Chapter Text
~~~
April 8-10
Milwaukee Brewers (5-7)
Chicago Cubs (6-6)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
In 1945, the Chicago Cubs were cursed by a man named William Sianis and his pet billy goat.
Murphy Sianis- the famed goat in question- was asked to leave Wrigley Field during Game Four of the World Series because his presence bothered fans sitting in the same section. A furious and insulted William stormed off with Murphy. Before making his way down Addison Street, he declared to the masses, “Them Cubs, they ain’t gonna win no more!”
The Cubs went on to lose the World Series to the Detroit Tigers.
For the next seventy-three years, fans of Chicago’s North Side watched their team fail to advance beyond the National League Championship Series (NLCS). Unfortunate mishaps continuously yanked the promise of a ring from the Cubs’ outstretched, expectant paws. In 1969, a black cat snuck onto the field and scurried between the Cub’s star third baseman and the team’s dugout during an ill-fated playoff run. Leon Durham’s error on a routine ground ball cost them the 1984 Pennant. A fan interfered with Moisés Alou’s attempt at a foul ball in Game Six of the 2003 NLCS. In that same inning, the Florida Marlins roared back to score eight runs. Critics and fans alike deemed Alou’s almost-catch the First Domino that fell in the Cub’s collapse. They would lose Game Seven just twenty-four hours later. And so the heartbreak continued.
Various groups fought to get the Curse of the Billy Goat lifted. One such attempt included a pilgrimage from Mesa, Arizona to Wrigley Field. Five Chicago Cubs fans set out on foot for the 1,739 mile journey with a goat named Wrigley in tow, believing they could Crack the Curse after journeying from the team’s Spring Training headquarters to 1060 W. Addison Street, Chicago, Illinois.
(It didn’t work. The Cubs lost 101 games that season).
Harry Styles knew of the curse when he was drafted by the Cubs. It always fascinated him. He wrote a paper on the Curse of the Billy Goat for a mythology class in high school. He held his breath every time the Cubs made the playoffs. Like most of the baseball world, he was appropriately sympathetic when the team was swept in the National League Division Series in 2006 and 2007, effectively closing their contention window.
After Harry was drafted by Chicago, his little sister, Elena, texted him, OMG UR ON THE TEAM THAT WAS CURSED BY A GOAT!!!!!! He tried to laugh, to indulge her, even as a sense of foreboding made his chest feel tight. At some point in his career, he would like to win a World Series. How could he best make it happen? Should he offer a sacrifice in the name of the disgraced Sianises? Strike a candle and apologize to their memory? Stand on the Wrigley Field mound and renounce their banishment? Did he simply hope that somehow, someway, Murphy the Goat would take pity on the newest generation of ball players after decades of heartbreak?
Harry loves goats. He would never kick one out of Wrigley Field during Game Four of the World Series.
As it turned out, though, those sacrifices weren’t necessary. Eight years later, Harry took the field as a professional baseball player for the first time and his team went on a dominant six-month run. They won their division, then the Division Series. Then the National League Pennant. And, on October 31st, 2018, the witching hours finally took pity. The Cleveland Spider’s designated hitter hit into a double play with a runner in scoring position and a championship on the line. The Cubs collected their twenty-seventh out and it was over.
It was over. They won Game Seven of the World Series.
They won. They were forgiven.
It was over. They were champions.
That November, the team boarded parade floats to celebrate with their fans. On the corner of Addison and Clark, five Chicagoans held a gratuitous sign. It read, Murphy Haunts Us No More!
Chicago’s North Side waited 26,668 days for the Curse of the Billy Goat to be lifted.
For seventy-three years, frustrations from fans and players alike grew and grew and grew until Wrigley was an agglomerate field resting precariously above seasons rift with heartbreaks, disappointments, and never-ending what-ifs?
And, in the end, the 2018 World Series was an appropriately seismic occasion.
~~~
“Ladies and Gentleman. What an honor it is to stand before you all, the incredible fans of Chicago, in the heart of our beloved, historic Wrigley Field and say these words to you…” A paper atop the podium crinkles when Kyle Rogers nudges it with the tips of his fingers. It echoes, fluttering out to join the bated breaths of 41,000. “Please give a warm welcome to the 2018 World Series Champions. Your Chicago Cubs!”
Kyle’s words serve as the final point of tension. The stream of cries, roars, cheers boil over, an eruptive pulse dousing the field. It’s an early spring day in a chilly midwestern city, but Wrigley is a hearth.
The team president smiles, stepping back from the microphone to let the magma consume him. He tilts his head towards an overcast sky. His arms extend outwards. Photographers rush to snap the shot; capturing a moment meant to be enshrined forever.
The 2018 World Series Champions.
“I have waited my entire life for a moment just like this one,” is what Kyle says next. “The entire North Side has waited 110 years . And now here we are. We marched in a parade with you last November. That same week, our team was invited to our great nation’s capital. And, last Halloween, the Commissioner's Trophy was once again hoisted by our players in royal blue. The Chicago Cubs journeyed to Cleveland, Ohio and came home champions.”
At the far end of the home team’s dugout, Miranda Nevlise nudges a begrudgingly grinning Christopher Davis as if to say sorry ‘bout that. Davis winks, shrugs. He straightens the waist of his uniform and then turns his attention back to the temporary stage behind the mound.
“We stand here today, at the start of the 2019 campaign, ready to embark on yet another unforgettable journey. However, before we do… would it be alright if we celebrated 2018 one more time?” In response to a fresh burst of pyroclastic, Kyle grins. “Excellent, excellent. I will keep this quick because I know you are eager to see our team, but first I would just like to say… as our nation’s favorite pastime, tales and legends of baseball are woven into the fabric of our illustrious country. In America, we learn stories of great, honorable men and we celebrate their triumphs. The Babe Ruths and the Ted Williams. The Lou Gehrigs. The Ron Santos. This is a game of respect and of tradition and, as we continue writing our history, it is with full sincerity that I promise you that your Chicago Cubs stand for the values us real Americans hold dear. Wrigley Field exists outside the ever-changing world and its culture wars. We serve as patrons of the past and are thrilled to do so. As president of this organization, I cannot thank you, the fans, enough for everything you have given us. This victory is just as much yours as it is ours.
“And so, without further ado… let me introduce you to our 2018 Champions!”
Kyle begins with their coaching staff.
Blake Fisher, Pitching Coach.
Tyler Addleson, Bullpen Coach.
Lee Sutter, Hitting Coach.
Ned Banks, Assistant Manager.
Albert Cross, Manager.
When Albert takes to the stage, the chants and cheers are an infallible landslide. His wife, Heather, joins him. Their arms are linked. Albert accepts his ring and then steps back to aid in the presentation of their players.
“Now, let’s celebrate the best team in Major League Baseball!” Behind Kyle, the scoreboard changes to list the Cub’s 2018 forty man roster. Go Cubs Go blares through the speakers. “Ladies and gentleman, please give a warm, enthusiastic welcome to your 2018 Rookie of the Year, your 2018 World Series MVP, and a finalist in Cy Young voting…”
Shane Rivera, the Cubs’ left fielder, shoves Harry’s shoulder. He’s grinning. “Show off.”
Harry tries to smile. His throat feels like he actively swallowed a mouthful of lava.
“Plus he’s going to be here for another eight years! Number 17… Harry Styles!”
Right. Yes. Okay.
That’s him.
Harry stumbles over the dugout’s last step, cleat spike catching just as his hands leave the railing. The sheer magnitude of the noise- the chants, the announcers, the background music- presses in on him, forcefully collapsing his shoulders and his torso. He’s two feet tall, buckling in the heart of the diamond. He’s drowning in scorching flames.
He catches himself before tripping in front of 41,000 fans, but his cheeks still flush. Keeping his head bowed, eyes studying the royal blue of his jersey, Harry jogs to the small stage assembled just behind the mound. The backdrop reads Chicago Cubs- 2018 World Series Champions. Kyle, Heather, and Albert Cross wear jovial smiles.
“Congratulations, Harry.” Kyle shakes Harry’s hand once he’s on the stage. Heather offers him his ring box. “We are lucky to have you here in Chicago.”
Harry nods, tries to smile, to respond, but he’s holding a World Series ring. Albert holds a plaque that recognizes him as the World Series’ Most Value Player. Wrigley Field is sold out on Opening Day. There are no more goats to haunt them. What, really, can he say?
It’s a celebration that belongs in all lifetimes. It’s a moment etched in dreams.
Albert, too, wears a knowing smile. He passes the plaque to Harry and claps him on the shoulder. “This is what it feels like, on the honorable path.” He speaks like a prophet, in a code that makes Harry’s stomach churn. “These are the moments you are lucky enough to have.”
His manager’s smile never wavers. Harry’s tongue weighs a hundred pounds. Lava chokes him.
“Congratulations, Harry.”
With a small, painful semblance of a smile, Harry follows the path off stage, posing for a picture with his ring and plaque. Strolling down the line, he shakes each coach’s hand and then settles beside Blake while the fans celebrate Miranda Nevlise. The Cub’s long-term ace beams through every moment. He slides on his ring the second he settles beside Harry.
Behind them, Wrigley’s famed ivory walls have only just started to show promises of vining. Having now spent one full year playing in this stadium, Harry knows a full bloom won’t cover the red brick until early summer, when seasonal outcomes are starting to take shape; as division leads are built and trade rumors are circulating. Once they get to July, the 2018 championship will matter far less than the impending October run.
It’s a new season. Harry is standing with his teammates, clutching memorabilia that honors all they accomplished last year, but in just a few short hours, Christopher Davis will take the mound and they will continue a chapter they started writing two weeks ago in St. Louis.
It’s a new season. Harry is preparing for his second year in the Majors.
150 games to go. Six months.
Sometime later, while Kyle thanks the fans one more time and Albert gives a short speech of his own, Harry takes the ring out of its box and slides it on his finger, marveling at the diamonds glittering around the Cubs logo. The thick, gold band feels too big.
“Harry! Do you have a minute?” His head snaps up as an interviewer steps closer with an entourage of a camera crew. Harry smiles, nods, thumbing over his ring as he hurries to meet her. The fans are deafening.
110 years in the making.
~~~
HEY CHICAGO, WHAT DO YOU SAY? THE CUBS CELEBRATE THEIR 2018 CHAMPIONSHIP ON OPENING DAY!
Go Cubs Go!
Oh, Wrigley Field, you were made to host a team of champions!
The Cubs’ Ring Ceremony preceded the home opener earlier this afternoon. It was a celebration of their remarkable 2018 season and the team that brought Chicago’s North Side their first World Series title in over a century.
“It’s a moment you wait a lifetime for,” team owner Kyle Rogers told reporters during his pre-game press conference . “Standing in Wrigley with our fans was an unforgettable moment. There’s no feeling quite like it. I’m so happy for both the team and our fans.”
Hours later, the Cubs (7-6) secured a 3-1 victory over the Milwaukee Brewers (5-8).
No team has known heartbreak quite like Chicago. 2018 was their first World Series appearance since 1945. It was their first championship since 1908. The Series itself was anything but definitive, coming after a dramatic, Game Seven victory against the Cleveland Spiders .
In the bottom of the ninth, with the game on the line, manager Albert Cross gambled by calling rookie starter Harry Styles to close out the game on three days' rest. Though Styles did give up a 3-run double to Stephen Brantley (and effectively ended Louis Tomlinson’s season when his slider hit the star shortstop’s knee), he collected the last out via a double play ball hit by Luca Marino.
Styles was named the World Series MVP. A few weeks later, the Cubs and Styles agreed on an eight year, $250 million dollar contract.
During the ring presentation, Rogers introduced Styles by asking the crowd to, “Give a warm, enthusiastic welcome to your 2018 Rookie of the Year, your 2018 World Series MVP, and a finalist in Cy Young voting. Plus he’s going to be here for another eight years.”
The rancorous applause from the crowd was all too telling.
We have entered the Harry Styles era in Chicago.
“This is everything you dream of as a kid,” the up and coming superstar told Chicago Tribune. “Getting to play this game at the major league level, and then getting to win a World Series for a fanbase as incredible as this one is beyond words. It’s been such a special year. I feel so lucky.”
Chicago feels so lucky to have you , Harry!
And, just as exciting as knowing they are going to have a soon-to-be perennial Cy Young award winner on their roster for nearly a decade, was RHP Christopher Davis’ first start as a Cub at Wrigley Field .
“I definitely feel more welcomed at Wrigley this time around!” Davis noted in his post-game interview. “It was good. I’m really excited to be on this team now, and I think we have a special year ahead of us. It’ll be nice to win a championship with them instead of losing to them!”
Davis was the Cleveland Spiders’ long term ace after being traded to the club in 2014. On January Fourth, he formally requested a trade from Cleveland.
“I will always be grateful to the Spiders, to Jason [Francona, Team President], to Jordan [Richards, Manager], and to my teammates, and I will always be most grateful to the fans of Cleveland. My time here has been invaluable and formative. However, as an athlete and a competitor, my number one goal is to win. I want to be on a team that chooses winning as its first priority and, in the later stages of my career, I feel the Spiders just aren’t that organization anymore. So, it’s with a heavy heart that I say goodbye.”
Days later, Davis was traded to Chicago for cash considerations. In his three starts this season (including the home opener), he is 2-0 with a 1.56 ERA.
Are we watching the emergence of the greatest rotation in the history of baseball? Styles, Davis, Nevlise, McCann? Chicago is absolutely spoiled!
“We’re proud of what we accomplished in 2018, but we’re even more excited for what’s to come,” manager Albert Cross said during his post-game press conference.
As the Cubs close the book on their magical 2018 season, a special journey awaits. It is more than possible that- next spring- Wrigley will host a ring ceremony just like the one the fans, players, and staff enjoyed today.
Same time next year?
Michele Owens
Chicago Tribune
~~~
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
Same time next year INDEED. @ChicagoTribune
What a day, Chicago! We celebrated our champs, and then watched a Christopher Davis masterclass as a treat. SO glad we’ve caught him in OUR Web.
#Cubbies
Chris Davis Enthusiast @CubsCore
@Cubs We truly do win! Christopher Davis, the best to ever do it!
Thank you for your service @Spiders !!!
Ryan | Cub’s Two-Peat? @GoCubsGo
@CubsCore @Spiders @Cubs in the past six months the spiders really gave us both a superstar pitcher AND a championship. how generous lmao
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
@GoCubsGo @Spiders @CubsCore The Spiders truly never stop giving. <3
HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL HARRY STYLES @PITCHESAGAIN
ONE!!! TOMORROW IS HARRY’S FIRST START AT WRIGLEY THIS YEAR!!
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
@PITCHESAGAIN We win AGAIN. Harry Styles Days are the Best Days!!
CHICAGO CUBS WORLD CHAMPS @WrigleysReckoning
@Cubs @PITCHESAGAIN I love that you routinely keep up/interact with this account lmao you’re so real for that
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
@WrigleysReckoning @PITCHESAGAIN We just really love Harry Styles.
Pey Loves Baseball Season @spideybacks
@Cubs @WrigleysReckoning @PITCHESAGAIN The entire WORLD loves Harry Styles, you aren’t special
~~~
Harry’s apartment door closes with a click that feels louder than the fans’ roars at Wrigley.
The resounding nothingness that follows is somehow louder. It reverberates through Harry’s body. His chest is too tight. His bones are too big. Everything in him feels off-kilter. As he kicks off his shoes and drops his gym bag, he blinks in the lowlight and fumbles for the switch. His palm glides over the wall, a pervasive coolness soaking into his skin. Finally, his thumb flips on the light and the studio comes into view.
Home sweet home.
Last fall, the pale yellow walls drew him to this place. Harry found it endlessly endearing, like a happiness he could afford to find. He loved that it was tailor made for one person; a hideaway hole in a large city. The apartment came fully furnished and its auburn curtains and large orange couch only made him more sure. Walking through it for the first time felt like exploring the stages of a sunset. The notion was intrinsically peaceful. He saw the empty windowsill and could envision his plant babies basking blissfully in the sunshine. Yellow walls yearned to be filled with his favorite artwork. Across the room, a small but serviceable kitchen could host his quiet mornings, his quiet evenings. Quiet afternoons.
Sighing, Harry steps over a few boxes he has yet to unpack and wanders into the living room. His hands fiddle with the ends of his hair. The cool touch of his ring brushes against his jaw. He eyes the barren walls, the empty coffee tables. Along with jackets and shoes, more boxes fill the packed hall closet, including one holding parts of a book shelf. He tells himself every single day that tomorrow will be the day he builds it. Tomorrow will be the day he makes this wonderful, small, homey, sunset apartment feel more like him.
Tomorrow. It will happen. Someday.
Someday he will occupy a space and feel that he unequivocally belongs.
(Still, though, it is a small victory to look at the window sill and see the green leaves and vines. His cacti blooming. His plants are thriving, in a way they couldn’t at his old place because one of the two people who lived there insist that they, “belonged outdoors anyway. Why go through all that effort for nothin’?”).
((As it turns out, though, effort wasn’t really Vincent’s strong suit in any regard. Neither was monogamy)).
(((Anyway))).
Today was a good day, tonight is a good evening, so. Those thoughts will be put on a wait-list for hours that aren’t quite as picturesque. His eyes flicker down to the World Series ring. Biting his lip, he slides it off his finger and rests it on the shelf above his fireplace. The glittering blue shines against the dark oak.
There. A decoration. Harry is decorating. A critical first step. He has earned dinner.
Harry: I am finally decorating!!!!
Mamma Styles: Yay, honey! Send pictures!!!
Mamma Styles: Cubbies looked so good today x I cried watching the ring ceremony. So, so, so proud of you, darling!!!
Harry: Thank you!! I love you
Mamma Styles: I love you too
Mamma Styles: Now play me back in 8 Ball.
A shocked giggle bubbles out of Harry. He wanders into the kitchen, deciding that pasta sounds perfect. (Shall he make lasagna? Baked ziti? Chicken parmesan? He could be lazy and settle for spaghetti. The possibilities are endless when it’s dinner for one). Before he can decide on dinner, though, he has an important task to tend to: losing to his mom in 8 Ball.
It’s a quick job, this time. His mom only needs two rounds for victory.
Harry: I don’t want to play 8 Ball with you anymore. It’s getting embarrassing
Mamma Styles: This is why Elena has always been my favorite. She would never deny me 8 Ball
Harry: She also moved to ITALY.
Later, Harry sits at his small, circular dining table and waits for his lasagna to bake. A sweet red fills a wine glass he stole from Vincent. His phone plays his prized creation and greatest secret (a breakup country playlist with undertones he argues are hopeful) . It’s just him. It’s quiet. It’s good.
She's beautiful, in her simple little way,
She don't have too much to say when she gets mad.
She understands, she don't let go of anything,
Even when the pain gets really bad.
Tomorrow, he’ll repack his bag and make the twenty minute walk to the fields so he can pitch for a team favored to win a division title. Harry is guaranteed eight more years with a championship-caliber organization and a Hall of Fame Manager. This is the life he is lucky to have.
It’s what you stand to lose.
He’s so, so, so lucky, here in this little, quiet apartment.
Still, the tight feeling in his chest returns when his doom-scroll on Twitter brings him to a familiar field.
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
CLEVELAND, IT IS INCREDIBLY WONDERFUL TO SEE YOU. (@NHoran44 was so happy to be back, he attempted to make a … dirt angel? Right behind the mound? Enjoy these pictures. We don’t know either).
Nail Whoran @NHoran44
@Spiders “attempted”? Please. I created a MASTERPIECE.
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
@NHoran44 You are the person dry cleaners warned us all about.
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
ANYWAY. FOLKS. THAT IS A HOME OPENER VICTORY FOR YOUR SPIDERS.
Deranged Center Fielders aside, it was a perfect day. See ya tomorrow!
#WWinningWeb
Harry smiles to himself and refrains from liking the Tweet.
Braylen Nelson @Nelson_Cleveland19
Louis Tomlinson makes his first start at The Web since publicly coming out as queer in January. Cleveland welcomed him home with a minute-long standing ovation. Louis was visibly emotional, as was manager Jordan Richards
Hi @Tomlinson28, we’ll love you forever. #ThatsOurShortStop
Captain J @AdoreTheSpideys28
@Nelson_Cleveland19 @Tomlinson28 I was there and can confirm there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Well done, Cleveland! Way to make our homegrown superstar feel every bit as loved as he is :’) #ThatsOurShortStop #BubbaForever
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
@Nelson_Cleveland19 @Tomlinson28 We just think we have the most incredible player in the world on our team, and we’re really proud :’)
Harry studies the attached picture- star shortstop Louis Tomlinson standing with his manager, the pair teary eyed as they are welcomed back home after a long off-season- and, when he feels his throat tightening, he hurriedly closes the app. His dinner bakes and he wipes at his eyes and tries to convince himself that what he’s feeling is exhaustion and not longing.
When it’s ready and cooled, he eats a small portion of lasagna, wraps the rest to eat throughout the week, and then loads the dishwasher. Once his nightly cleanup is done, he wanders over to the couch and begins his evening scroll through Netflix to find a good movie.
Quiet, mundane solitude.
It’s what you stand to lose.
~~~
April 11-13
San Diego Padres (8-8)
Chicago Cubs (8-7)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
Traces of celebration linger in the Cubs’ clubhouse.
Scattered confetti pieces. Half-deflated balloons. A National League Pennant plaque hanging beside the Commissioner's Trophy on the far right, dark oak shelf. To Harry’s right, Shane chats on the phone. A tired looking Brenan Edwards shoots him occasional daggers. The center fielder, though, stays quiet.
Sighing, Harry places his allergy pills back on their shelf (even being a professional athlete coming off a championship can’t absolve him from the evils that are springtime allergies. From March to May, Harry counts on feeling miserable. He’s probably dying. It’s very unfortunate) . Then, he tugs his greasy hair into a bun and shuts his locker. The pitcher’s meeting for their series against the Padres is scheduled to begin in thirty-five minutes. He steps around the bench and tucks his phone in his pocket. If he’s lucky, the meeting will be quick and painless so he can get on the field for his long-toss. It’s a bullpen day for him, which means- by the time the game starts- his work day will essentially be over, bar strategizing with Nevlise and Davis while they watch Charley’s start.
Speaking of…
Harry has just reached the door- close enough that he can see the hallway’s royal blue walls through the small, prisonlike window- when he notices two new members of their pitching core lingering. Cole Jones, a promising rookie arm in the bullpen, is chatting with Charley McCann. Charley is a starter who, after years of dominating American League East lineups with the Orioles, signed with the Cubs in the offseason. (It was supposed to be the groundbreaking off-season move, until they traded for Christopher Davis).
Charley slouches on the bench. His button-up is tucked into his jeans. To his left, Cole opens his gym bag, sifting through its content with no real sense of urgency. Harry frowns. “Um, hey guys…”
“Oh, hey.” Charley looks up for a second and then turns back to his phone.
“I was just… um. Our meeting starts soon.”
Cole shoots him a look. “Yeah. In, like, thirty minutes.”
“No I know, but….” Why is talking so hard? “Blake and Tyler still want us there thirty minutes before meetings are scheduled to start. Just like they did during Spring Training, so… we should be in the room in…” Harry glances at the clock hanging above Cole’s locker. “Three minutes.”
“Well that’s fuckin’ stupid.”
Harry tries to smile, to find the right words to nudge them along without being pushy, because a year ago he was the newbie not aware of the “thirty minutes before” rule and suffered the consequences. (Being the butt of the joke when he arrived late. Stern lectures from both Blake and Albert, who scolded him for a lack of discipline. Running laps at his throwing session the following afternoon. As he learned in the days that followed, Blake doesn’t have meetings with the entire pitching staff often, but when he does, it’s the most important event on the day’s schedule). “Yeah, well. I was just-”
“Trying to be a know-it-all?” Charley rolls his brown eyes. “Yeah. We get it, dude. You won MVP or whatever last season, but that doesn’t make you the boss of us.”
“I wasn’t trying to-”
“We’ll get there by two, don’t you worry, your royal highness.” Cole scoffs. “Run along now. You have an empty meeting room waiting for you.”
And well.
Harry’s cheeks are flushed, soul stinging. He steps back, looks at the clock. He has two minutes. “Okay,” he says, “Whatever. See you at two, then.”
“ Thank you. Finally. God.”
Harry hurries away, clutching his notepad to his chest. Echoes of laughter haunt him. When he enters the meeting room at exactly 1:30, it’s to find Blake watching from the podium with a quirked brow. “Harry,” he says, “ So nice of you to grace us with your presence.”
Christopher Davis snorts.
“Right, sorry.” Harry hurries to an open seat beside Nevlise. “I was just-”
“I don’t remember asking.”
“Right.” Harry bites his bottom lip. “Sorry.”
Blake turns back to his computer. As he turns on the projector, Nevlise nudges Harry. “You’re fine,” he whispers, “Tyler isn’t here yet, so.”
Harry tries to smile. Another unspoken rule he learned during his rookie year is, even if one enters “late”, they won’t face any true repercussions if they arrive before both coaches are in the room. “Thank god,” he mutters.
“You better be careful though, Styles,” Nevlise warns. “That Golden Boy Crown isn’t completely foolproof. You can’t just stroll into meetings late and expect to get away with it.”
~~~
Albert Cross has a well-honed managerial philosophy. It’s something he boasts at the beginning of Spring Training every year.
“Let me ask you all a question,” is how he’ll begin his address to the full team. “By show of hands, who here would like to win a championship?”
As expected, the entire room will raise their hands in unison.
“Excellent. And who here hopes to make it to the Hall of Fame? Or to the All Star Game?”
Everyone raises their hand.
“Right. Now, if we are to establish those as our goals for this season and beyond, I need you all to understand something.” His dark eyes survey the room as if in search of a smirk. “I have coached teams to the World Series and won. I have coached Hall of Famers and All Star Teams. My records and successes as a manager speak for themselves, so. What do you suppose that means?
“It means…” He’ll press forward before anyone can answer. “That I know best. I know what it takes to win. I’ve done it before. If given the right roster, I can do it again.”
A smug smile pulls at the corners of his thin lips, skin wrinkling. Both his expression and tone say what he will never verbally confirm. No one speaks. No one breathes.
“I run a tight ship ‘round here. The moment you set foot on my field, you are agreeing to the standards set by myself and the coaching staff. There are no second chances. There are no excuses. We are not here to make friends or to buy into all that cookie cutter snowflake family bullshit. We are competitors here to win. I am not gonna coddle you or congratulate you when you do your job. If you are not performing to our standards, we can and will ship your ass out of Chicago faster than you can say Wrigley. Is that clear?”
Terrified, rampant nods are his answer.
“I said, is that clear?” Hurried yes sirs rush to assure him. “Excellent, because if it’s not… don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Albert’s rehearsed monologue does its job every year. Harry still remembers being a twenty-one year old invited to Spring Training for the first time and hearing this imposing, confident, accomplished man speak with such authority. It occurred to him, then, that his career was half his and half the coaching staff’s. If he wanted to see the inside of a Major League Clubhouse, he needed to prove himself to the most terrifying group of men he’d ever stood before.
And still, as Harry realized last season, making it onto the twenty-five man roster of Albert’s ballclub was only half the challenge. Staying is a never ending feat. As Albert reminds them, there is always another player in Triple-A waiting for their chance, always a trade that could be made, always a replacement to be found. Feeling secure is a fool’s approach. (Harry learned this the hard way when- after his worst start and first loss in the Major’s last June- Albert pulled him into his office and asked if he missed playing for the Iowa Cubs).
The pressure explains the constant competition amongst the pitching staff. It’s why Christopher Davis is all too smug when points out that he had the best start of the past week. It’s why, when Tyler reminds their closer (Wyatt Adler) that he struggled last season against San Diego, other bullpen pitchers look smug.
It’s why, at 1:55, Charley and Cole open the door and muffled snorts sound from around the room. Blake stops the film he was showing and says, “Oh, you two shouldn’t bother. Rumor has it there aren’t as many meetings in Triple-A. That will be right up your alley.”
It’s why, when the pair glare at Harry, he feels compelled to offer nothing more than a smirk and a wave.
~~~
Charley starts that night. After holding the Padres to two runs in six innings of work, Albert tells him they’re sending Cole and him to the Iowa Cubs until they, “Learn to take team responsibilities seriously.”
~~~
April 15-17
Chicago Cubs (10-8)
Atlanta Braves (13-5)
Truist Park (Atlanta, Georgia)
~~~
On their first day in Atlanta, Harry wakes sprawled across the mattress. A feather-like comforter shelters him from near arctic temperatures. (Sleeping in cold rooms, bundled under a million and one blankets? That is the height of luxury. Harry always has his ceiling fan and air conditioning running in his Chicago apartment).
Yawning, he burrows his head into his pillow and revels in the quiet, quiet, quiet.
And, an indiscernible amount of time later, he reaches for his phone to begin plotting his day.
Fun things to do by yourself in Atlanta, Georgia.
~~~
On day two, they drop their second game to the Braves and the visitors clubhouse is silent as Albert reminds them that he has “coached five year olds that put on a better fuckin’ performance than that fuckin’ embarrassment.”
~~~
On day three, Harry throws the first Complete Game Shutout of his career.
Daniel Ross catches the last slider he throws- notching Harry’s eleventh strikeout- and, even amid the boos from Braves fans, Harry’s mind runs over the game’s statistics and he feels okay .
97 pitches. Zero runs. Two hits. He executed well. He was almost unhittable.
“Thrilled to see you’ve put that Spring Training nonsense behind you, son,” Albert tells him that evening. The praise sinks straight down like lead, lingering in Harry’s gut long after the moment passes.
~~~
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
HARRY STYLES! NINE COMPLETE INNINGS OF WORK! ZERO RUNS ALLOWED! A COMPLETE GAME SHUTOUT!!!
WE HAVE SALVAGED THE SERIES IN ATLANTA!
HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL HARRY STYLES @PITCHESAGAIN
ZERO!!!! HARRY STYLES PITCHES WITH HIS TEAM LOOKING TO AVOID A SWEEP AND GIVES US A CGSO!!!!!!!!!
Ryan | Cub’s Two-Peat? @GoCubsGo
Imagine how tragic it would be to not have Harry Styles on your team
Good thing we’ll never know :-)
Matthew C @mattcerceli
Harry Styles truly is an honor to watch. Talented, consistent. Maybe the best young pitcher in MLB
And, most importantly, he’s a role model our children can be proud to honor and emulate.
~~~
“I heard my brother did the sportsball really good. Or whatever.”
The sound of his sister’s voice makes Harry smile. He looks at his screen. “Where’d you hear that rumor?”
A beaming Elena runs her hands through her disheveled, platinum blonde hair. Her tired green eyes crinkle. The sight of her dimples and her favorite, worn San Francisco sweatshirt feels like coming home. Harry’s shoulders relax as he studies the backdrop of her tiny Venetian apartment.
“Eh, some sports magazine ran yet another piece about how Harry Styles is the greatest player of all time, or something,” she says, the words nonchalant. Milo the cat leaps onto her desk and rubs his head into her palm. “Apparently in his first few starts of the year he’s ended all rumors or fears of a sophomore slump. The city of Chicago has already begun building a statue.”
Harry blows a kiss towards Milo. The orange cat meows. To his sister, he says, “Oh wow! Please say more.”
“Ugh, I can’t possibly. There’s so much,” Elena tells him, giggling. “Did ya know we’ve entered the Harry Styles Era?”
“The Harry Styles Era? That sounds horrific.”
“Oh please.” Elena shakes her head. She leans back, stretching her hands over her head. “But seriously, H. I’m so, so proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Harry’s heart feels lighter. “And did you see the Spiders game the other night?”
“Oh my god yes. Louis is killing it, H.”
Louis. Louis Tomlinson. The name is enough to prompt the warming of Harry’s cheeks. His sister’s smile is knowing. “I know,” he tells her, fully aware that he sounds giddy. “He’s fucking incredible.”
Elena giggles. “He is,” she says, “I’ve missed hearing you gush about him. I’m sorry I haven’t had a lot of time for a call lately. Getting a Ph.D fucking sucks sometimes.”
Harry’s smile softens. “You’re fine, Bean. I get it. I haven’t had a lot of time either.”
“Oh, really? So you’ve been keeping busy, then?” Harry absolutely despises the way Elena instantly brightens. She studies him with a widening grin. Harry can’t decide if he feels more pathetic because his little sister looks so thrilled by the idea of him having a social life, or because he still doesn’t have any actual social life to write home about.
“Um, yeah. With baseball and shit.”
Elena’s smile falters. Milo, too, looks apprehensive. “And what about other than baseball?”
“Elena…”
Milo meows. Harry hates cats. Why did Elena agree to take her ex-roommate’s cat in the divorce? Now Harry will spend the next decade being judged for having no friends by an orange cat named Milo.
“Don’t give me that look, H,” she tells him with a frown, surveying him through the screen with the harrowing intensity of someone who knows your soul inside and out. “I just worry.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
“ Yes,” Harry insists. “I’m fine. I’m great even. You said so yourself. The season is going good. Things are good.”
Elena’s sigh doesn’t need the radio waves of a telephone to reach Harry. It carries over from Italy all on its own. Harry turns away from the camera, studying the way the sun has started to dip out of reach of the Atlanta skyscrapers. It hangs; a vibrant, effervescent orange emboldening this gorgeous city.
They’re slated to leave Atlanta behind in a few short hours, opting for the white sand beaches of Miami.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Elena tells him, a timid voice interrupting the tempestuous storm brewing. “But H… we both know a good season isn’t the end all be all. A championship isn’t the end all be all.”
“Really? Because I am a Major League Baseball player and my job is to win baseball games. That’s it. That’s the job description.”
“Harry-”
“And the ballclub that won the most important game of the season last year has decided they want me for the next eight years, so.” Harry shakes his head as Elena watches with wide eyes. “Excuse me for wanting to do all I can to win for them. Chicago is what I want. This is what I want.”
“But-”
“Albert knows what he’s doing. He won four World Series titles with the Dodgers. He builds dynasties. He knows how to coach Hall of Famers to their full potential. He-”
“Is a piece of shit.” Elena’s voice hardens. “He’s an ignorant, homophobic, MAGA-loving piece of shit. I don’t give a rat’s ass how many championships he’s won. He’s a bully and he fucking sucks and you deserve so much better.”
“Yeah, well.” Harry shrugs. “This is my life for the next eight years Elena. I chose this when I signed that extension, and Chicago chose me when they offered it. It would have been stupid to say no. I want to play baseball, and the contract guarantees that I can play baseball for the next decade. I made a smart career move. It was the right decision, and it’s not changing.”
He sounds like he’s reciting something from a teleprompter. He hates it. He won’t take his words back.
Elena sighs. Milo leaps onto the floor. “Right, well. Just because you’re pretending to be okay with it doesn’t mean I have to.”
“I’m not-”
“I should go. I’ll talk to you later, H.”
“Right, yeah. Cool.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
~~~
Cleveland Spiders @Spiders
AND IT IS A WALK-OFF FOR NUMBER 28!!!! LOUIS TOMLINSON HITS HIS FOURTEENTH CAREER WALK OFF HOMER IN THE BOTTOM OF THE FOURTEENTH!!!!!! AND NOW WE ALL GET TO GO TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU WE LOVE YOU @tomlinson28
THAT’S OUR SHORTSTOP. #WWWinningWeb
Emz @SpideysBaseball
@Spiders @tomlinson28 but how can we possibly sleep knowing we have the greatest shortstop of all time on our team
Depressed Cleveland Fan @imsosad44115
@SpideysBaseball @Spiders @tomlinson28 I usually do so by remembering the greatest shortstop of all time is leaving us at the end of the year and then I drown my sorrows in an entire bottle of vodka. Hope this helps!
Matthew C @mattcerceli
@Spiders @tomlinson28 Who cares. He shouldn’t be on a major league baseball team. What an absolute disgrace. I used to be a fan of his and now I’m disgusted.
Murphy Sianis Enthusiast @wardlesy
@mattcerceli @Spiders @tomlinson28 I’m so sure that losing you as a fan keeps him up at night.
Murphy Sianis Enthusiast @wardlesy
C*bs Twitter is so funny because they’re ALWAYS thinking about the Spiders. A Cleveland fan will say “took my kid to their first baseball game and had so much fun!!” and they’ll have 20 loser Chicago fans in their mentions like “but game 7 wasn’t exactly fun HUH????”
Pey Loves Baseball Season @spideybacks
@wardlesy REAL OH MY GOD. Like get a life. And god forbid a Spiders fan say anything positive about Louis.
Murphy Sianis Enthusiast @wardlesy
@spideybacks No, right? We’ll say, “Wow Louis had a great game today!” and they’re like “So you think all straight men should be banned from professional sports???????”
And like yeah I do but that’s a whole NOTHER conversation what are you even TALKING ABOUT.
Pey Loves Baseball Season @spideybacks
@wardlesy HAHAHAHAHAHA. You are my new favorite person on this app. Welcome to Spiders twitter, legend. <3
~~~
April 18-20
Chicago Cubs (11-10)
Miami Marlins (10-23)
LoanDepot Park (Miami, Florida)
~~~
Jordan Richards (Spiders): Hello, Harry. I just wanted to reach out to congratulate you on your Complete Game Shutout and the very impressive start to your season. Hope all is well! Take care.
Harry: Thank you
~~~
Contrary to what his little sister and mother think, Harry loves Chicago.
Harry loves Chicago.
He loves being a Chicago Cub and he loves playing at Wrigley and he loves that- one season into his professional career- he has a World Series ring.
He loves having a manager that will be blunt and honest and tell him exactly what he needs to do to succeed. He wants to be a Hall of Famer someday.
A dream coming true doesn’t translate to an infallible fairytale. There are still sacrifices, still drawbacks, still moments of doubt.
Is Harry always, always, always happy? No.
Are there things he would change, if he could? Yes.
Are there days he wishes things had turned out differently? That he’d chosen a different dream? That a different team drafted him earlier, before the Cubs got their chance? Are there days marred by a resounding emptiness? Are there picture perfect moments Harry experiences through a fog-stained window; celebrations that are his but feel like someone else’s?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
But on the flipside, he has so much to be grateful for. There is so much he’s terrified to lose.
It’s worth it.
So, Harry gives the team his all. He tries his hardest to get better with every outing. The entire world remains outside his control, but he alone chooses how hard he works and that choice was made years ago.
No matter the circumstances, no matter the hurt, no matter the pain, Harry will keep trying.
Miami’s retractable roof makes playing through a thunderstorm possible and, when the entire stadium shakes- a whirlwind of winds and cheers and the theatrics of Major League Baseball- Harry stands alone in the dugout and tilts his chin towards the skies. He imagines the rain pouring over him, tinged with the taste of salt.
It’s worth it.
~~~
April 22-24
Chicago Cubs (12-12)
Baltimore Orioles (14-11)
Oriole Park at Camden Yards (Baltimore, Maryland)
~~~
ONE MONTH INTO THE SEASON AND WE HAVE SEEN ENOUGH: GIVE HARRY STYLES THE 2019 NATIONAL LEAGUE CY YOUNG AWARD!
…
“WE’RE PLAYING WITH MORE CONFIDENCE THAN EVER” - HARRY STYLES PRAISES TEAM DYNAMICS AHEAD OF SERIES IN BALTIMORE
…
THE MAKING OF A DYNASTY: LED BY HARRY STYLES, THE CHICAGO CUBS ARE POISED TO DOMINATE THE NATIONAL LEAGUE CENTRAL FOR YEARS TO COME
~~~
April 26-29
Cincinnati Reds (12-14)
Chicago Cubs (14-13)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
When Harry steps into the room, the weight of approximately twenty gazes fall upon him. For once, though, the attention is not intimidating. His smile comes easily. The low-lit room hides the truth of a weak sunrise just beyond the walls. Rain water dripping from the ceiling, though, betrays the forecast of a late April day. Harry tugs the sleeves of his jacket towards his body. His old, dirt-stained tennis shoes protect each step he takes towards the front desk.
“‘Mornin’, Harry!” Christina beams at him, fingers pausing inches above her laptop’s keyboard. “Or should I say welcome home?”
A banner that reads Double Moon Refuge dangles in a crooked half circle over the front desk. Tax Fraud purrs the moment Harry is close enough to rub the soft, ginger fur behind the cat’s ears.
It’s really, really good to be home.
“Hi,” he smiles. With his free hand, he sets the drink carrier filled with iced coffees from the Chameleon Café on the counter. “I have returned with the most important goods.”
“Oh my god. You are my absolute favorite.” Her tired brown eyes brighten. She brushes her long, turquoise hair over her shoulder before making grabby hands. Giggling, Harry hands her the coffee on the far left. Vanilla hazelnut. Oat milk. “Just don’t tell the wife I said that.”
Harry grins. “Where is Kels?”
“Taking care of a potential rescue situation. We got a call an hour ago about an abandoned pregnant pitbull boxer mix.”
“Poor baby.”
“I know,” Christina sighs. “But I don’t see how we’re gonna fit an entire litter in here. We’re already so crammed.”
As if on cue, the weight of those twenty gazes- the various dogs waiting patiently in their kennels, tails wagging in anticipation- intensifies. Harry glances over his shoulder and spots Agnus the Elderly Irish Setter watching him with her wise, brown eyes. Harry blows her a kiss.
“You’ll figure it out,” he tells Christina. “You always do.”
“Yeah. But you know what would help?”
“If you let me donate more? Ot let me register the shelter with the Cubs’ official charities?”
As Harry knew she would, Christina shakes her head. “H, I love you, but we’re not interested in a partnership with self-proclaimed ‘Patrons of the Past’,” she says, nose wrinkling. “I think our values are a little too different for it to work out in the long run, but thank you for offering. Again”
“Always.”
“Now, if you were to… say… adopt one or two or three of the babies… I know Trixie the Boxer isn’t up for adoption anymore, but you have options. Agnus loves you.”
“Christina.”
“I know, I know, Superstar.” She gives an exaggerated eye roll. “You’re too busy, you travel too much, your apartment is too small… they’re all decent excuses, but you’d be a fantastic Dog Dad. The best Dog Dad ever, actually. And I have it on good authority that dogs are good for your mental health.”
Harry’s smile softens. “Yeah. Maybe someday. When life is a little less insane.”
“If you quit the team, that day could come even faster.”
A loud, pleasantly shocked laugh bubbles out of Harry. He uses every last ounce of willpower to refrain from agreeing.
~~~
Harry found the Double Moon Refuge through Vincent.
His ex-boyfriend grew up with Kelsea. The two (or three, rather, if one includes Mike), lived in a suburb of Des Moines until college. Kelsea and Mike moved to Chicago. Vince stayed behind to attend Drake University. They kept in contact, though, and when Harry met Vince while playing for the Iowa Cubs, his boyfriend crafted contingency plans that ended with him moving to Chicago with Harry after he made the Opening Day roster.
Upon moving to the city, Vince introduced Harry to his childhood best friends. Kelsea worked full time at an animal shelter. When she met Christina, it was self-professed love at first sight. They were dating within weeks, married after two and a half years, and now run a budding business that shares in their passion for community and animal welfare.
Vince introduced Harry to Kelsea and Christina (and Mike, Vincent’s best friend ) when they were dating and, as Kelsea likes to joke, Harry, “won the wives in the divorce!”
(Meaning that when they found out why the pair broke up, Christina blocked his number and social media profiles. Kelsea sent him a text message that found approximately 23,842 ways to call Vincent a disgusting fucking pig ).
((Harry told them multiple times that they didn’t need to choose. They could still be friends with Vincent. Both Kelsea and Christina never bothered with an answer beyond rolling their eyes)).
(((They, along with their friend Giada, now have an ameliorated group chat. The Lavender Coven is iconic))).
So, yes. Harry won Christina, Kelsea, and the Double Moon Refuge in the divorce- while Vincent kept their old apartment and two years of Harry’s life and every shred of self-confidence Harry once possessed- and that means he spends his off-days volunteering. He walks the dogs and cleans the kennels and memorizes hectic feeding schedules. Shelter days are, in truth, his favorite. He loves spending time with the ever-wise, ever-exhausted Agnus. Ellie the Effervescent Miniature Poodle loves dragging Harry through Chicago. In true German Shepherd fashion, Magnificent Mancs finds new ways to trick the workers into giving her more than her allotted treats every day. It’s familiar, controlled chaos. It’s wonderful.
Kelsea returns at one with a tired smile. “The baby is staying with Liza until she gives birth,” she tells them, “And then we’ll see about making space for her and the puppies here.”
Agnus gives an impatient huff, lifting her head from Harry’s lap as if she already knows she’s about to be saddled with a fresh litter of puppies. Harry grins and pats her nose.
~~~
The trio opts for an early dinner at Good Chives Only, a cafe across the street. Though the shop tends to be more colorfully decorated come June, a large sign hanging over the front counter reads All Are Welcome. Various pride flags hang all around. It’s hardly the only place in the city to be so overtly inclusive, but a feeling of peace, of security, still washes over Harry the moment he steps inside.
Burnt orange walls, accented with cream arches, stand in contrast to the variety of houseplants for sale. Harry bought Phil the Philodendron from the cafe last summer. While Kelsea steps up to order for them, he waltzes around to inspect the available plants. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
No two chairs or tables inside the shop are the same, creating a mismatched, homey look. Sofia by Clairo plays from the speakers. Harry’s soft expression, the relaxed set of his shoulders, remains while he picks at his toasted veggie club. His gaze drifts again and again to his friends.
They orbit each other so naturally. Kelsea’s right pinkie lingers on her wife’s wedding band; a touch that is gentle and unassuming and possessive. They offer each other bites of their sandwiches. There are soft jokes, points of banter, that belong only to them. When Kelsea is talking, Christina gives full, undivided attention. Her expression could part the day’s storm clouds. If he looked, Harry would bet his beloved sunset apartment that their ankles are hooked under the table.
They just… they make sense. They walk through the world knowing the other will match them step for step. Their love for each other is in the soft touches and quiet conversations and the laughter.
Harry wants that, someday. He wants to find the person who makes the mundane, tired evenings remarkable. He wants the soft comfort and joys that continue flickering long after the soul-scorching love confessions.
He’s been in love before, but he’s never felt settled.
He would like to feel settled.
“So, H.” Kelsea swipes a chip from Christina’s bag. Her wife slaps half-heartedly at her arm but still grins. “How are you doing? Really?”
“I’m…” Harry gives a soft sigh. “I’m fine.”
Kelsea and Christina share a look. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. The season’s going really good. Today was fun. Things are… things are better.”
Again, the wives share a look. “You know you can always talk to us,” Christina tells him, “About all the sports stuff or about anything. We’re your friends.”
“I know.”
“How’s your little superstar shortstop?”
And.
Oh god.
Despite himself, Harry’s cheeks flush. Both Christina and Kelsea begin giggling. “ Stop,” he insists, “I’ve heard he’s doing fine, but. He’s not exactly mine. And he never will be, so…”
“Not with that attitude he won’t be,” Christina tuts.
“Please .” Harry kicks under the table. “I never should have told you guys. Lou’s just a fantasy. He’s not… I have long since accepted that it’s never going to actually happen. I should set my sights on someone actually attainable.”
“Attainable? What do you mean by attainable?”
“Like someone who doesn’t live in Cleveland, Ohio,” Harry laughs, “I’d probably be better off falling for someone who lives in the same city. It’d be way easier that way.”
“Ah but love’s not meant to be easy, young one!” Kelsea flicks her straw wrapper across the table. It lands atop Harry’s empty plate. “If you’re madly in love with your shortstop, you should shoot your shot. And following him on Instagram doesn’t count.”
Harry folds his arms and mutters, “I also followed him on Twitter…”
“You’re basically a twenty-first century Jay Gatsby.”
“I know.”
The three friends giggle. It’s easy and calm and peaceful, even with the wind picking up outside. Stray leaves and litter blow across the street. The skies are nearly black. Christina looks outside and huffs before saying, “But seriously, you should go for it. I have it on good authority that Giada would design your wedding suit for free.”
“But only if you make her best man.”
Giggling, they hurry to finish their food and then decide to head out. Wind whips through their hair and drops of rain splatter across Harry’s nose as he hugs his friends goodbye, hoping it’s enough to thank them for the best day he’s had since returning to Chicago for the start of the season.
~~~
April 30- May 2
Los Angeles Dodgers (20-10)
Chicago Cubs (16-15)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
Hi. Happy May. It’s a big weekend series. Be here or be square.
CHICAGO CUBS WORLD CHAMPS @WrigleysReckoning
@Cubs Why do I feel like we’re in trouble
Chicago Cubs @Cubs
@WrigleysReckoning Maybe you are. Or maybe I was just bored.
Ryan | Cub’s Two-Peat? @GoCubsGo
@Cubs @WrigleysReckoning Wait that’s so real. I imagine having to play the Reds was boring (and splitting a four-game set was humiliating) :/ Why do they make us play bad teams. Such a wasted effort
CHICAGO CUBS WORLD CHAMPS @WrigleysReckoning
@GoCubsGo @Cubs That’s how I felt during the World Series tbh
Ryan | Cub’s Two-Peat? @GoCubsGo
@WrigleysReckoning @Cubs LMAO REAL
~~~
Tensions always boil over in the clubhouse before big games.
And, as Albert reminds them, their upcoming series against the Dodgers is the most important of their young season to date. “We’re playing against my old ball club.” His eyes are furious as he looks around the room, purple skin wrinkled in apparent disgust. “I left them for this club. Prove to me that that was a decent decision. Don’t embarrass me.”
Again, he looked around the room as if to say or else.
“Albert wanted me to say, just in case you all were unaware, that he considers this series to be more important than all the games we have played so far this year combined,” is how Blake opens their first pitcher’s meeting since the San Diego series. “So my advice would be to take this one seriously. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Please, what’s he going to do?” Nevlise mutters to Harry and Christopher Davis. “Fire us all if we lose a single game to the Dodgers?”
“He’d fire us all except Saint Harry,” Christopher mutters back, with a laugh that is probably supposed to sound genuine. “Pretty sure he’s still trying to figure out how to clone you, Styles. So he can get rid of the rest of us.”
Nevlise chuckles and Harry tries to smile- he really, really does- but the resentment that brims in the other man’s eyes makes it difficult to find anything about the situation light at all.
~~~
Two nights later, Harry earns his first loss of the season in a 3 to 4 game. Both Christopher Davis and Nevlise look smug.
Albert glares and glares and glares at Harry for what feels like hours. In the end, though, he doesn’t say anything. Harry finds that’s almost worse.
~~~
May 3-6
Pittsburgh Pirates (16-16)
Chicago Cubs (18-16)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
Harry: I know you’re angry with me but I need your help. I did a thing.
Laney: I’m not MAD at you, Harry. I’m WORRIED that you’re hellbent on self-sabotaging because it’s easier than fighting for something better and I won’t sit back and say nothing while you do it.
Laney: But we can table that discussion. I won’t even make a joke about what I hope the “thing” you did was. What’s up?
Laney: ((Please tell me you told Albert Cross to go fuck himself))
Laney: (((What who said that)))
Harry: Elena.
Harry: Not quite. Actually, I sorta downloaded a dating app???
Laney: WHAT
Laney: THAT’S EVEN BETTER OH MY GOD
Laney: FACETIME ME RIGHT NOW
Harry is giggling- a soft, warm sound that feels freeing after the radio silence- and when the call is accepted and his beaming sister answers, the nerves under his skin, pin-pricks that made it difficult to sit still or to focus, fade. “A dating app?” She says, tossing her laptop to the side. “Say more right now.”
“It’s um… Raya?” Harry blushes. It’s horrifically embarrassing. “I applied, like, last week and got accepted.”
“ Raya? As in the exclusive celebrity dating app? ” Her green eyes widen, dimples deepening like Harry just offered to ghost write her dissertation. “Oh my god, that is bougie as fuck. My big brother uses Raya.”
“Elena.”
“Which celebrities are based in Chicago?” She wonders. “Oh my god. I need to look up who’s touring there soon. If it’s someone like Shawn Mendes then you’ve hit a goldmine. This is so exciting.”
“Shawn Mendes?” Harry snorts. “Is he even queer?”
“Hmmm.” Elena types something into her laptop. “You’ll find out on June 27th and 28th. He’s got two shows in Rosemont. Be prepared to use the app religiously, Harold, and report back.”
Again, Harry laughs. “I absolutely will,” he says, “But, um… even if it isn’t Shawn, I think… I think maybe I’m ready for this? To try again?”
His sister’s smile softens. She pauses her typing (though Harry knows that he’ll wake in the morning to a color-coded list of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors) and fixes him with a soft look. “I think you are too, H. I’m proud of you. And hey, if you’re using Raya you probably won’t accidentally match with You Know Who.”
“Please. Tinder is Vincent’s domain.” If Harry’s words are a touch sour, well. It’s more than warranted. “Or I suppose fucking his best friend is.”
His sister pulls a face. “I’d greatly prefer a trigger warning before you say his name,” she says, shuddering. As Harry laughs, though, she leans forward again and types something into her laptop. “I swear, whenever you say it I choke on a sudden influx of axe fucking body spray. Anway. Guess what!”
“What?”
“The Cleveland Spiders play in the same division as the Chicago White Sox.”
Oh god.
“They do… yes.”
“Which means…” She does a dramatic scan of her laptop screen. “The Spideys will be in town in early May and late June! Louis will be in your city! If he uses Raya this will be your moment. You can ask him why he never completed the moot!”
Despite himself, Harry giggles. He’s forever a schoolboy with a crush.
But then he remembers that Louis never followed him back on Twitter or Instagram, and a bit of the giddiness fades.
“Imagine,” he says, “From World Series rivals to super matches on a celebrity dating app. A love story for the ages.”
“Does Raya do super matches?”
“I dunno.” Harry shrugs. “But if they did, Lou would be my super match..”
“As he should be, Lover Boy.” Elena’s laugh is soft. She closes her laptop. “It’s good to know that, even as you embark on this new journey in the world of dating apps, Louis Tomlinson is still your number one.”
“Louis Tomlinson will always be number one in my heart. My future husband will just have to accept that.”
“Just show them Lou’s face. They’ll understand.” Elena yawns, curling the sleeve of her blazer over her fist. She must have just gotten back from a day of fancy, academic work in fancy Italy. “But hey, do you need help setting up your profile? I already have, like, five pictures in mind that you could use.”
“... Please?”
“Of course. I thought you’d never ask.” Elena grins. “On one condition, though…”
“Yes, I’ll be your referral for Raya.”
“I love you.”
~~~
Three hours later, Harry’s Raya profile meets Elena’s (and Milo’s) standards. In turn, Harry sends his referral to invite his little sister onto the app.
“You know,” Elena says through a yawn. The banging of pans echo through the call as she meanders around her tiny kitchen. “Demi Lovato was rejected by Raya, so. If I get accepted, that means the Styleses are more famous than the Lovatos.”
“I already think you are way cooler than Demi Lovato. And just about anyone else.”
“Hmmm, you have to say that.”
“I really don’t, actually.”
His sister smiles. “Do you think nine o’clock is too late to start making chicken parm?”
“It is never too late to make chicken parm,” Harry answers at once, grinning. “But hey, I really do gotta run. Report time is in an hour and I haven’t left my couch all day.”
“Sounds like my dream.” Elena opens her freezer. “Bye, H. Keep me updated on your Raya purusings! Or else.”
“You too. Let me know when you get accepted.”
“Oh my god. Don’t worry. You’ll know because I’ll be married to the Prince of Venice within the month.”
“Uh…”
“Or maybe the princess. Depends on my mood that day.”
Harry rolls his eyes, even as he laughs. “Bye, Lena. Thank you. I love you.”
“Love you too!”
~~~
Ten unread messages greet Harry hours later, after the Cubs take the first game against Pittsburgh..
Laney: Oh, my chicken parm is EXQUISITE
Laney: [Image Attachment]
Laney: I’ve drank a whole bottle of rouge with dinner :-))) it’s been a good night. No acceptance from Raya yet but it’s only a matter of TIME
Laney: Alsooooooooooooooo I need you to know that I fully support you doing the whole dating app thingy and putting yourself out there but I also also also need you to know that a part of me will always be holding out hope for my Being a Sister in Law to Louis Tomlinson Era
Laney: Did that even make sense I hope that made sense
Laney: I just meant I still fully support your impending love story and marriage to Louis Tomlinson and I know it will happen and I don’t think you should give up on the man of your dreams :-) you hit his knee with the game on the line during game seven of the world series that basically means you’re soulmates?? love love love you
Laney: Also I simply just need a love story to root for. It’s not pathetic that I’m 24 and have never been in a serious relationship right????? Right. But how old is too old to keep saying I’m married to my research
Laney: I blame the OG You Know Who for my inability to love and trust like a normal human being
Laney: Anyway
Laney: HAVE FUN AT YOUR GAME (THOUGH I KNOW YOU WON’T BECAUSE FUCK ALBERT CROSS) I LOVE YOU SO MUCH CHEERS TO HOPEFULLY NOT BEING UNLOVABLE
As Harry does up the buttons of his silk shirt, he toes the line between wanting to be a supportive, dutifully worried brother and also wanting to maintain the tentative peace he’s negotiated with Elena. In the end, he sends back a single message and hurries to where their lead reporter, Gregory, waits.
Harry: I hope you’re asleep now, Lena. Please drink some water when you wake up (and take some painkillers). I don’t know if you’ll still wanna talk about it tomorrow, but call me if you do. We’re not unlovable, I promise. The universe has just been waiting for your Raya Era to give you the grand love story you’ve always deserved <3 I love you.
“-Davis locked it down tonight!” Gregory says into the camera, “What’d you think of his outing against the Pirates?”
I actually hate seeing him have any level of success. “It was amazing, yeah,” Harry tells the crew, careful to keep his voice earnest. “He did fantastic. His game plan with Ross worked so well and… yeah. It’s great.”
“What’s it meant, having yet another accomplished veteran in this starting rotation?”
“It’s been everything, yeah. There’s no substitute for experience and I’m, um… I’m lucky. I’ve already learned a lot from Chris, just getting to pick his brain. And the same with Miranda and McCann, obviously. We’re in a really good spot as a rotation.”
Gregory nods. “Is this the best starting rotation in Major League Baseball?”
“It’s the best team in Major League Baseball.” Harry hopes his smile appears genuine. “I’m lucky to be a part of it.”
~~~
We’re not unlovable. We’re not unlovable. We’re not unlovable.
Harry promised Elena a short hour ago. Now here he is, sitting in the dark on the same couch he spent most of the day rotting on. A dating app waits on his phone screen. His heart is in his throat.
Maybe this will be okay. Maybe it will be easy. Maybe the first person Harry matches with will agree that Shania Twain’s You’re Still the One is the world’s greatest love song and they’ll go on one date and know. Just like that.
Maybe it will be easy.
But.
The first man Raya suggests is a thirty year old working in film marketing. Jason is objectively good looking, with wind-swept blond curls and sky blue eyes that are near translucent. Harry doubts a single secret could ever be kept hidden in that color.
He swipes no because Jason has listed his height as 6’2” and he’s probably lying.
A grand love story is waiting for us.
He swipes no on the second because the amount of hair gel used to style Matt’s chin-length curls is probably a biohazard.
We’re not unlovable.
He says no to three because there is a taxidermy deer in the background, the fourth because he isn’t fond of the name Aiden, the fifth because he prefers blue eyes, and the sixth because the lack of smile lines is off-putting.
He closes the app.
We’re not unlovable. A grand love story awaits.
There’s always tomorrow. Or June 27th, when Shawn Mendes comes to town.
Or when the White Sox square off against their division rival from Ohio.
When the time comes, Harry will be ready. It will be fine. He’ll feel okay. For now, though, he’s just as okay leaving behind the flurry of activity at Wrigley and coming home to this: a dark, empty apartment and a cold, empty bed.
~~~
May 7-9
Chicago Cubs (20-18)
New York Mets (17-19)
Citi Field (New York City, New York)
~~~
Prospective Soulmate Number Thirty-Seven is rejected because he plays golf. Harry can’t find a single thing he likes about Thirty-Eight. Why is he paying twenty dollars a month to scroll and scroll and scroll and say no, no, no again and again?
Harry: Starting to think my soulmate isn’t on Raya.
Laney: That’s cause he is in Cleveland, Ohio
Harry: Elena
Laney: LOOK AT THE PICS THE SPIDERS TWITTER POSTED OF HIM WITH A THREE YEAR OLD FAN!!! THEY'RE BOTH HOLDING SPIDER PLUSHIES!!!!!
Laney: [Image Attachment]
(Unfortunately for Harry, it is the cutest collection of pictures ever. He has to sit on the edge of his hotel bed and breathe deeply for five whole minutes before he feels ready to seize the day).
It’s fine. Raya is a work in progress.
((And, in the meantime, he can continue enjoying the rare updates Louis Tomlinson posts of his dog, his team, and his city on his Instagram story)).
~~~
“Is it good to be back in New York?”
Harry continues twisting his hair into a bun as he glances over, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean… a little?” He tells Christopher, voice rising in inflection. “I haven’t really spent a ton of time in the city.”
“Not even during the off-season?” The other man raises his brow, surveying Harry like a snake sizing up its next victim. “I coulda sworn you were on a talk-show every other night! We couldn’t get rid of ya.”
Oh? Harry tries to laugh it off. “Yeah, there were a few weeks that I, um… met with the press a little bit. Right before I signed the contract extension. Albert suggested it.”
“Right. Albert wanted to show off his new prize.” The words, and Christopher’s tone, make Harry just as uneasy as the nights spent on Talk Shows. Sitting in too-big dressing rooms and meeting celebrities. Trying to make himself appear funny and interesting and worthy. “That was a smart move on his part. To capitalize on your… simple charms.”
Harry is no closer to understanding this conversation. He’s no closer to enjoying this conversation. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, just that those curls are a hit with the ladies.” Christopher winks. “Why not use that to earn the world’s favor? That way, when Major League Hitters inevitably figure out how to hit off you and you’re not as good, you’ll have something to fall back on. It’s genius.”
Something to fall back on.
Harry is stunned, frozen, too confused to answer. Christopher fucking Davis laughs. “Well, see you around! Good bullpen session yesterday, by the way.”
~~~
May 11-13
Chicago Cubs (22-19)
Milwaukee Brewers (18-22)
American Family Field Bank Park (Milwaukee, Wisconsin)
~~~
“‘HEARTTHROB HARRY’ TAKES THE MOUND AND SUDDENLY AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF YOUNG WOMEN CARE ABOUT BASEBALL” - CHICAGO CUBS MANAGER ALBERT CROSS ON THE HARRY STYLES EFFECT!
Following yet another series win against the Milwaukee Brewers (19-24), the Chicago Cubs lead reporter asked the lucrative question of the hour: is Albert Cross [Cubs Manager] growing tired of discussing how good his team is?
The Cubs are two-thirds of the way through a road trip that has placed them more staunchly atop their division. Over the past week, they are 4-2 and sit comfortably 4 games above .500 (24-20).
It is only May, but players and fans alike expect to see the National League Central Title return to Chicago come October.
“I don’t know if tired is the right word,” Cross told the press. “But yeah, it is hard to know what else to say. We’re doing everything right. We’re playing good ball. That’s the story day in and day out. It makes me excited for October.”
The good natured vibes of the interview continued when Cross was asked about star RHP Harry Styles’ outing: “It’s always a good night when Harry is pitching. Everyone’s excited. He’s made quite the name for himself, both as a ball player and with the ladies.
“You know, ‘Heartthrob Harry,’ as they call him… he takes the mound for us and suddenly an entire generation of young women care about baseball. It’s magic.”
The Harry Styles effect!
Is the Cubs’ young ace aware of just how popular he’s become?
“Oh, yeah. Harry really, really enjoys the attention,” said Cross. “He’s young and reveling in it, no matter which city we’re in.”
The story of the 2019 season is being written, and the most enthralling characters are these Cubs.
(And they also happen to have a vibrant, heartthrob of an ace who has us all tuning in for his starts!).
No matter how mundane the Cubbies winning becomes, an entire city- from the players to the coaching staff to the fans- will remain a captivated audience.
Michele Owens
Chicago Tribune
~~~
May 14-17
Chicago Cubs (24-20)
Pittsburgh Pirates (20-26)
PNC Park (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)
~~~
Harry loves Chicago.
He loves Chicago.
He loves being a Chicago Cub and he loves playing at Wrigley and he loves that- one season into his professional career- he has a World Series ring that he paid too high a price to claim.
He loves having a manager who will be blunt and honest. Albert’s favorite pastime is harping on mistakes, creating an environment that makes the ground beneath their feet feel like ice thawing over a lake. The Cubs’ clubhouse is a landmine.
It’s always a matter of time. They’re always waiting for one wrong move. The game can be lost in the blink of an eye.
It’s a foundation built upon grains of sand. Deep, incendiary currents boiling beneath the surface, waiting for the right fissure- the correct moment- to erupt, scorching the earth and leaving shifting landforms in its wake.
This city, this team, is volatile at best. And maybe Harry is, too.
Maybe he is forever festering, forever subversive, forever holding his breath.
Maybe he is forever waiting for something more and maybe this is all that there is.
His life is this. It’s Friday nights listening to Miranda Nevlise blather on and on about yachts and stocks on Wall Street. It’s his teammates snickering as he walks by; hushed whispers that sound like Heartthrob Harry and pretty boy and Albert’s pet that reverberate even in his empty apartment and empty hotel rooms .
It’s constant flashbacks to a World Series Social that happened nearly seven months ago. Memories feel like daggers; flashes of the Cleveland Spiders laughing together and welcoming Jordan Richards into their circle with earnest smiles .
That same night, Harry made the mistake of laughing in front of Miranda Nevlise. His teammate narrowed his eyes and said, matter-of-factly, “Your laugh is ridiculous.”
It’s an electric shock every time Harry smiles around his teammates. He won’t- he won’t- laugh here anymore because he doesn’t want to be ridiculous or cause a scene. He survives each day by making himself small.
It’s knowing everyone- from his teammates to the coaching staff to the front office- wishes Harry had just a little bit more of an edge. (Albert Cross has said so multiple times. “You gotta toughen up,” he tells Harry. Again and again and again).
It’s glares when his manager goes out of his way to clap Harry on the shoulder or pause during team meetings to say, “Harry, of course, executed this perfectly.”
Of course he did.
Of course Harry did.
Of course I did.
It’s a dull thud- a heartbeat, maybe? An invitation back to the surface- when Harry realizes it’s him being praised. He’s leading the charge, a Top of the Rotation pitcher among one of the best pitching staffs in the league. His manager who hates everything is giving interviews now that boast the revolutionary Harry Styles Effect and he is, in fact, Harry Styles. That’s his name. This is him. This is his life. This is his life. This is his life.
A life of privilege.
Harry is being paid millions to play a game.
How dare he wait for anything more? This is everything.
Harry loves, loves, loves Chicago and he loves the decisions he’s made and so he plays the game he adores and his team wins again and when he’s alone, he drowns in music and doesn’t let himself think anything beyond this is what you always wanted.
~~~
May 19-21
Miami Marlins (16-32)
Chicago Cubs (26-22)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
Harry stands on the edge of the world; cleated feet mere inches from a drop off point that promises grandeur. City lights. Golden streets. Abundances of wealth. The earth’s supreme indulgences. A pink sunset. Waves crash off in the distance, a lullaby humming in the quiet.
And Harry stands above it all, privy to its glory. He stands alone.
It’s his paradise, his kingdom. It’s his and his and his. It’s all his.
It’s all his and it’s glorious, but… but he spins around and an imposing golden castle lures him from the edge. Windows span the length of the fortress. A chandelier glistens in the entrance hall as Harry steps inside- inside? Is there not a door?- and gold-plated shoes echo against matching floors. Each breath he takes can be heard in the furthest corners. His presence is thunderous, though it is only him who hears it.
On his finger, a diamond encrusted ring paints his skin gold.
His skin is gold. His home is gold. Harry hurries by identical walls and doorless archways and the minutes bleed together- hasn’t he already seen this room? Where is the staircase? Where is another living soul?- and then he stumbles into a kitchen, where a gold table is adorned with a gold cloth and gold fruits.
A mirror on the far right walls offers Harry a glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows. Gold, unmalleable curls.
Every inch of him is gold. His home is golden. His ring…
His ring?
Somehow, someway, Harry looks at his hand and knows, knows, knows that the ring on his hand is the source. It exudes power. He needs it gone. The clock on the wall is frozen- a golden minute hand suspended, forever locked at 7:23- but it’s all too clear that Harry is running out of time.
He runs and runs and runs. Back through the house. Under the arches. Through empty rooms. He doesn’t stop until he bursts back onto the lawn. With shaking hands, he rushes to the cliff edge and hurtles the ring out of his hand. Its gold gleam becomes a ripple in the expanse that waits below him.
His next breath comes easier. Until he looks back down at his hand and finds the ring back in place as if it never left.
It’s back.
It’s back and the grass beneath his feet now holds a golden tint.
Harry throws the ring again, even as a hopeless wave drowns his lungs, his heart.
He stands on the edge of the world- above it all- and he stands alone. He stands alone in a golden mansion. There is no way down for either himself or the ring and he knows the ring is meant to be a reward; a mark of what he gained to parallel all that he lost.
Harry is alone.
He’ll always be alone.
~~~
May 22-24
San Francisco Giants (28-23)
Chicago Cubs (29-22)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
The room is too small.
Harry’s loose-form, nylon t-shirt suffocates him; invisible hands choking flushed skin. His face is hot and his clothes are too small and he’s too big for his chair, for this room.
He hears Christopher Davis and Miranda Nevlise’s chortles. The bullpen guys are in hysterics. The room is too small.
The room is too small.
Blake and Tyler enter the meeting room four minutes later. The laughter dies, the whispers die. They’re meant to discuss baseball, but Harry sits in too-tight clothes, in a too-small chair, with a neon sign dangling from the ceiling. An arrowhead points at him.
“Oh please. Who cares if they win 100 games. I was always gonna leave Cleveland after that offseason fiasco,” Christopher Davis told the room at large just a few minutes previous, in response to Nevlise’s innocent observation that the Cleveland Spiders also sit atop their division. “They left me no choice, after they let that fuckin’ fairy expose himself as a homo. If Richards is interested in destroying his own legacy that’s fine, but I want no part in it.”
“Congrats on being the only player in that snowflake organization that’s on the right side of history.”
“Oh, I’m far from the only one. Mark my words, Richards and Tomlinson are gonna run that place to the ground. I just hope the rest of the team isn’t caught in the crossfire.”
~~~
May 25-28
Washington Nationals (26-27)
Chicago Cubs (30-24)
Wrigley Field (Chicago, Illinois)
~~~
Ryan | Cub’s Two-Peat? @GoCubsGo
LMAO Louis Tomlinson striking out and losing the game for Cleveland when the bases were loaded. How can Spiders fans even begin to defend him???
Spiders World Champs 2019 !!!!!!!!! @CLEBaseball
@GoCubsGo ummmm maybe because we know even the best players can have bad games lol what are you even fuckin talking about?????????
Depressed Cleveland Fan @imsosad44115
@GoCubsGo This is an unusually horrific take and that’s saying something for a Cubs fan
Murphy Sianis Enthusiast @wardlesy
@GoCubsGO I lost brain cells reading this.
Pey Loves Baseball Season @spideybacks
@wardlesy @GoCubsGo This is the kinda fan who will be calling for Harry Styles to be traded the moment he gives up his first career grand slam.
~~~
Their four-game series against the Washington Nationals ends with a Primetime broadcast, and Harry’s second Complete Game Shutout of the season.
He doesn’t remember the twenty-seven outs he collects. He doesn’t remember how he works around a no outs, bases loaded jam in the bottom of the eighth. Harry floats above the field, the mound, and knows- on some level- that he’s just reached an important milestone in his career, but it feels like one more victory collected to hang on a dusty shelf in a golden mansion. The roar of the crowd is white noise. His teammates pat his back. Both Christopher Davis and Miranda Nevlise have a certain tightness around their eyes when they shake Harry’s hand.
The ESPN reporter requests an interview with Albert and Harry. She asks routine questions and receives routine answers. Her perfectly manicured hand reaches out constantly, brushing over Harry’s forearm. Albert winks.
“The Harry Styles Effect is what they’re calling it,” the woman says, grinning. She squeezes Harry’s arm. “You’ve got all the ladies suddenly interested in baseball, Harry! How does that feel?”
On the reporter’s opposite side, an assessing gaze tracks Harry’s every move. Harry doesn’t need a single word, nor a single glance, to understand the warning. “I mean…” He begins, and it would be so easy to just say it. “I think it’s good for the game… to have new fans starting to follow baseball. No matter the reason, that’s a cool thing to see and to be a part of, but… but I don’t think it’s fair to act like women are suddenly only just now becoming interested in baseball. Generations of women grew up loving the sport and rooting for their teams. It’s a game that belongs to everyone, so. I don’t want to diminish that.”
“Oh, right. Yes, yes of course.”
Harry doesn’t dare look at Albert. He stares at the ground. A hand continues ghosting over his arm. He can’t hear the crowd at all anymore. He…
The interview ends and Albert hurries off, muttering something about needing to do his own press meeting. Harry signs autographs for fans- laughing through conversations he can’t remember- and then stumbles down the dugout steps, his legs tired and mind still stuttering through what feels like an endless fog.
He’s thinking about dinner- maybe leftover chicken and rice from two nights previous, maybe takeout, maybe nothing- and about how amazing a shower will feel and he’s just decided that maybe he’ll skip a locker room shower so he can get home quicker when something crunches under his feet, like a leaf in the fall.
Frowning, Harry glances down and finds a pulverized piece of popcorn.
And? What?
“So sorry! Don’t mind the mess!” A voice bursts out. Harry glances down the hall with his eyebrows furrowed. Two members of their janitorial staff are sweeping furiously, collecting what looks like an entire cinema’s worth of popcorn into dustbins.
He pauses. “Oh, no worries at all,” he says, “I’m sorry for making a bigger mess…” Fuck, was that rude? It felt rude. “What happened? Do you guys need help?”
The head janitor- Meredith, Harry knows- pauses. Her copper colored curls bounce when she brushes them back. “Please honey, there’s no need. You should be celebrating with your teammates! You had quite the game!”
Another member of their staff, Darien, rolls his eyes. “Please Mer, it was a history makin’ game!”
Harry’s smile is weak. “Thank you,” he says, “But seriously. What happened?”
“Oh, nothing you should concern yourself with!” Even as Meredith says it, Harry doesn’t quite trust her tone. “Just a few of the guys came in from the field throwin’ around some popcorn buckets they got from the stands in celebration is all.”
Throwing buckets of popcorn. “Why would they do that?”
“I guess they figured it’d be fun,” Darien says.
“But this is gonna take forever to clean! And you all have been here for, like, ten hours already. That’s bullshit.”
Darien shrugs. “It’s part of the job, kid. Now run along. Our goal is to be done by midnight.”
Part of the job. It isn’t though.
It isn’t. This isn’t part of a job. It’s bullshit and Harry can’t… he can’t understand why they’re accepting it instead of screaming, cursing, leaving. Blowing up everything in their path before running out the door because surely, surely, surely this isn’t fucking worth it.
Harry offers a weak smile, an apology that Meredith and Darien- who are too wonderful, too kind- wave off. He tiptoes around the scattered popcorn pieces. His footsteps echo, his heart races. Everything feels like it’s coming back into focus after a week of blurred edges and, as his hands shake at his sides, he realizes he doesn’t know what to do now that he is beginning to feel again.
He hasn’t felt much of anything since Christopher fucking Davis said They left me no choice after they let that fuckin’ fairy expose himself. It was the final puncture wound in a long string of undercuts and slices and tears in the soft belly of faith and hope Harry had when he signed a Major League contract when he was nineteen years old.
Nine years later, he’s here.
He’s here and he doesn’t want to be.
He doesn’t want to be here.
The thought is jarring enough to stop him in his tracks. It’s chilling enough to send an odd, dreadful whirl of terror through his entire body. It’s certain enough that Harry knows the time for fighting it, for doubting, is long gone.
He doesn’t want to be here.
He can’t be here.
He can’t… he just fucking pitched a Complete Game Shutout. He pitched a Complete Game Shutout for the second time this season, and he’s not excited. It’s a career highlight- a moment that he’s meant to carry with him forever- and instead all he feels is numb. He dreads his next start, because Albert is always quick to tell him when his previous start was better and Harry knows that- unless he never allows a single run for the rest of his career- there will be an inevitable regression from one game to the next.
He’s not excited for October. The thought of winning another championship with this team makes him sick.
Harry is having a career year. He won a World Series in 2018 and he’s standing alone in the hallway of a trashed clubhouse and all he hears are they left me no choice and Harry really enjoys the attention and this is what it feels like on the honorable path. Nevlise’s near constant sneer replacing the fragile mentor-mentee relationship they once had. Christopher Davis’ disdain for any milestone he reaches. The ESPN journalist who wouldn’t stop touching his arm. Charley and Cole.
Elena was right.
Oh god.
Just behind the clubhouse doors, the Cubs’ infielder core is cackling. “Gonna be here all night!” First baseman Brad Weber says. “Their fucking faces…”
“Ah, well. I’m sure it’s the most fun they’ve ever had on a Sunday night. Picking up after us,” Trevor Altiero, who alternates between shortstop and third base for the Cubs, responds over the laughter.
And it just further cements what Harry has figured out to be true. It spurs on the festering, fuming, bubbling magma scorching through his veins, boiling out in a seismic eruption that’s been months in the making.
He turns on his heels- away from the clubhouse, from his teammates- and ventures down the hallways with his fists clenched at his side.
~~~
The ferocity of Harry’s three knocks alarm even himself. He hears the surprise in Albert’s voice when his manager says, “Enter.”
He twists the knob of the most foreboding door Harry’s ever known. He expects to be shaking. He expects his body to betray him, for his legs to carry him back down the hallway. There’s still time to change his mind. Until he steps inside, there’s still time.
There’s no time. They’ve used it all.
Still, Harry opens the door and stumbles inside, dressed in his sweaty, dirt-stained uniform. Messy curls. Flushed cheeks and wild eyes. Albert looks no less surprised at the sight of him. “What do you want? I think you’d better head to the showers. It’s late.”
He shakes his head. Pieces of himself fly through the room; pyroclastic fractions that began erupting months ago. On February 10th, in a room all too similar to this one. On day two of Spring Training. Mesa, Arizona.
I’ve been thinking a lot, over the past few months, Harry’s voice shook as he spoke to Albert and Kyle. He studied the tips of his black cleats. About what I want my legacy in Chicago to be, and what I want my life to look like, and I realized that above all else, I need to feel like I’m being the most honest version of myself. The version that’s a good pitcher and a good teammate and a dedicated member of this organization. And also the person who is unapologetically me in every sense of the word, including who I… who I love. I’m… I’m queer, and that’s just as important a part of me as me being a pitcher for the Chicago Cubs. I want the world to know that side of me. I want to come out.
This time around, Harry’s voice still shakes, but he keeps the words simple. This eruption is, as it turns out, relatively controlled. “I want out,” Harry says, meeting Albert’s gaze. “I want out of Chicago. I am formally requesting that I be traded before the deadline.”
And just as he- and as Kyle- did in Mesa, Albert laughs.