13. Cj #2
He checked the time on his phone and exhaled slowly.
He could tell from the blue-gray light coming through his windows that it was still early evening, which meant there were too many hours left to sit alone with his thoughts.
The nap had never been part of the plan, but after the game, he’d run into Rizzo outside his building, and he’d sat with him in the sun, half- listening to one of Rizzo’s endless stories.
By the time they’d gone their separate ways, the energy that had carried him through nine innings had disappeared.
He’d gone up to his apartment, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on his bed for what he thought would be a few minutes.
Rizzo
Couple of us are grabbing food and drinks if you’re not already asleep like a grandpa.
Rizzo
It’s still early. You better say yes.
CJ stared at the screen. Going out would be an easy way to get out of his own head, and he could already picture the scene: Rizzo planted somewhere loud, halfway through a story that kept getting bigger every time he told it, with a few of their teammates orbiting around him.
Rizzo had a way of collecting people, especially the new guys and the ones still trying to figure out where they fit.
CJ wouldn’t be surprised if half the rookies who’d made the roster out of camp were already there.
There was a strange, restless energy running through the team right now.
The season wasn’t even a month old, and everyone was immersed in that early stretch where adrenaline was more common than fatigue.
The long grind hadn’t caught up to them yet, but CJ could feel the anticipation of it just beneath his skin.
He’d seen guys get impulsive during these early weeks, and it rarely ended well.
Maybe a night out would burn some of that off.
Normally, CJ would have talked himself out of it.
He would have typed back an excuse and then turned off his phone so he didn’t have to face Rizzo’s disappointment.
He would tell himself that staying home to ice the ankle he’d rolled earlier in the week and getting ahead on sleep was the responsible choice.
But, if he were honest, he was tired of sitting alone with his thoughts. Before he could give himself time to reconsider, he started typing.
CJ
Where?
Rizzo
Thank God
5th Ave in the Gaslamp Quarter. I think it’s called the Drunk Seagull or something. There’s a couple of guys already here. You walking or ubering?
CJ stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen.
Fifth Ave in the Gaslamp Quarter. He had no idea where that was.
Rizzo must have remembered that because he texted the address a beat later.
CJ opened it in his phone’s map, and the route lit up in blue, stretching farther than he’d expected.
Too far to walk, especially with his ankle still tight, and he wasn’t going to drive if he would be drinking.
CJ
Ubering. I’ll be there eventually.
He pushed himself off the counter where he’d been leaning and headed back to his bedroom.
Eventually gave 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 his eyes 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 read Tipsy 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, his thumb 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.