14. Evan #2
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.
Hey, boss, I’d really like to leave the team and be traded to the farthest possible part of the world because I drunkenly confessed that I’m still in love with a guy I dated in college.
Perfect.
The only problem with that plan was the GM and how much he seemed to hate Matt.
Shaking his head, Evan shut the water off and leaned back against the shower wall.
For a moment, he just stood there letting the water drip off his body.
Then he reached for the towel hanging beside the shower, scrubbing it through his hair before pushing the damp curls back so they could fall in his eyes again.
Evan stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbing another to rub the rest of the water from his chest and arms, thankful he couldn’t see his reflection in the steamed-up mirror.
Mirrors didn’t lie, and he was pretty sure he looked like he’d been hit by a truck.
Red eyes, hair damp and sticking up in places from being rubbed with a towel. He didn’t need to see it.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He dropped the towel onto the counter and dragged a clean T-shirt over his head before he padded barefoot down the hall.
The apartment was too quiet when he made his way into the living room.
A day off meant no schedule to hide inside.
No practice, no meetings, no clubhouse noise to drown out his thoughts.
He wandered into the kitchen and started the single-serve coffeemaker, leaning against the counter while it brewed.
The routine act helped distract him, but it didn’t stop the replay of last night running through his head.
Evan kept seeing the look on CJ’s face when he’d spoken, kept remembering how CJ hadn’t laughed or pulled away.
But he couldn’t make it make sense. CJ should have run.
That’s what he did. But he hadn’t, and Evan didn’t know what that meant.
He rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest, trying to press down the restless energy building inside him.
By midmorning, Evan had cleaned the kitchen, reorganized the cabinets, then put everything back the way it was, and vacuumed the living room.
Twice. He checked his phone for a text he knew wouldn’t come, but it still bothered him when there wasn’t a notification waiting.
It made sense, of course, but Evan was still bothered that CJ hadn’t reached out.
When early afternoon rolled around, Evan was ready to crawl out of his skin, so he shoved his phone into his pocket, pulled on some sneakers, and went for a run.
He didn’t need to dig too deep to figure out why he chose to take the stairs down fourteen flights instead of walking past CJ’s door to get the elevator.
The ocean breeze hit him the moment he stepped outside, and he paused for a moment, lifting his face toward the sunlight and letting the warmth spread across his skin.
This was the version of California people imagined when they talked about living here. Endless blue sky, palm trees shifting lazily in the breeze, and air warm enough that it felt like summer even when it technically wasn’t.
Evan stretched just enough so he wouldn’t regret it later before heading across Pacific Highway toward the bay.
When he reached North Harbor Drive, he lengthened his stride and pushed harder, settling into a pace that made his lungs burn.
The steady slap of his shoes against the pavement began to drown out the noise in his head, and he ran until the ache in his chest came from exertion instead of memory.
By the time he circled back toward his building, sweat clung to his shirt and the restless energy that had been buzzing under his skin all morning had finally dulled to something manageable.
Back upstairs, he showered again quickly, then pulled on clean clothes and collapsed on the couch with his phone in his hand.
After a moment, he thumbed the screen on and scrolled through the notifications he’d ignored on his run.
Still nothing from CJ. Evan exhaled slowly through his nostrils and tipped his head back against the cushion to stare at the ceiling.
It wasn’t like he’d expected CJ to reach out.
Honestly, the logical outcome of the previous night’s shitshow was silence.
It was a pattern they were both very good at maintaining.
Still, this time, the quiet seemed to weigh more than it had other times.
Part of him had hoped—stupidly, apparently—that CJ might text.
Even something small like hey or you good? Instead, there was nothing.
Evan rubbed a hand over his chest, the dull ache returning now that the adrenaline from his run had faded.
Maybe CJ had heard everything Evan said and decided it was easier to keep the past exactly where it was. Maybe that was the message.
Evan let his phone fall to the couch beside him and closed his eyes. He hadn’t expected to hear from CJ, but that didn’t stop the silence from disappointing him anyway.