“Sure is.” Rizzo watched him carefully. A beat passed before he continued. “It’s not a big secret, you know? But it’s not something I shout from the rooftops either. My family and best friends know. Some guys in the minors knew. A couple of guys here might’ve figured it out. It’s not— I don’t know. It’s just not the thing I lead with. Again, I’m not ashamed. And I’m not…closeted. I’m just selective about who gets the information.”
“Makes sense.”
CJ nodded slowly. He didn’t know what else to say. CJ hadn’t thought Rizzo was the kind of guy who’d share emotional truths, but CJ was beginning to understand that Rizzo hid a lot behind acting like a chaos gremlin powered by sugar and serotonin.
“Thanks for telling me,” CJ finally said. “But…why did you?”
Their drinks arrived, and Rizzo smiled at the server, then waited for him to leave before answering CJ. “Because you think you’re the only one who’s ever had complicated feelings for someone on your team.”
CJ drank half his beer in three large swallows. “So, uh, what happened?”
“It ended when the team moved him up. And because he wanted to go public, and I wasn’t ready.” Rizzo looked at him. “I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Everything,” Rizzo said honestly. “Losing my spot. Losing my reputation. Losing my friends. Losing him.”
CJ’s chest tightened. “Did you? Lose him?”
“We stayed friends. Mostly. But it sucked.” Rizzo shrugged. “And I got over it. Mostly. But the point is: you’re not as alone as you think.”
CJ didn’t know what to do with the sudden pressure in his chest. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m tired of watching you try to shove yourself into a box you clearly don’t fit in,” Rizzo said.
CJ didn’t know what to say to that, and he looked down into his glass to avoid Rizzo’s gaze. “Oh,” he said finally.
“See?” Rizzo said, picking up his taco again like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on CJ’s day. “That wasn’t so scary.”
“Right.” CJ nodded, eyes fixed on his glass, and let the moment pass in silence. He wasn’t as sure as Rizzo about the conversation not being scary. But the idea of carefully scrutinizing their conversation to unravel whatever thread Rizzo had just pulled made his chest tighten in a way that felt dangerously close to panic.
For now, not knowing still felt safer than believing he was allowed to want the one thing he always thought would cost him everything.
12
EVAN
Spring training endedthe way it always did, with the last exhibition game bleeding into preparations to return to San Diego. One day there were too many bodies crowding the training rooms, too many voices and conversations overlapping in the clubhouse. The next, lockers had been emptied, nameplates had disappeared, and the chosen players were giving awkward half-hugs to the guys who were pretending that getting cut and being sent back to Triple-A didn’t hurt. All of them were already looking forward to opening day, even while they braced for the grind that came with it. Evan told himself he was ready for it. Grounded and focused on what was important.
He told himself a lot of things.
The flight back to San Diego was mercifully uneventful. Around him, the team chattered about the upcoming home opener, a four-game stand against San Francisco. No one noticed when he slid his headphones on, creating a physical boundary he didn’t have to explain. He knew without looking that CJ was four rows back on his right, sitting in the aisle seat with Rizzo next to him at the window. During the last few weeks of camp, he and CJ had figured out how to keepa careful distance between them. Unless they had to do media together, they performed an awkward choreography of staying on opposite sides of rooms and greeting each other with polite nods.
It had mostly worked. He stared out the window as desert gave way to coastline, pretending the tightness in his chest had nothing to do with CJ. It was just the season ahead, or the pressure, or the responsibility that came with being the catcher everyone relied on. He knew the coaches were counting on him to provide the kind of quiet leadership that didn’t leave room for mistakes or feelings that caused distractions.
They arrived in San Diego to the comfort of sun, salt, and familiar routines. Evan drove straight from the airport to his apartment building, rolling down the windows as he passed the bay, the wind cutting through the stale air of his car. He pulled into the garage beneath his building, eased into his assigned spot, and cut the engine. The sudden quiet pressed in, heavy and disorienting, and Evan stepped out of his car before it had a chance to become suffocating. He grabbed his bags and crossed over to the elevator, hitting the button with more force than necessary.
When the doors slid open, Evan stepped inside, pressed the button for his floor, and slumped against the back wall as the car began its ascent. They had two nights and one full day before opening day, and Evan hoped it would be enough time. No matter what he did, his body always lagged behind his mind on these turnarounds at the beginning, a step behind the pace the season would demand. He rubbed the knot at the base of his neck as the elevator hummed upward, eyes opening as the car slowed and the doors opened at the lobby.
For half a second, Evan didn’t understand what he was seeing. His brain offered up explanations that made more sense: a mirage, a trick of exhaustion, a doppelgänger. Because therewas no chance that CJ was standing in the lobby of Evan’s apartment building, waiting for the elevator like he belonged here. Then CJ turned, and Evan’s stomach dropped.
“Oh,” CJ said. Surprise flickered across his face in a way that was unmistakably genuine. “You live here?”
“Yeah,” Evan said, his voice flat even though his heart had started thudding.
CJ hesitated, hand tightening on the strap of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Evan’s eyes betrayed him, dropping to the flex of CJ’s fingers where they clenched against the unfairly impressive span of his chest. Evan forced himself to look up as CJ stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut behind him, sealing them together in a space that was suddenly too small.
CJ turned toward the panel as the elevator started to move, then paused with his finger hovering in front of an already lit button. His eyes flicked to Evan. “You’re on fourteen.” It wasn’t a question, but Evan nodded anyway. “So am I.” CJ frowned, and a deep thought line creased the space between his eyebrows. “Huh.”
