Evan leaned in and, for one suspended second, it looked like CJ might not move. His eyes widened slightly, and his breath caught as Evan’s face drew closer. Then CJ turned his head, and the kiss landed against the corner of his mouth instead of where Evan had aimed. CJ’s hand came up between them immediately, not shoving Evan away, but pressing firmly enough to stop him from trying again.
“No,” CJ said softly.
Evan blinked, confused for half a heartbeat. “What?”
CJ’s voice stayed steady, even as he shifted away. “No.”
“You didn’t even?—”
“You’re drunk,” CJ said.
Evan frowned. “So what? That’s not a reason?—”
“It is,” CJ interrupted. “And we’re not doing this right now. Not like this. Not when you’re drunk.”
Evan stared at him and leaned back against the couch as CJ stood and started toward the door.
“I should go.”
Something inside Evan snapped. “Oh, now you should go?”
CJ paused. “Evan?—”
“Yeah, no. You’re right,” Evan said, standing abruptly. The movement made the room tilt again, but he forced himself to stay steady. “You should go.”
CJ stared at him but didn’t move.
“Get out,” Evan said. His voice was quieter, but he saw CJ flinch at the sharpness.
“Evan.”
“I said get out.”
CJ stared at him for a moment, but Evan held his ground. He didn’t look away, and he didn’t take his words back. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable, but that had become a familiar feeling. Finally, CJ gave a small nod and turned toward the door. He crossed the room and stopped with his hand on the knob. For a second, he just stood there.
“Drink more water,” he said quietly, not looking back. “And get some sleep.”
Evan didn’t answer as the door opened and closed with a soft click. The quiet that followed settled heavily around him, and Evan stayed where he was, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. His chest tightened and he took a slow breath to loosen it. He was drunk, but even through the brain fog, he was pretty sure there was no version of the night where he got the last ten minutes back.
The next morning was worse.He was hungover, but he could manage that. What he couldn’t handle were the memories of the previous night. Every word he’d said to CJ came back in sharp, humiliating fragments as Evan stood under the shower, water pounding against the back of his neck.
I thought I could stop loving you.
Jesus Christ. Seven years of distance, seven years of silence, and that was what had come out of his mouth. Evan braced both hands against the shower wall and lowered his head, letting the spray hammer his shoulders. Water ran into his eyes and down his face, but it did nothing to stop the replay running through his head.
I thought I could stop loving you.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing about last night had resembled the self-control he’d spent years building his reputation on. He’d blown straight through the calm and the discipline that made him dependable on the field and untouchable everywhere else. And then— Jesus. He groaned under his breath.
He’d tried to kiss CJ. The memory was accompanied by fresh humiliation and a wave of nausea as his stomach turned. Evan dropped his forehead against the tile and let out a rough laugh that held absolutely no humor.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He drew his arm back and thumped his fist once against the wall with just enough force to draw his attention off the frustration buzzing under his skin.
Maybe he should just request a trade to fucking Timbuktu. Did they play baseball in Timbuktu? It didn’t matter. Matt was a good agent. A very good agent. If anyone could talk a front office into something ridiculous, it was him. Evan could already picture the phone call: calm and practical, with a list of reasonable explanations about fit and roster dynamics and career trajectory.
Evan pushed himself upright under the water and scrubbed a hand over his face. Yeah, that conversation would go over great.
