9. Cj #2
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?”
CJ’s mouth tilted wryly. “It’s…a trip. Like you said, we played in college together and then spent a couple of years chasing each other up the ranks of the minors. But I never thought we’d end up in the same clubhouse again.”
“What was it like playing together in college?” This came from a national reporter.
“Anyone who watched college ball back then knows CJ covered half the outfield himself,” Evan said, shifting on his stool. His knee nudged CJ’s thigh with a small, accidental, devastating touch.
“And Evan was such a steadying presence behind the plate. He’s always been able to calm pitchers down and bring their focus back to where it’s needed.” CJ swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.
“And off the field?” The reporter continued before anyone else could jump in. “Were you two close?”
CJ went very still, and Margo took a step toward them, pausing when Evan raised his hand slightly to stop her.
“It’s fine,” he said. He didn’t look at CJ when he said it.
“We were roommates on road trips,” Evan continued. “We spent too many hours in film rooms and batting cages, ate way too much gas station food, pulled all-nighters on buses studying for tests. When you’re trying to get drafted, you latch onto the guys who are grinding just as hard.”
CJ wondered how long he’d had that answer ready.
Someone on Zoom chimed in, voice tinny through computer speakers. “CJ, anything you remember about Evan from those days that still describes him now?”
Too many things, CJ thought.
“He’s stubborn,” CJ said. Next to him, Evan’s head whipped around. “In the way you want your teammates to be. He never quits on a game or a play or a person. He’s the guy you want in your corner if your back’s against the wall.”
Evan’s breath stuttered so quietly that CJ knew no one else noticed, but he couldn’t look at him.
A voice rose from the back of the room. “This is a big narrative online: college teammates, drafted the same year and now reunited as veterans. Is it emotional? Nostalgic? Weird?”
Evan let out a half-laugh. “A little of everything?” He looked at CJ, who nodded in agreement.
“When you’re twenty, you have all these big dreams about making the show and maybe even getting there with your best friend.
Then baseball does what baseball does, and suddenly, you’re on different teams, in different leagues, and all the moving parts make it hard to stay in touch.
And eventually you figure the window’s closed on the dreams you had as a kid.
” He shrugged, knee bouncing faster. “So yeah. It’s surreal.
And it’s not something I’m taking for granted. ”
CJ’s pulse skipped.
“So, no awkwardness?” someone else asked.
CJ shot the guy a look and rolled his eyes. “It’s spring training. Awkwardness is part of the package for everyone.” The rest of the room laughed, and Margo looked relieved as another reporter jumped in.
“One more for Evan. Last season, you spoke about your first year in the league, and you mentioned learning some lessons the hard way. Does that experience change how you see reunions like this? Old teammates now veterans together?”
Evan kept his expression neutral. “I think it makes you appreciate longevity. The fact that we’re both still here, competing at a high level? That’s the part that matters. We took different paths, but we kept showing up. That’s the reunion story.”
Margo clapped her hands together. “And that’s our time. Thank you both.”