still working on his own cobbler, grinned at Toby across the small table. The restaurant was nearly deserted except for them, the only sounds the soft clinking of dishes and the low piped-in music. A jolt went through Toby as he realized how date-like this all was. />
  Not a date, he told himself. Just a friendly dinner to welcome the new player to town.

  But as Caleb smiled at him again, Toby saw the glint in his eyes. The way his gaze roamed Toby’s face. The way he leaned in, just a little, as if wanting to be closer.

  Toby knew that look. He’d seen it before, dozens of times, and politely ignored most of them.

  He just hadn’t expected to see it on someone like Caleb Browning.

  He had to be imagining things. Had to. He looked away, out into the empty lobby, anywhere but at the gorgeous man across the table, making happy sounds in his throat as he enjoyed the last of his dessert. No way was Caleb interested in Toby. The chances of him liking men at all were miniscule. The likelihood of him risking anyone finding out if he did? Practically nonexistent.

  Caleb finally set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, which he dropped onto the table next to his empty plate. “That was amazing.” He smiled, eyes sparkling with warmth and satisfaction, though the way they drooped at the corners gave away his exhaustion. “If that’s any sample of the way Atlanta feeds you, I may have to step up my workout regimen.”

  Toby forced himself to relax and return the (friendly, he reminded himself) smile. “Extra warning track runs, for sure,” he agreed. “This place is good, but once you try the local places, the barbecue and the soul food, you’ll be hooked for life.”

  Caleb’s gaze softened. “I might be already,” he murmured. He didn’t seem to be talking about food anymore, but Toby couldn’t let himself think that. Instead, he pushed back his chair.

  “Let me get this,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “A ‘welcome to the bigs’ present.” He nodded to their server as he slid a credit card into the leather-bound portfolio, which was quickly whisked away.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Caleb tried to protest, but Toby just shook his head, his smile more natural.