21. CJ
CJ
CJ found the cabin a little after two in the morning, after Evan had left him wrung out and boneless, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom while he tried to remember how to breathe.
They’d ended up in Evan’s bed after a quick kiss while washing dishes turned into neither of them being able to stop.
By the time they were finished, the sheets were twisted and pillows had been thrown to the floor, and Evan was lying half across him with his eyes closed and his heart pounding beneath CJ’s palm.
In the satisfied silence that came afterward, CJ’s only thought had been that he should probably sleep.
Except, then Evan had turned his head and kissed his chest. “You still awake?” he’d murmured.
“Barely.”
“Good.” Then he’d kissed CJ again, slowly and deeply, and sleep had become impossible for several reasons.
Eventually Evan had fallen asleep, but CJ hadn’t been able to turn his brain off, which was how he’d found himself wide awake at two in the morning, laptop balanced on his knees as he searched for the perfect place.
Some were too modern and looked designed for people who wanted to say they’d gone to a cabin without actually going to a cabin.
Some were too rustic, with antlers and plaid furniture, and the sense that running water might not be consistent.
There had been one that was a possibility, but it didn’t have the air-conditioning Evan requested.
It did have a taxidermized bear wearing sunglasses beside the front door, though, and CJ stared at that one for a full minute.
“Tempting,” he whispered with a small snicker. Then he closed the tab.
That’s when he found it. A cedar-sided cabin tucked into the hills outside Idyllwild, set back from the road and surrounded by pines.
There were large windows and a stone chimney that led to a stone fireplace in the living room.
The cabin’s kitchen had been recently renovated, which was important because Evan liked to cook and CJ liked to watch him.
Two bedrooms to keep up appearances and a hot tub because Evan in swim trunks—or nothing at all, hopefully—was important too.
As he’d done with every other promising listing, CJ tried to imagine Evan there, and it was too easy to see with this house.
Evan barefoot in the kitchen making coffee.
Or on the deck in the early morning, hair a mess from sleep, wearing one of CJ’s hoodies and wrapped in a blanket.
The fact that it was available for the days they needed it felt like it meant something, so CJ booked it before he could think his way out of it.
The confirmation email hit his inbox within minutes, and CJ exhaled.
Now they just needed to make it through the next week.
Seven straight games and the grind that went with them, but at least they were all at home.
The official reasons were released by the team in a statement just before ten in the morning, three days after the full All-Star rosters were announced.
The San Diego Barracudas announced today that catcher Evan Delgado will not participate in this year’s All-Star Game due to knee inflammation.
Outfielder Chris Hartman has also withdrawn as a precaution because of mild oblique tightness.
Both players are expected to return to the active roster following the All-Star break.
He stood barefoot in his kitchen, reading the announcement on his phone while waiting for the toaster to pop. Evan’s was respectable and almost expected from a man who had spent the last three and a half months squatting. He read his again and scowled.
“Why are you scowling?”
“I’m reading the statement,” CJ replied without looking at Evan. “You sound all noble and shit, like you’re taking time off for the good of the team. I sound like I sneezed wrong.”
Evan chuckled, and CJ looked up at the sound.
Whatever he was going to say died on his tongue at the sight before him.
Evan stood at the stove in a pair of baby-blue boxer briefs, working a spatula through a frying pan full of scrambled eggs, and for a moment, CJ forgot how to speak.
Morning light poured through the window and spilled across Evan’s back, over the broad line of his shoulders, down to where his waist tapered slightly, before cutting off at the top of his thick thighs.
Those legs had spent a lifetime squatting behind home plate, and CJ swallowed hard as he remembered how they had felt wrapped around him the night before.
If someone had asked him what was happening in the room, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them. His attention had narrowed entirely to the view in front of him and his gaze followed helplessly as Evan shifted his weight to reach for the pepper grinder.
Good Lord.
He was a full-grown adult. A professional athlete who had been surviving independently since he was nineteen.
He’d played in sold-out stadiums and survived postseason pressure.
And here he was, leaning against the island in his kitchen, completely undone by a pair of boxer briefs and the shape of Evan Delgado’s ass.
“You’re burning the toast.”
CJ blinked. “What?”
“The toast,” Evan said without turning around. “It’s burning.”
CJ twisted toward the toaster and cursed before manually making it pop. Two slices had already passed golden brown and were well on their way to charred, and he huffed as he grabbed them and threw them in the trash. He’d just started two new slices when Evan finally glanced over his shoulder.
“They wouldn’t have burned if you’d been paying attention to the toaster instead of staring at my ass.” Evan smirked and turned his attention back to the eggs.
“They wouldn’t have burned if I’d just gotten a new toaster like I’ve been meaning to do.” CJ narrowed his eyes. “And I wasn’t staring at your ass.”
“What were you doing then?”
CJ slid onto one of the stools at the island. “I was appreciating the view.”
“That’s what I thought.”
CJ eyed the toaster. “In my defense, you decided to cook breakfast wearing almost nothing. I don’t know what you thought I would do.”
He popped the toast and added it to the plates Evan placed in front of him. He lingered for half a second, until CJ looked up at him.
“If you keep staring,” Evan said quietly. “You’re cleaning the kitchen.”
CJ smiled. “Worth it.”
Evan shook his head and slid onto the stool next to him. CJ waited until Evan picked up his fork, then he leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. Evan didn’t look at him, but one corner of his mouth curved.
“Eat,” he said.
CJ did, but he spent the first few bites distracted by the press of Evan’s thigh against his under the island. He bumped his knee gently against Evan’s and didn’t bother hiding his smile when Evan bumped him back.
“You know what I like best about this trip?” He set his fork down and turned halfway toward Evan.
“The trip we haven’t left on yet?”
“Details.” CJ rolled his eyes. “You’re so literal.”
Evan reached for his coffee mug and smiled. “What do you like most?”
“This.” CJ gestured between them. “The before part. Talking about what we’re going to do and whether or not you’re going to hike with me.”
“I’m not,” Evan said automatically.
CJ continued as if Evan hadn’t spoken, “I like knowing we’re going somewhere together.”
Evan stayed quiet, and CJ immediately wondered if he’d said too much. Then Evan set his mug down and used his knee until the stool turned and they were facing each other fully.
“I like this part too,” he said.
CJ couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, and he set his hand palm up on the counter without thinking.
Evan looked at it for half a second before placing his own hand in CJ’s and threading their fingers together.
CJ closed his grip carefully and knew, with startling certainty, that he would carry the memory of this morning longer than any other important moment in his life.
They had an early-afternoon game the day before the All-Star break started, which meant the clubhouse was filled with the kind of restless energy that always came with a short stretch of freedom.
Around them, guys talked openly about flights, beaches, and doing absolutely nothing for four straight days.
Every conversation seemed to include some version of just get through the day.
CJ understood the feeling.
They won in the tenth inning on a walk-off single from Noah, which sent forty thousand people into a frenzy and delayed CJ’s plans by another twenty minutes of celebration, interviews, and handshakes.
He smiled through all of it. He was genuinely happy to win, but he was also silently begging everyone to leave him alone.
By the time he reached the clubhouse, half the team was already gone and those still there were changing at record speed. The room was missing the usual post-game chaos—no loud music, no one shouting conversations in the showers—just a hectic quiet from guys who were already mentally checked out.
Rizzo was at his locker fully dressed, running a hand through still-damp hair while he checked his phone.
“You leaving for the festivities from here?” CJ asked as he dropped onto the bench at his own locker.
Rizzo nodded and slid his phone into his pocket. “Yeah, just waiting for my ride to get here.”
He said it with his usual swagger, but something in the delivery was just a little too casual and polished.
When Rizzo looked up, his grin was in place, but there was a thread of nerves underneath it that most people would miss completely.
But most people hadn’t spent as much time with Rizzo as CJ had.
Rizzo carried himself like a veteran, like he’d been in the league for years, when he’d actually been called up in the middle of last season and never sent back down. He wore his confidence like a well-tailored suit, and most days, it fit well enough that no one thought to look any deeper.
But this was different. This was Rizzo’s first All-Star selection and the media circus he faced after games wouldn’t compare to what he would face at the All-Star Game. He’d be in a room full of players he’d spent his teen years watching. Of course he cared more than he would admit.
CJ leaned back into his locker stall and stretched his legs out. “You nervous?”
Rizzo scoffed. “About what?”
“Come on.” CJ tipped his head. “You’ve checked your phone six times in the last two minutes.”
“That’s because people love me.”
“Or maybe it’s because you’re anxious.”
Rizzo opened his mouth to deny it, then sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe a little.”
CJ smiled. “That’s normal.”
“I know it’s normal,” Rizzo retorted. “It’s still annoying.”
“You’ll be fine,” CJ said softly, and when he looked over, CJ saw a glimpse of the kid Rizzo tried to hide.
“Yeah?”
CJ nodded. “You’ll charm everyone, say something stupid on live TV, and probably make at least one old baseball writer furious.”
That made Rizzo laugh. “So, a successful trip.”
“It’ll be a banner week for you.”
They were quiet for a moment, and CJ pulled off his shirt
Across the room, Evan was drying his hair after his shower, mostly dressed except for his shirt, and CJ’s attention caught for just a second too long. Rizzo noticed immediately. He straightened slowly and looked from CJ to Evan, then back again.
“So, that’s going well then.”
It wasn’t a question, and CJ didn’t give him a response. Instead, he pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his cleats, and started getting ready to shower.
Rizzo stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Not answering is an answer.”
CJ glanced at him. “You ever think about minding your own business once in a while?”
Rizzo grinned unapologetically. “I would if you ever stopped making things interesting.”
CJ snorted, and Rizzo clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m not messing with you.” He tipped his head to where Evan was now buttoning his shirt and talking to one of the trainers. “You look happier.”
CJ glanced across the room before he could stop himself. Evan laughed at something the trainer said, head tipped slightly back, and CJ had to look away before his face gave away everything.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”
Rizzo smiled. “Good.”
He stayed quiet for longer than CJ expected, then he ruined the moment exactly how CJ thought he would.
“So, are you two doing the break together, or are we still pretending I’m dumb?”
CJ barked a laugh. “You’re not dumb. Just nosy as hell.”
“Answer the question.”
CJ was saved by the sound of a notification indicating Rizzo’s ride had arrived.
Rizzo shouted goodbyes to everyone left in the room before disappearing out of the clubhouse.
CJ shook his head and started toward the showers.
He took the quickest shower he’d ever taken, and when he returned, Evan was sitting at his locker, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as CJ passed and smiled.
“Give me five minutes,” CJ said softly, and Evan nodded and turned back to his phone.
When he was dressed, Evan stood and grabbed his duffel bag, leading the way out of the clubhouse.
CJ followed at an easy pace, pulse picking up the closer they got to the parking lot.
The July heat radiated in waves from the blacktop, but CJ didn’t care.
He tossed his bag into the back of Evan’s SUV, then climbed into the passenger seat while Evan got behind the wheel.
They pulled the doors shut, sealing them in sudden quiet, hidden behind Evan’s darkly tinted windows.
For one suspended moment, neither of them moved, then Evan reached across the console, caught the back of CJ’s neck, and kissed him.
It was brief and firm and a little impatient, like he’d been waiting all day to do it. When he pulled back, CJ blinked at him.
“Well,” he said, just a little breathless. “That feels promising.”
“Seatbelt,” Evan replied, starting the engine.
CJ laughed and clicked it into place, and Evan pulled out of the lot and into San Diego traffic.
In front of them, harbor traffic shimmered and palm trees bent lazily in the breeze.
CJ stared out the windshield, then over at Evan’s profile, calm and focused behind dark sunglasses.
They had a few days in a mountain cabin with no schedules, no cameras, and no one asking anything of them except what they wanted from each other.
He had no idea what came after that. Maybe he didn’t need to know. Evan reached over and rested his hand briefly on CJ’s knee, giving a quick squeeze before returning it to the wheel. It was a small touch that felt like an affirmation.
He had spent years thinking the best parts of life were the loud ones, where no one looked too closely past the wins and the crowds and the moments everyone could see and cheer for. He was starting to think that it might be this instead.