CJ
Ubering. I’ll be there eventually.
He pushed himself off the counter where he’d been leaning and headed back to his bedroom.Eventuallygave him a minute to breathe. In his bathroom, he splashed water on his face and ran his damp hands through his hair to smooth it down. He tried to roll the stiffness out of his shoulders, and when he raised hiseyes to the mirror, his reflection revealed an expression that was between restless and resigned.
“Fucking stop,” he admonished himself.
Tomorrow was a full day off, with no early alarms or mandatory anything. Tonight didn’t have to be quiet, and CJ was looking forward to the noise drowning out the memories he couldn’t shake. He changed into jeans and a clean T-shirt, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and headed for the front door. The rideshare app was already open on his phone, and he ordered a car before he could change his mind, grabbed his keys, and headed out to forget.
Outside, the warm air settled against his skin and the city felt awake in a way his apartment hadn’t. Sidewalk patios were already crowded with people leaning close over small tables, glasses clinking as laughter spilled into the street. His ride pulled up, and CJ paused for a moment to take it all in before he climbed in. The noise cut off the moment he closed the door, and as the car merged back into traffic, CJ leaned his head against the window. The streets were a blur as they sped through unfamiliar intersections, and CJ couldn’t help but wonder if San Diego would ever start to feel familiar.
He knew it would. Chicago had been like that at first too, but he’d learned its rhythm, just like he would in California. Someday, he would have a favorite restaurant and know what bars he could go to where no one would care what his batting average was and whether he should have made that catch he missed in a game.
The car slowed and pulled up outside a pale-yellow building that took up an entire corner and looked like it belonged on a postcard. CJ checked the address on his phone, then slipped out onto the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” he said automatically, closing the door behind him before the car drove off.
He stood there for a moment, taking in the glow of light spilling out through the open doors and the low hum of music drifting onto the sidewalk. The swinging signs on either side of the building readTipsy Crow,and CJ rolled his eyes at Rizzo having called it the “Drunk Seagull.”
He glanced once more at the street behind him and contemplated changing his mind before he squared his shoulders and headed inside.
Rizzo was impossible to miss. He was already planted at the bar when CJ walked in, one foot hooked around the rung of his stool and his body angled outward like he owned the place. He was mid-story, hands flying as he talked, and the bartender was laughing like this was a familiar routine. It probably was.
Rizzo spotted CJ immediately and raised his arms in exaggerated triumph. “There he is! The man, the myth, the legend!”
CJ shook his head as he made his way over, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. “You act like you didn’t see me a few hours ago.”
Rizzo hopped off his stool just long enough to clap a hand on CJ’s shoulder. “Emotionally, it feels like days,” he said. He gestured toward the bar. “Get a drink and follow me. The others are in the back, but I was waiting for you. Tonight? We drink and regret nothing.”
CJ was pretty sure that wasn’t how regret worked, but he didn’t bother arguing the point as he took a moment to scan the chalkboard menu of beers on tap. There were names he didn’t recognize, and the bartender in front of him raised an eyebrow in a silent question before he could decide.
“Beer,” Rizzo said decisively, clapping CJ on the shoulder. “The normal kind. He’s not fancy.”
CJ let out a short laugh. “You don’t know that.” He leaned over the bar. “Lager,” he told the bartender, nodding once toward the tap.
The bartender smiled and turned away, already pulling the handle.
Rizzo shook his head in mock disappointment. “You chose a fancy one just to prove me wrong.”
CJ rolled his eyes as the glass slid across the counter toward him. “This is literally the least fancy option on the menu.”
Rizzo was already moving. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder. “We commandeered a couple of tables.”
Rizzo flowed through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who assumed people would move out of his way. To be fair, they mostly did. Bodies shifted and conversations paused just long enough to make space for Rizzo to thread his way through.
For a Tuesday night, the place was unexpectedly packed and the room was loud enough that individual conversations blurred together into a steady wall of sound. Someone laughed loudly in CJ’s ear as he slipped past, the burst of noise close enough to make him flinch. He had to stop short to avoid colliding with a server weaving through the crowd with a tray balanced impossibly high over her head.
Normally, this kind of noise would have made his skin prickle and the sheer volume would have him tightening his shoulders while he looked for the nearest exit. But tonight, it didn’t bother him. The sound pressed in from all sides, but he welcomed the way it drowned out the constant churn of his thoughts, giving him no option but to follow Rizzo through the crowd and stay in the moment.
They reached a pair of high-top tables tucked against the back wall, already crowded with familiar faces. CJ slid into the open chair Rizzo nudged toward him and set his beer down, histhumb tracing absent circles through the condensation while he tried to catch the thread of whatever story they’d walked into.
Across from him sat Noah Vincent and Chase Myers, familiar from three months of shared space, even if CJ hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know them beyond that.
Noah, the backup catcher, leaned back in his chair with the same steady, unhurried posture he carried through the clubhouse. He never said much, but CJ was pretty sure he was aware of more than he let on.
Chase sat beside him, a rookie infielder who had lost the wide-eyed uncertainty he’d carried through camp. A month into the regular season, the repetition of the routine had tempered his restless energy. He still moved quick and talked faster, but it no longer felt like he was trying to prove he belonged. CJ was pretty sure that the ten home runs the rookie had already hit this season had gone a long way toward helping calm him.
Next to Chase, Mason Keller stared into the drink he held loosely in both hands. Mason looked more worn than he should this early in the season, when it hadn’t been long enough for the grind to catch up with anyone yet. But the heaviness in his shoulders suggested it was something else, and CJ thought about the rumblings he’d heard in the clubhouse.
