12. Evan
EVAN
Spring training ended the 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 keep a 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 doppelg?nger.
Because there was 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.”
The elevator climbed unforgivably slowly.
“When did you move in here?” Evan asked. The question slipped out before he could filter it, and he regretted it immediately.
CJ didn’t seem to notice. “Player services hooked me up with a Realtor who found it for me before I moved from Chicago,” he said. “It was close to the park, and they had an available unit.” He glanced sideways at Evan and leaned back against the side wall. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
Evan nodded. He believed him. “Right,” he said. “Makes sense.”
The elevator continued to climb and the silence between them stretched. Evan became acutely aware of everything at once: the hum of the motor, the glare of the lights, the faint scent of citrus and teakwood that he’d only ever smelled on CJ.
“So, this is going to be…” CJ trailed off and shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.
“Interesting,” Evan offered.
CJ huffed a quiet laugh that was more nerves than amusement. “Yeah. That.”
The elevator passed the tenth floor, then the eleventh.
Evan stared at the digital numbers like they might save him.
CJ shifted his weight as the display changed to twelve, then thirteen, before finally slowing and stopping at fourteen.
The chime sounded, too loudly, and the doors slid open.
They stepped out together, and Evan took two steps toward his apartment before realizing CJ was walking in the same direction.
It took three more before he let himself understand what was happening.
CJ stopped at a door three down from his, and Evan stopped too, staring in disbelief. “This is you?”
CJ nodded, and Evan’s heart thudded. The distance he’d been counting on, the buffer of space that he needed, had been obliterated in the span of an elevator ride and a handful of steps.
CJ looked at him then, really looked, like he was attempting to read what Evan was trying to keep off his face. “I really didn’t know you lived here, Evan.”
Evan snorted softly. “I know.” He didn’t trust himself to say more.
“Okay, well,” CJ said after a beat. He looked down at the keys in his hand. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” Evan said.
He made his feet move toward his own apartment, taking the last few steps in a daze.
He dug his key fob out of his pocket and pressed it against the reader beside the door.
After the soft beep and the click of the lock disengaging, he pushed the door open.
The familiar sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway.
For a second, he just stood there in the doorway, staring into the dark apartment, then he looked back.
CJ was still standing there, keys hanging loosely from his fingers, watching him carefully.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
CJ gave him a small, uncertain nod, and Evan returned it, just as restrained.
Then Evan stepped inside and shut the door, leaning his forehead briefly against the wood as the lock clicked into place.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Opening day came and went in a blur that Evan barely remembered.
The ceremony of the event helped. The noise helped.
Forty thousand people standing and cheering had a way of drowning out everything else, at least temporarily.
Games demanded his full attention in a way nothing else did.
Pitch sequencing. Keeping the pitcher calm. Keeping himself calm.
They split the first series: two wins, two losses.
Not a great start but not a bad one either.
By the end of it, Evan felt wrung out in a way that had nothing to do with the games.
He’d hoped the rhythm would take over once the season started and the days were filled with video sessions, travel schedules, and the familiar grind.
He’d hoped CJ would fade into the background where he belonged.
Someone Evan saw across the field, nodded to, and filed away as manageable.
But that wasn’t what happened. If anything, the season made it worse because there was no escaping CJ at all.
He was there on the field, directly in Evan’s line of sight in the outfield.
He was there in the clubhouse, where CJ had been given a stall directly opposite Evan’s, making avoidance impossible.
And he was there in the apartment building, where they ran into each other in the lobby while checking mail or grabbing food delivery.
Or in the garage after practice or a game, sometimes late at night when both of them were quiet and tired and hyperaware of the other’s presence.
The chance encounters started to stack up until Evan stopped believing they were accidental and started believing someone had placed a curse on him.
Once Evan opened his door to find CJ on his knees in front of his door, a can of WD-40 in one hand as he muttered under his breath about a squeaky hinge.
He froze, hand still on the knob, his brain short-circuiting in a way that had nothing to do with surprise.
It was the picture before him, of CJ on his knees, shoulders flexed and forearms taut as he leaned forward, head bowed in concentration.
The sight slid somewhere it absolutely did not belong, sparking thoughts Evan had no business having and bringing up memories he’d spent years locking down.
He’d forced his eyes up and dragged his attention back to reality, but the damage had already been done. CJ had always looked unfairly good on his knees, and Evan’s chest tightened with emotions that were sharp and aching and deeply unhelpful.