hector & alex: a preview

“Mijo,” Hugo says, pulling Hector deeper into the hug, pressing a kiss to the crown of his son’s head. “My beautiful boy. How are you?”

Hector can’t help it — he burrows deeper into his father’s arms, wraps his arms around him and squeezes tight. “Papa,” he breathes, relishing the muscles under his fingertips and the smell of freshly mown grass that he’s loved all his life.

“I’ve missed you,” he says after a minute of being warmed in the California sunshine.

“I missed you, too,” Hugo says, petting his hair. “But you’ve been busy, huh? Your tour schedule is full.”

“Too full,” Hector admits. “I’m glad we’re here for a few weeks.”

“And at the end of the season,” Hugo says with a smile.

Hector hums and sighs as he finally pulls out of the hug. “There’s a game Friday, right?”

“You’d better be coming with me.”

“Of course.” He bites his lip and Hugo raises an eyebrow.

“What is it, mijo?”

(It’s been a long time since he’s seen his son uneasy, and Hugo is going to relish the way Hector is struggling to find his words when he’s 99% sure he knows exactly what he wants to say.)

“Papa,” Hector says slowly, “there’s… would you mind if… can I bring someone?”

“Only if it’s that Alex guy you won’t stop talking about.”

Hector blushes. “I don’t… I…”

Hugo pulls Hector inside. “Let’s talk inside. I’ve got dinner on the table.”

***

“You don’t have to come,” Hector says quickly. “I’m not trying to force it.”

“No, I’d… like to,” Alex says, wincing at his response. “I just… I don’t know anything about baseball.”

“That’s okay,” Hector says brightly. “Dad and I can teach you. Or you can just go for the atmosphere, you know? Lots of people do.”

“Wouldn’t you rather take Max or Jess or someone?”

Hector’s face falls. “I can ask them, yeah.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to go,” Alex says, waving his hands frantically. “I do. I just… I don’t want to make it a shit day for you because I don’t know anything about baseball.”

“The basics are pretty easy, buddy. Hit ball, run bases.”

“But if you’d have more fun with someone else…”

Because Alex wants to go. He does. And not because he’s trying to learn about baseball because, as with most sports, he doesn’t give a fuck. About the sport. He gives an embarrassingly big fuck about what Hector thinks of him and the fact that Hector has invited him to a game with his dad. He doesn’t need Max to explain that getting to meet Hugo is a big step, and even though there is nothing between him and Hector…

But that’s a lie. There’s clearly something and neither one wants to talk about it. Alex can only assume Hector is embarrassed to be constantly linked to a backup dancer he sees as a good friend (because even though Alex knows he’s not a monster, he’s not nearly gorgeous enough for Hector Cervantes). And Alex? Yeah, he’s totally head-over-heels in love with Hector but why mention it if it’s only going to bring heartbreak and the disruption of a friendship he now values only slightly less than the one he has with Lara and Rose?

“Buddy,” Hector says, hand on his shoulder and grin on his face. “I want to take you to a game. Buy you a hot dog and a beer. Introduce you to my dad.”

“I’m supposed to be on a strict diet,” Alex barely manages.

Hector waves his hand. “You can have one cheat day for a ballgame.”

“And you’re sure you wouldn’t rather bring someone else?”

“Max and Zora want to start looking at houses and Jess hates all organized sporting events. They’d murder me if I made them come to a game. But if you really don’t want to come…”

“I do. Yes. I’d love to go to a baseball game with you. And your dad. Yes.”

Hector’s grin is practically his entire face. “Great! I’ll pick you up from the hotel and we’ll grab my dad on the way out.”

Alex wants to smile and cry and throw up all at once. “Perfect.”

***

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Alex looks down at himself, wondering what’s wrong with shorts and a t-shirt and sneakers. Does baseball have a formal dress code? He’s never exactly paid attention, but he was fairly certain it was a casual kind of game.

“Um, shorts?”

Hector continues staring at him.

“And a shirt? With your band on it?”

“I’m not talking about that,” Hector says, and points to his head. “I’m talking about that.”

The disgust is so thick that Alex reactively reaches up to his head and finds the hat. “Oh. I thought I needed a baseball hat.”

“So you’re wearing that.”

Alex pulls it off and inspects it, wondering what he’s missing. “It’s New York, right? Max said since you’d lived there you’d appreciate it.”

Hector closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. “I’m going to kill him.”

Alex panics. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Hector. I didn’t know…”

Hector shakes his head and grasps Alex by both shoulders. “It’s not your fault, buddy. Just… we’re a Dodgers family, okay?”

Alex is totally not going to freak out about the fact that Hector basically just called him family. He’s not.

“So… New York is bad?”

“The Yankees are one of the best teams in baseball,” Hector admits. “But they’re also the worst.”

“Um…”

“If you wear that anywhere around here, you’re going to get the shit beat out of you.”

“Oh.”

Hector tugs the hat from Alex’s hands and throws it onto his bed before reaching up, tugging off his own hat, and setting it on Alex’s head.

“There. Better.”

***

“Mijo, where’s your hat?”

Hector throws his thumb over his shoulder at Alex. “Had to give it to Alex. By the way, Dad, Alex, Alex, my dad Hugo.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Alex says, shaking Hugo’s hand.

Hugo smiles at him and gives his son a look. “You need a hat.”

Hector ruffles his hair. “Plenty of coverage. Look at all that.”

“Looks like you need a haircut,” Hugo mutters, looking at the rack by the door and pulling down another hat. “Here.”

He holds it out and Hector shakes his head, pushes it away. “No. Papa, I… I can’t…”

Hugo shoves it onto Hector’s head and says, “Of course you can. It’s a hat, Hector.”

Hector huffs and pulls the hat off, ruffles his hair again before pulling it back into place. “It’s not just a hat.”

“Your mama wouldn’t want it gathering dust on game day, chiquito.”

“Papa.”

“Let’s go,” he says to Alex, muscling past his son and walking toward his car. “Still driving that thing?”

“It’s a classic,” Hector argues, shooting Alex a smile. “Got it in high school.”

“He worked on that thing for months before it even started,” Hugo says, offering the keys to Hector, who takes them and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“I can see that,” Alex says, holding open the front passenger door. Hugo shakes his head and climbs into the back, leaving Alex next to Hector.

“Mama told me I’d never get it road-worthy,” Hector says as he starts up the CR-V. “Promised me a new paint job for it if it got an hour down the road without breaking down.”

“You must’ve managed it,” Alex says. Hugo and Hector both burst out laughing.

“Made it fifteen before it broke down,” Hector says, shaking his head.

“He called us for a ride back and when we got there, he’d made friends with the sweet old lady who’d loaned him her phone. She fed him cookies and everything. Always was a charmer,” Hugo adds, and Hector blushes.

“So how did you get it running?”

Hugo shrugs. “We got home and he got right back to fiddling with it. Sofía couldn’t let him suffer, so she rolled up her sleeves and helped. She was always better with that stuff than me.”

Hector smiles, a little tired and a little sad and a lot nostalgic. “She was better than anyone. Except maybe Paul.”

“I forgot. He was in town around then, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. Helped with the clutch.” He can’t help but notice that Alex has gone quiet, so he reaches over to grab his hand and squeeze. “He was a buddy of my mom’s. They did stunt work together, right, Dad?”

Hugo hums. “He was a stunt driver, she was a pilot. Did a few movies together. Still don’t know how they both managed to survive.”

Alex nods, still quiet, and Hector wants to keep holding his hand but then an asshole cuts him off and he flings his hand in the air with a stream of curse words he’ll be embarrassed about saying in front of his dad later.

***

“How often do you come to games?” Alex asks Hugo.

“When Sofía was alive, we all came to at least one a season. It was our family tradition. After… well, we tried to get one game in, but between his leave schedule and the crash, it got tough. Then he went and got famous,” he says, breaking the sadness with a bright smile, “and first thing he did was buy me season tickets. It’s been my present every year since.”

“It’s only been, like, four years, Papa,” Hector says, shuffling past his knees and settling between them with his hands full of beer. “Here, Alex. Take it.”

“I guilt him into coming to at least one game with me,” Hugo says, taking his beer. “Makes him take a break from all this celebrity.”

“Hardly celebrity,” Hector mutters.

“Hey, you made the cover of US Weekly,” Alex points out. “You’re a celebrity.”

He’s sure Hector’s rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“If he ever gives it up,” Hugo says, “I’m going to push for two games together.”

Something about the way he says it catches Alex’s attention and he finds himself turning more fully to Hector. “Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Give it up?”

Hector shrugs, keeps his eyes on the field. “I can’t do it forever.”

Alex keeps watching him as he says, “This is your last tour.”

Hector stiffens and Alex wants to take it back, apologize, tell him to never stop. But then Hector nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s our last one.”

Hugo turns to his son. “What?”

Hector takes a breath, wrinkles his nose, looks up at the perfectly blue sky. “We’ve been talking about it a lot,” he says slowly, “and we all decided it was about time. Zora and Max want to start a family — that’s why they’re looking at houses today — and Jess has dreams of opening a bakery. We’re all just… we’re getting old and tired and…”

Hugo grips Hector’s arm. “Mijo…”

Hector shrugs again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he admits, still refusing to meet either of their eyes.

“But if you’re not ready,” Alex says, “you know they’d stick it out with you.”

“I’m the only one without plans. Zora is so excited about trying for a baby and she’s ready. And Max is ready. And Jess, I don’t think she realizes how ready she is.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about finding a job for income,” Hugo points out, squeezing his arm. “You have time to figure out what you’re going to do.”

“I’m just such a waste of…” Hector can’t finish the sentence because he knows they’ll fight him. But it’s how he’s felt for a while now.

I’m such a waste of space.

Every day they practice, every minute of every performance, it’s just pushing at the shadows and begging for another second of living because he’s so afraid of the end but he doesn’t want anyone to waste a second of their lives waiting for him.

“Don’t.”

He turns at Alex’s sharp voice.

“Don’t you ever say you’re a waste of space,” Alex says, staring at the field. “Don’t ever think you’re not worth it. Every single person I’ve met who knows you would go anywhere for you. You mean more to people than you could ever imagine. So just… don’t.”

It’s just another example of how fucked up Hector’s brain is that Alex’s little speech makes him want to sob and also kiss the man so thoroughly that they get thrown out of the ballpark.

“Alex,” he breathes, but Alex shakes his head.

“You matter, Hector Cervantes,” he says. “You matter more than you know.”

Hector looks helplessly at his father, who smiles at him, a little teary. “He’s right, mijo.”

They’re all silent for a few minutes. Then Alex nudges Hector’s ribs. “Didn’t you promise me food?”

The clutching ache in his chest eases. “I sure did, buddy. You ready for a Dodger Dog?”