Home Field Advantage

By Shae Connor

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, though, 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.


A 22,000-word novella, Home Field Advantage was previously published as part of the Playing Ball anthology. It has undergone minor editing for the second edition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shae Connor
• Release date: Sep 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393887508

Book preview

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, though, 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.

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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).

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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,