CJ swallowed hard. “Yeah. I know.” Too well.
Rizzo didn’t push, but he didn’t move away either. He bumped CJ’s shoulder with his own. “If you ever need a buffer, I’m excellent at being annoying on command.”
CJ snorted. “I’m not sure that’s something to brag about.”
Rizzo grinned. “Feels like it should be though.”
For a second, CJ let himself relax enough to remember what it felt like to be around someone who didn’t expect anything from him except maybe a conversation and a half-decent joke. Then he grabbed his water bottle and stood. “I’m going to the gym to warm up.”
Rizzo nodded. “Cool. I’ll tag along and pretend you actually want company.”
CJ didn’t stop him, which said more than he wanted to admit. He followed Rizzo, trying to ignore the way his skin prickled the closer they got to the gym. Being able to feel someone’s presence before seeing them was something from a romance novel. It didn’t happen in real life. Except, when he stepped inside, there Evan was, sitting on a stretching mat, oneleg extended, with a trainer testing the range of motion in his hip.
CJ froze, just for a moment, and because he had the worst luck, Evan looked up at that exact moment and locked eyes with him. It felt like someone had taken a fist and pressed it right against the center of CJ’s sternum, not hard enough to leave a bruise but enough to let him know it was there.
Evan nodded once, a small, controlled, silent greeting. CJ nodded back with an even smaller tilt of his head. He hoped that counted.
Rizzo’s narrowed gaze flicked between them like he was trying to figure out a mystery. “Okay,” he said softly, the word drawn out. “Vibes are weird but survivable.”
“Shut up,” CJ muttered under his breath.
Evan looked away first, and that shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.
He threwhimself into the rest of the morning as if his life depended on it. If he kept moving, kept running drills and catching balls, maybe he could stop his brain from working overtime. Outfield drills were the one place CJ felt steady right now. They were familiar—sprint forward on the first step, push off and change direction, figure out where the ball is going the second it leaves the bat. None of it was fancy or needed overthinking. It was just running, reacting, and trusting his gut instead of the noisy mess in his head. Out there, with the grass under his feet and the sun in his eyes, he felt like he could breathe.
Out there, he could focus and keep his mind off the man behind the plate.
He didn’t dare look toward the catchers, but he didn’t need to. He’d always known where Evan was on a field. It was an old habit from years of playing side by side, with CJ working the outfield and Evan anchoring everything behind the plate. Even now, he could picture him, and he knew without turning his head that Evan was crouched low, glove steady while he gave pitchers that calm, quiet direction he was known for. The kind of focused, precise work that made guys trust him immediately.
That intense focus used to make CJ push a little harder, run a little faster, make a cleaner throw just so Evan would turn it on him.
At lunch, he sat at a table with outfielders and a couple of infielders, most of whom he’d only known for a handful of days, picking at a plate of grilled chicken and rice. He laughed when someone nudged him and smiled when he needed to, but he listened more than he spoke. He didn’t know them well enough to really join in. Rizzo talked enough for the whole group anyway, filling every silence with a joke or an exaggerated story.
Across the cafeteria, Evan sat with a few pitchers and a hitting coach, lip curled in disinterest at the food on his plate. Evan glanced up at the same time CJ looked over, and their eyes caught. It wasn’t long enough to be meaningful to anyone else, but it was enough to steal CJ’s breath. He looked away first this time.
He was trying to force down another bite of his lunch when he saw a PR coordinator approach Evan’s table. She said something CJ was too far away to hear, but Evan’s reaction gave everything away. The tight jaw and flicker of irritation made it clear he was being asked to do something he didn’t want to do. CJ watched him nod and push himself to his feet, eyes darting to CJ before he cleared his plate and walked out of the room. CJ watched the PR coordinator cross the room to his table, stomach knotting in anticipation.
“CJ,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Margo from PR. You’re up for media right now. Well, you and Delgado.”
“Together?” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, ignoring Rizzo snickering across the table from him.
She nodded and motioned for him to gather his things, foot tapping as he stood and threw the rest of his lunch away.
Margo led him through a maze of hallways to the media room. Cameras and beat writers were already gathered, and Evan sat on one of two stools in front of a bright-teal Barracudas banner, one knee bouncing just a little as he gnawed on the skin around his thumbnail to avoid making eye contact with anyone. When CJ walked in, Evan’s gaze snapped up, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Perfect,” Margo said. “CJ, take the other seat.” When he was settled, she handed both of them microphones. “We’ve got some local papers, a whole bunch of national papers, and a couple of Zoom connections—including your old college paper, so behave.”
She turned to face the crowd of reporters and raised a hand to get their attention. “Good afternoon. We’ve got fifteen minutes with Evan Delgado and CJ Hartman. Keep your questions focused on the upcoming season, the Barracudas, and their history as teammates at Nebraska.”
She paused, her expression sharpening. “And before we get started, let me be perfectly clear and save us all some time. We are not discussing the internet rumors, anonymous sources, message board theories, social media speculation, or anything else that has been discussed or written about since the trade. Anyone who ignores that instruction may find themselves leaving early and having a very difficult discussion about their credentials afterward.”
The room got noticeably quieter, and Margo glanced around the tent, making eye contact with several reporters who shifted in their seats. Then she smiled brightly. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”
A writer from a local paper opened first. “Evan, you’ve been behind the plate here for a while. What was your reaction when you heard the team traded for CJ?”
Evan didn’t look at him, and CJ knew he was focusing on a spot just above the reporter’s head. It was an old trick he’d used since college. “CJ’s had solid seasons in the league. He’s got great reads in right, a strong arm, and he’s consistent at the plate. It’s always good to play with someone who raises the bar.”
Another reporter jumped in. “CJ, you and Evan go way back. Same college team, same draft class. What’s it like reuniting after all these years in different cities?”
