11. Cj #2
Rizzo kept the conversation light, and for the first twenty minutes, it was…
nice. Nice enough that CJ fully relaxed and began to enjoy himself.
Rizzo bounced between stories from his minor league days and chaotic observations about their teammates that were somehow both outrageous and perfectly accurate.
CJ found himself laughing—actual laughter and not the hollow, automatic kind he’d been forcing for the last few weeks.
It felt foreign, but not bad. CJ started to believe Rizzo really had dragged him out just for company.
He should have known better. He did know better, and he fell for it anyway. Halfway through demolishing his fourth birria taco, Rizzo set down his food and cleared his throat.
“Okay,” he said, wiping his mouth and fingers on a napkin. “Now that you’re buttered up with tacos, I’m gonna say something. And if I’m wrong—which I’m not—you’re allowed to throw the rest of the salsa in my face.”
CJ groaned. “Please don’t.”
“I think there’s more going on between you and Evan than just being reunited college teammates.”
CJ set down his taco carefully because if he didn’t, he was probably going to throw it. “What makes you think something is going on?”
“Bud,” Rizzo said, leaning forward with a sympathetic expression. “You two walk around like magnets flipped to repel each other. You get within five feet of each other? Boom. Repulsion.”
“That is definitely not happening,” CJ scoffed.
“It really is,” Rizzo insisted. “Plus, every time your name comes up, Evan’s jaw twitches.
And you. Don’t even get me started. If you get any stiffer around him or when his name comes up, I’ll need to check for a pulse.
” Very deliberately, Rizzo dropped his gaze to where CJ was gripping the table, knuckles white.
With effort, CJ unclenched his fingers. “Please just drop this.”
“Okay,” Rizzo said. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “But tell me everything first.”
“No,” CJ said.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“There is literally nothing to tell.”
Rizzo narrowed his eyes. “CJ.”
CJ took a slow drink of his beer. “Dominic.”
Rizzo sat back and pointed at him. “That’s the face of a man lying through his teeth.”
“I’m not—”
“You flinch whenever I mention Delgado’s name.
You flinch when he walks onto the field.
And you flinched forty minutes ago when you asked the server if this place had the beer you’re drinking because it’s Delgado’s favorite, and you know I know that, and you wondered if I’d notice.
” He ticked each item off on his fingers and lowered his voice. “Guess what? I noticed.”
“What? No,” CJ protested. “I like this beer.”
“Do you?” Rizzo looked skeptical. “You make a face every time you take a sip.”
“I…” CJ trailed off and thought about it. “Wait, stop. Yes, I like this beer. Stop trying to confuse me.”
Rizzo lifted his palms in a motion of surrender. “Listen, I’m not saying anything, and I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”
“Then why do you keep bringing him up?” CJ hissed at him.
“Because,” Rizzo said gently—fucking gently, the asshole. “I think you could use someone to talk to.”
CJ dropped his head and tried to remember how to breathe. A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, and he heard Rizzo’s voice, low and measured.
“Take a deep breath, CJ.” Rizzo inhaled and exhaled slowly, gesturing for CJ to do the same. When he was breathing normally again, Rizzo continued, “I’m not going to spill whatever secret I think I know. And I’m not judging you. At all. I just want you to know you have someone on your side.”
Rizzo took a long drink from his beer when CJ remained silent, draining the glass before clearing his throat. “Okay, listen. I’m gonna tell you something, and you’re not allowed to make it weird.”
CJ blinked at him. “I’m not the one making things weird right now.”
“Yeah, but you have a talent for it,” Rizzo said solemnly. “A gift, even.”
“For what?” CJ wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“For panicking about feelings.”
CJ scowled. “I don’t panic.”
“You do. You panic by pretending you’re not panicking,” Rizzo explained. “That’s almost worse. It’s like emotional fraud.”
CJ stared at him in awe. “Are these words you’re saying real?”
“Shh,” Rizzo said, with an imperious wave. “I’m being vulnerable.”
CJ stayed silent and watched as Rizzo inhaled slowly, the kind of breath you take before stepping off a cliff. “Okay so…I’m going to tell you something I don’t tell a lot of guys. Not because I’m ashamed, but because people can be assholes.”
CJ’s throat suddenly felt dry and he took a sip of his beer. “Okay…”
Rizzo traced a ring of condensation with his thumb, eyes on the table. When he spoke, his voice was deliberately casual. “When I was in the minors, down in Double-A, I had…a thing with someone. A teammate.”
CJ’s brain stopped. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”
Rizzo nodded. “It wasn’t serious, but it was real. And it was good for a little while. Until it wasn’t.”
CJ stared at him. “I— I didn’t know you were…”
“Bi,” Rizzo supplied.
“Yeah, that.” CJ swallowed the rest of his beer. “That’s great.” He caught their server’s attention and signaled for another round for both of them.
“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.