Tyler Page

Blair would kill me if I left the dead gas station snackless. She let me know her period cramps are too painful for words and requested I buy her some medicine in the form of junk food. My amazing girlfriend of a year and six months' favorites in hand, I approach the counter to pay for everything.

 The cashier, a guy not much older than me, greets me with a polite smile. Either he is in his own happy little bubble away from the irritated customers or he is trying to appear professional. Whatever the case may be, this stranger is pretty contagious. That sounds like something my dad would say when I'm having a shitty attitude during a tournament.  Whenever Wyatt Page Jr. notices I'm anything other than confident on the mound, he would make an unhelpful comment about how it is unfair to everyone else.

Thanks to years of baseball tournaments and hanging out with my friends, I've stopped at quite a few gas stations over the years. At some point, I start forgetting what the employees who ring up snack hauls and stock the shelves look like. The cashier in front of me, however, won't be forgotten any time soon. He's objectively good looking with messy brown waves and eyes the clear blue of the Caribbean sea. If only the beaches in Maryland had water that blue. I can tell he works out from his toned biceps filling out his black t-shirt. With slits in his eyebrows and a small silver stud on his nose, he strikes the perfect balance between cute and dangerous.

"Did you find what you're looking for, sir?" His voice snaps me back to reality, followed by an impatient old man clearing his throat behind me. 

My cheeks heat up, probably drawing attention to my sunburned face. "Uh, yeah."

 The handsome stranger doesn't seem one bit upset nor embarrassed. He scans the BBQ chips on the counter and it dawns on me how long I've been checking out my new friend. "Your total is $5.13." 

I tap my debit card and quickly make an exit before the man with a stick up his ass gets mad at me. As if Blair Mullin knows I just put her goodies in the passenger seat and I'm on my way, a text arrives.

BLAIR MULLIN: where are you babe?

TYLER PAGE: coming blair bear <3

The air conditioning in my BMW starts, counteracting the August heat. Blair's is pretty close, so she should expect her delivery very soon. That also means there's no time to bask in the cool of my car because when there's food involved, she can get territorial. 

I arrive at the Mullin residence in record time. Painted soft white with navy-blue accents, the wraparound patio and plush chair set welcome guests and passerby. Their house is across the street from the beach, hence the smell of salt water that greets me every time I come. A welcome breeze dances through the perfectly manicured palm trees, quelling the sticky mid-August day. I approach the door with Blair's food knowing how impatient she tends to be. But hey, she's a perfect person otherwise. 

"Hey, Tyler. How are you?" I'm greeted by Mrs. Mullin, a tall and cheerful woman. Mrs. Mullin, or Sandra because she insists it's too formal, was understandably a little worried about her daughter's first boyfriend. I quickly earned her respect and she regards me as her own child. Good thing Blair and I aren't actually related; our incest would cause multiple problems and become the talk of the town.

Their home is an inviting and artful coastal haven that reflects its beachside setting. Inside, the open-concept living room is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the ocean view like a breathtaking painting and a soothing palette of whites, grays, and blues.

I let my hopefully future mother in law pull me in for a hug. "I'm doing well, ma'am." 

Sandra pulls away and examines my face, more lobster than human. "Did you forget your sunscreen? That looks awful." A few days ago, Blair and I went to the beach with some friends and my cousin Eleanor. They looked at the outing as a routine summer hangout, but I unconsciously celebrated my freedom from travel baseball and trying to get recruited. I guess I let my hair down too quickly. Even trying to smile is comparable to getting stung by every bee on planet Earth at once. 

"I guess I did," I sigh.

"Your girlfriend won't get out of bed. Poor thing." Sandra shakes her head. "I remember those days. Just be grateful you roosters don't have to deal with this."

I hold up the Wawa bag that contains an ungodly amount of chips and candy that my teammates would deplete in minutes. Who am I to let my girlfriend suffer? "I'm happy to help it not suck so much."

Sandra chuckles, stepping aside to let me in. "You're a good one, Tyler. I keep telling Blair she's lucky to have you."

I give a modest smile and walk upstairs. Before I get to Blair's room, the loft stands between her and her delivery. Around our one year anniversary, Sandra realized they were just wasting its potential, a huge no-no provided she's a respected interior designer. Her upscale meets coastal style reflects in the large reclining sectional that is as good looking as it is comfortable, fluffy pillows, the flat screen TV, a blue and white patterned rug, and framed photos of the beach at various times of day. Blair and I have spent countless nights here watching movies after her mom had worked her magic.

As expected, Blair's door is shut. I still knock to notify her of my presence and drop off her delivery and a "food's here". She isn't the type to lock her door even if her house was getting broken into and her life depended on it. This habit of hers is a double edged sword, making it easy to leave her small surprises whenever I want. Seeing her happy is well worth the times I've walked into her in her birthday suit after a shower. With this in mind, I turn the doorknob.

I open the door to find her sprawled out on her bed, bundled in blankets despite the heat outside. Her eyes light up when she sees the bag in my hands, and she pushes herself up, reaching out with grabby hands.

"You're an angel," she says, tearing into her gifts with renewed energy. She's probably in too much pain for a make-out, but her peck on my burnt cheek is just as appreciated. "I missed you, lobster."

I cringe at my nickname for until the red on my face fades. "Right back at ya." She rests her head on my chest and shares part of her fluffy blanket with me. 

I've known her since kindergarten, but I definitely didn't talk to her a whole lot until high school started. Thanks to Mr. Hamlin's seating chart freshman year, we wound up next to each other. I thought she was interesting and funny, but it's not like I went out of my way to hang out with her. 

Blair, however, had the biggest crush on me since the day the seating chart was established, possibly pre-high school. She didn't tell me outright, but she didn't have to. Freshman Tyler was a little dense and didn't realize what it meant when she'd guffaw at something I said even if it was something as unfunny as stating the sky is blue or reject her friends to say hi to me at lunch and at football games. 

Our kiss at Eleanor's birthday party marked a turning point in our relationship. We had two choices: let the awkwardness linger between us and let the elephant in the room hang over us like an ominous rain cloud on a crowded beach, or just see what would come out of this. It doesn't take a genius to know which route we traveled down. 

Her Bahamian mom and native Marylander dad came together and created the prettiest girl in our town, not to mention the world. Blair is tan year round, courtesy of her Black mom. She stands at five foot seven and has a slim figure, but still has curves in all of the right places. Her parents' hair couldn't be more different: Sandra has tight coils while Thomas' brown hair is significantly straighter. Their daughter's long, dark chocolate waves fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. While I think she's perfect, she complains about her hair every now and then and it makes me want to slap her. Blair Mullin makes other girls a little jealous and every day I question why she chose me out of everyone.

Blair equals home. My easygoing, talkative, and sometimes irritating one, but I wouldn't trade her. Some people at school see her RBF and write her off as a quiet bitch, but deep down she has a huge heart and would do anything for anyone. She's sarcastic as hell, but she's never made me feel put down or judged about anything, no matter how trivial it seems. A bad grade, an embarrassing baseball loss, my dad's unreasonable expectations for me, she's my band-aid. She can listen to whatever girls like and Nirvana in the same car ride, loves naps and movies together, and stole my parents' hearts when they met. More so my mom than my dad, but that's a story for later.

"How're you feeling?" I ask, watching as she munches on some sour candy.

"Like dog shit," she says dramatically, though she's smiling. "But this definitely helps." She gives the packet a little shake in appreciation. 

We sit there in easy silence as she eats, her fingers picking through the snacks like she's on a treasure hunt. For a moment, I let myself relax, leaning back against her headboard and looking out her window, where I can see a stretch of sand and the hazy blue ocean beyond. It's calm here, familiar.

"I can't believe we're going to be seniors," she whispers, her brown puppy eyes looking up at me. She holds her hand out to offer me something, to which I oblige. "Time flies."

I stare out at the crashing waves and scorching white sand, longing to be out there but knowing it's the cause of my agony. "Yeah," I reply. "I genuinely hope it's a good one. I'm trying to commit somewhere before Christmas break."

"How's that going?" While we're on the topic, Blair is phenomenal at volleyball. College coaches became interested in her, a talented player from a small town in Maryland. I witnessed her stress herself out about her future firsthand. After months of blood, sweat, tears, and emails, she decided where she wanted to continue her volleyball career. A red and white banner for Cornell hangs proudly in her room, well worth everything it took to get there.

I sigh, and Blair gives me a knowing look. "I think I've narrowed it down to like, four or five schools. I don't know, Blair Bear."

"Tyler, that's amazing!" she squeals, pecking my cheek. "That's a start. No matter what you choose, I'll be cheering you on every step of the way."

I let out another exasperated sigh, to which she says, "Just take your time. Any school would be lucky to have the amazing Tyler Page on their roster."

My fingers trace random designs on her back, but the fidgeting barely helps my stress. "I know, but December will be here before we know it. No pressure or anything."

Blair's hand finds mine, fingers curling around in a reassuring squeeze. "I know it's a lot. But think about it—soon, we'll be out there, doing what we love. And hey, we'll still be kicking ass in our own ways, right?" 

"That's true."

"Everything always falls into place, babe," she says, repeating a favorite saying of hers. That optimistic mindset of hers hasn't failed her once. She's made her choice, with her dream school banner hanging right above her bed as proof.

We just sit there and listen to the crashing of the waves outside of Blair's window. A trailer of my year plays in my head, one marked by more beautiful memories with the cute girl in my arms and a solid baseball season. It will be my last go-round with my girlfriend, my teammates, and my friends before getting thrown into college baseball.

This is it, the final stretch before I must pull my big boy pants on. It'll be my last season on the field with my team, my last stretch of weekends like this, and maybe my last summer with Blair—just us, here, without the weight of what comes next. I hold her a little closer, trying to memorize how this feels.

Unfortunately it wasn't my intention to stay, so I leave the Mullins' house after a brief cuddling session with Blair. A slight, beach-scented breeze helps to tame the heat. I slip back into my car and make the trek back home where Eleanor is babysitting my sister while my parents work. Wyatt, my older brother, is probably at the beach with a couple of his friends. 

The Page residence isn't nearly as cohesive as my girlfriend's family's, but we pride ourselves on being pretty damn clean. You'd be surprised a teenager who gets his baseball uniforms covered in sweat and red clay and a creative eight year old girl whose art projects can get chaotic live at our house. If my dad hadn't shut down Sandra's suggestions about decorating, it could land a spot in HGTV. Cleaners come over every week or two, but my mom thinks we can probably manage without professional help. 

Eleanor and Madi, my younger sister, sit on the almond colored couch watching a Barbie TV show the latter is obsessed with. Madi's love for Barbie doesn't stop at TV; that girl has a shit ton of dolls. If one is out of her sight even for a brief period of time, she'll be livid until it's safely back in her possession.

In a move I didn't anticipate, Madi actually tears her eyes away from the screen when I approach the living room. "Ty Ty!" Her little dark brown arms wrap around my waist.

"What's up, Mads?" I return my baby sister's excited hug while Eleanor watches the interaction between siblings play out. Since she's an only child, she never turns down an opportunity to hang out with my sister, or any kid for that matter. The feeling is mutual: Madi loves when Eleanor comes over.

My cousin smiles at me with a teasing glint in her eye. "Look who decided to leave his girlfriend alone and come see his family." Remember how I mentioned earlier that Blair and I's first kiss was at Eleanor's birthday party? She confided in Eleanor that she liked me and wanted her to be our wingman. My cousin frequently reminds me without her, there would be no Tyler and Blair.

"To be fair, her period's killing her," I justify, joining her on the couch. 

Eleanor shoves me like we're little kids fighting all over again. "You know I'm joking, you ass. How is Miss Cornell Bound doing?" 

"El said the A word!" Madi's interjection shocks both of us. The house could be on fire and she wouldn't know since she's always immersed in doll world, so the fact she heard us makes both of us fight not to laugh.

I lightly jab her in the ribs, though my face is as serious as a heart attack. "Yeah, El. What were you thinking?" Madi gives me an approving smirk like we're two plotting thieves, then she returns to the TV. A song escapes the speakers, distracting her from our mature cousin talk.

Eleanor narrows her eyes and leans in. "Fuck you, bitch," she whispers in my ear. We're the only two that can hear, but one can never be too careful around nosy, eight year old sister ears. 

That's always how it's been between us. A few weeks after I was born, Aunt Michelle, my dad's older sister, called to tell us she was expecting. Everyone was over the moon when they shared their news; Aunt Michelle and Uncle Jason had been trying for a baby for several months and finally hit the jackpot. Nine months later, my favorite cousin came into the world.

Several months separate Eleanor and I, but our family sees us as twins because we're so close in age. Random people would stop and ask us if we were siblings when we were younger. Anyone who sees us can tell we're related.

We share the same upturned nose, golden skin, high cheekbones, dark brown eyebrows, and dirty blonde hair.  Eleanor's expressive dark brown eyes always give away her thoughts, while my lighter, less intense ones tend to keep people guessing.

Our relationship is closer to actual twins than merely cousins. We were inseparable when we were younger and still are to this day. Eleanor is the magnetic life of the party, which is why my friend group adopted her despite most of them being a year her senior. She's younger than me, but always knows when something isn't right with me before I actually say the words. I trust her with everything from my secrets to Blair and I's relationship. I'm pretty sure I tell her everything before my parents find out. My deepest hopes, fears, and my attraction to men are among my biggest secrets between me, her, and the big man in the sky.

After the laughter dissipates, thoughts about my friend at the gas station resurface. He was ungodly beautiful, but my thoughts about the stranger are heading towards dangerous territory. I've noticed guys like that since my sophomore year, but blue eyes and a chiseled jawline are etched into my mind.

I shake my head, trying to push it down. These thoughts? They're dangerous, and I know it. Not dangerous in the actual sense, but in the way they threaten to unravel the image I've worked so hard to build, the golden boy everyone knows and expects me to be. Tyler Page, the star pitcher, the confident vice president of the student council, the boyfriend of the prettiest girl in school. That's who I am, or at least who I'm supposed to be. 

Guys like the one at Wawa don't fit into that picture.

I'm completely immersed in the questions and anguish surrounding my sexuality, but not enough to ignore Eleanor watching me out of the corner of her eye. Airports have big machines that can tell if someone brought something they shouldn't have and my cousin has a TSA-grade intuition, only she's looking for what's bothering me instead of a gun. She isn't the type of person to push me to spill my guts and is happy to wait until I get my head out of my ass and talk. 

The hum of the garage yanks me from my trance and does the same to Madi. "Daddy!" She tears her attention from the TV to run and tackle Dad. That little girl has serious college football potential. For a moment, his hardened exterior cracks as he embraces his daughter. At least he doesn't treat her like some sort of project and her eight year old naivete blinds her.

Eleanor peers at my dad from the couch with a relaxed smile. "Uncle Wyatt, hey." My cousin isn't my dad's biggest fan, but I envy the way she can casually speak to him without getting nervous. 

She's lucky she doesn't share a house with a demanding man who can turn something minor into a capital case. Everything I do must directly contribute to my future in college baseball for him to be proud of me and it's gotten draining.

Dad smiles in her direction with my little sister still clamoring all over him. "Hello, Eleanor. Was my daughter good today?" 

"She's always good," she states proudly. "How was your day, uncle?"

"Okay," Dad quickly replies before his icy stare lands on me. "Tyler, remember you have practice for travel ball first thing tomorrow morning. I believe some scouts are watching you all practice, so don't find a way to fuck it up." 

"Yes sir," I say as politely as I can. Does he not think I know what I'm doing? My dad's not wrong, but he's relentless when it comes to baseball. I know he wants what's to see me succeed, but sometimes it feels like I'm just a walking, talking pitch count to him.

He nods, satisfied, and heads upstairs, leaving behind a silence that feels heavier than it should. Eleanor watches him go, her lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn't say anything, but her look says it all. She's seen my nervous breakdowns caused by all of his expectations and definitely isn't his biggest fan. 

Madi turns to me, picking up on something being amiss. Concern in her innocent eyes, she asks, "What's wrong, Tyler?" 

I meet her wide eyes. "Nothing, Mads." My heart drops when the lie comes out, but I feel a bit better when she turns right back to the TV. Eleanor puts her head on my shoulder as unspoken support like a blanket protecting me from the world. 

Hours later, the sun dips below the horizon and the golden light that comes with sunset pours through the windows. Madi went up to her room, leaving me and Eleanor in the living room. My cousin flips through TV channels for something to watch, dark eyebrows furrowed as we keep striking out. We settle on a channel playing Star Wars. The household name carries more significance than a mere movie in our family: Eleanor has been scared of Darth Vader since she could hold her head up by herself. We always make fun of her for it.

"He looks scary," she reasons, fidgeting with the ends of her hair. She has tried time and time again to convince me her fear is reasonable. Darth Vader isn't cute and cuddly by any means, but I doubt he wants to crawl out of the TV and assault a sixteen year old girl. 

The Star Wars opening crawl begins its iconic roll, and I glance at Eleanor with a smirk. "You know he's not even in the first one that much, right? Vader. He's basically a side character."

Eleanor narrows her eyes at me, sinking further into the couch. "Doesn't make him any less intimidating. If you saw a seven-foot-tall guy in black with a glowing red sword, you'd have nightmares too," she rants.

I quietly chuckle at my cousin's tirade. "Having nightmares about a guy in a mask at the old age of sixteen? You're joking." 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Tyler."

We fall into an easy silence, the kind that only years of knowing someone like the back of your hand creates. The movie plays on, but it's more background noise than anything. Eleanor leans her head against the back of the couch, and I catch her glancing at me, her dark irises softer now.

"You okay, Ty?" she asks, her voice quieter this time, less teasing.

I stare at the screen, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah."

She clicks her tongue. "I know you're lying to me, but alright. Just come to me when you're ready and we can go to the boardwalk or something." She doesn't push. She never does. Eleanor has always been good at knowing when to press and when to back off, and tonight, she chooses the latter.

About an hour later, the credits roll and the Star Wars theme song plays. Eleanor stretches next to me, picking up the remote to turn off the TV. It's totally dark out and her parents aren't exactly the most comfortable with her driving at night. I don't blame them; she can't even drive in broad daylight without hitting or almost hitting a still object. 

"You made it, El," I announce, poking her in the ribs.

Eleanor scrunches her nose. "Be quiet, asshole. Can you take me home by any chance?" She is more than capable of taking herself places, but uses me as her unpaid Uber driver. Our conversations, whether serious or about the Kardashians' bullshit, make our time together worth it. It also helps that I don't run over every curb I see. 

"I don't know if you want to get in my car since I'm such an asshole," I echo, knowing I'm a better person than that. "Of course." 

Eleanor's isn't far as everything in our small Maryland beach town is walking distance. All thirty-five hundred people in Bayberry are no more than twenty minutes from the beach. My cousin and Blair are neighbors, meaning they've been tight since before I came into the picture. Hopefully if heaven forbid our relationship hits the fan, there's no egging houses or plastic forks in either of their yards. 

"You know," she starts softly as we pull out of my garage, "you don't have to carry everything by yourself, Ty. Whether it's Dad stuff, baseball stuff, or... anything else. I'm here."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat before I lose it behind the wheel. "I know. Thanks, El."

Eleanor faces me. "I mean it. You're going to do great tomorrow with those college coaches. If anyone deserves this, it's you." We were enjoying our cousin time so much I forgot all about practice, but that's a tomorrow morning Tyler problem. My future and my dad's mood for the next two weeks depend on what the scouts think.

"Don't remind me," I groan, turning onto her street. The full moon shines in the dark night, a beautiful scene accompanied by the symphony of the soft crashing waves. "You heard what my dad said, I'm going to find a way to fuck it up and throw my future away." Ever since I picked up a baseball for the first time at seven years old, I knew how hard athletes had to work to be noticed by colleges. Emails and pleasantries with coaches help a recruit, but the pressure to always stand out is a lot. 

"I don't give a fuck that he's my mom's brother, but he can choke and die." I laugh quietly when she flashes her middle finger at my dad. Eleanor's good at hiding her dislike for my dad when he's around, yet comes up with crazy insults for him the minute his hawk eyes waver from us. "Seriously, you've been working your ass off for this and no one has the right to take it away from you. Those coaches are making a huge mistake if they don't see that."

Pulling into her driveway, I park the car and glance at her house, its porch light casting a warm glow over the yard. Eleanor gathers her things and we both step into the humid summer night. As we approach her brick porch, one of our favorite late night yap session locations, I throw my arms around her. "You're the best, Eleanor."

"I know, I know," she smirks. "Love you, lobster."

"Love you too, Darth," I shoot back, making her flip me off. "You and Blair with that lobster crap, man."

~

heyyyy! new story?? 

just a few quick notes:

-so far, this will mainly be in tyler's point of view which typically isn't the case for my other books

-i'm definitely going to up the pace on this book. a dance with cancer needs to be as slow as it is given the circumstances, but for animosity, tyler will have a lot to process + unlearn about himself through things that will happen. let me know at any point if this seems rushed at all

-given recent events, i realize people are divided about the LGBT comununity which tbh? shouldn't be the case, but here we are. with that being said, be respectful. i'm personally trying to figure myself out as is tyler so yeah, just don't say anything homophobic please and thank you!

there's definitely more, but i forgot lol. enjoy + thanks for choosing animosity! take care of yourselves <3