Prologue
CJ
If anyone ever asked him, CJ Hartman would say that one of his favorite things was a baseball field at night.
Not during a game when the stands were full and the lights were hot and blinding.
But after, when the crowd had gone home and the world felt small and controlled.
At night, the field held secrets in its cool dirt and grass darkened by shadows from stadium lights still buzzing at half power.
In the quiet, every moment felt heavy and important.
CJ liked that version best.
The bases sat square and silent, and the pitcher’s mound was just a raised bump of clay instead of a battlefield.
A baseball field at night didn’t ask anything from him.
It didn’t measure his swing or clock his velocity.
It didn’t care about draft projections or the scouts in the stands scribbling notes on their clipboards.
Late at night, CJ could stand in right field, in the stretch of grass he’d called home since he was eight years old, with his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket, and he could breathe again.
“Why do we always come out here so late?” Evan Delgado’s voice carried across center field, low and amused.
CJ watched his breath fog in front of him. “Because it’s quiet.”
Evan huffed a laugh. “It would be quiet in the dorm. Warmer too.”
CJ’s mouth twitched. “Different quiet.”
“Different how?”
CJ kept his eyes on the infield. “The dorm quiet isn’t real,” he said finally. “There’s still noise under it. Doors are slamming, guys yelling, somebody’s music through the walls.” He nodded toward the mound. “Out here, it’s just…” CJ trailed off as he gestured vaguely at the stillness around them.
“It’s dirt and grass.”
“It’s not,” CJ corrected. “It’s rules. It’s ninety feet between bases, and three outs, and nothing changes because someone’s in a mood.”
Evan studied him. “You like that it doesn’t change?”
CJ shrugged one shoulder as a cool breeze cut sharply around them. Evan shifted toward him, and without thinking, CJ stepped closer and let Evan’s warmth settle against his side. “I like that it makes sense.”
“Everything doesn’t have to make sense,” Evan murmured. “Sometimes, things just are what they are.”
He was close enough that CJ could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. After a moment, Evan reached out and took CJ’s hand. CJ inhaled sharply and glanced toward the bleachers, then the dugout. Still empty, and he relaxed and let himself look back at Evan as their fingers laced together.
“One day,” Evan said softly as he looked at their hands. “One day, we’re going to do this in October. After the Series. On a field way bigger than this.”
CJ snorted lightly. “You planning our parade already?”
“I am,” Evan answered. “I’ll be the starting catcher, and you’ll be the king of right field. You’ll hit cleanup, and I’m gonna be out there stealing bases. It’s gonna be disgusting how good we are.”
CJ laughed quietly, and Evan closed the small space between them without hesitation, his hand sliding up to the back of CJ’s neck, warm and sure.
“You make it sound so easy,” CJ murmured.
Evan rested his forehead against CJ’s, their breath mingling between them. “It could be.”
Instead of listing the reasons that would never be true, CJ kissed him.
It was meant to be a quick press of lips to cut off the conversation, but Evan leaned into it immediately, one hand firm at CJ’s waist and the other threading into CJ’s hair.
The kiss deepened slowly, and for a second, they forgot to be careful, forgot to kiss without sound, forgot to keep their hands where they could untangle fast if anyone came.
For a moment, CJ forgot the way the world could tilt without warning, and he let himself be just a guy kissing another guy on a baseball field because it felt right.
The scrape of gravel cut through the night a second too late. They broke apart instantly, and CJ stumbled back, his heart slamming against his ribs as every muscle locked up at once. Evan’s hand dropped from his waist, but the space between them still held the shape of what had just happened.
At the edge of the field, frozen mid-step, was Matt Caldwell.
He was a year older, with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind.
He could dismantle a pitcher’s mechanics mid-game and he saw a pattern before anyone else realized there was one.
He wasn’t going to be drafted. His arm wasn’t strong enough and his bat was too quiet, but his mind was relentless and strategic, and he was always three innings ahead of everyone else.
While they were chasing dreams of playing in the big leagues, Matt was studying contracts and learning about arbitration and leverage so he could one day become an agent.
He’d been their teammate first, but somewhere between their freshman and junior years, Matt had become their best friend and the steady center of their small orbit.
But he hadn’t known about this. And now he stood at the edge of the field, looking somewhere between startled and not nearly as surprised as he should have been. For a second, no one moved, then Matt lifted both hands slowly, palms out, like he was trying to calm a skittish animal.
“Hey,” Matt said, voice pitched low and calm. CJ’s throat went dry as Matt’s eyes flicked between them, calculating. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You did,” CJ said flatly.
Matt exhaled, and he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I did.” Silence settled in the space between them as Matt stepped a little closer, just enough that his words wouldn’t carry. “But I’m not going to say anything. Your secret is safe.”
Evan believed him immediately. CJ could see it in the way his shoulders dropped half an inch. Because Matt was the guy you gave the spare key to your apartment, or trusted with your sister. But something shifted inside CJ anyway.
Matt ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t care that you’re together. It actually makes complete sense. But you’re gonna be drafted,” Matt said like there was no question. “Scouts are here every weekend watching you two.”
Evan and CJ exchanged a glance.
He pinned them with sharp eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your relationship, but I can’t tell you it won’t matter.
We all know better.” Matt gestured to the field around them.
“They’re watching everything about you, and front offices don’t like things they can’t control. Do you understand?”
Evan nodded. “Yeah, we get it.”
“You’ve both worked so hard for this,” Matt added quietly. “If this gets out the wrong way, it stops being about your stats and starts being about…this.” Matt motioned between them. “Once that happens, you don’t get to control it.”
Evan exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms. “You want us to hide?”
Matt shook his head. “I want you to be smart. There’s a difference.” He nodded toward the bleachers. “The field, guys? Really? Not smart. There are cameras, there’s campus security, and random insomniac teammates apparently.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Evan’s mouth.
Matt continued, his voice softer now. “If you want this, that’s your business. I’m not trying to scare you out of it, and I hope by now you know I’ve got your back. I just… I’d hate to see your draft stock tank if someone catches you on the wrong side of a rumor.”
CJ’s shoulders tightened until they felt like they might crack. He still hadn’t spoken, and he could see Evan looking at him from the corner of his eye. Every word Matt said hooked into CJ’s ribs, and he started to feel like he was being flayed apart.
Evan’s voice was steady. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying be more careful.”
“And you’re not gonna say anything?” CJ asked sharply.
“No. Jesus. No.” Matt looked offended. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to anyone, but especially not to you guys.” He sighed. “I’m gonna pretend that I saw absolutely nothing on the most uneventful midnight walk I’ve ever taken.”
He turned and walked away, his footsteps loud enough that CJ wondered how they hadn’t heard him approaching. Next to him, Evan shifted, then reached for him. CJ stepped away, and Evan’s hand hovered for a moment before falling with a slap to his thigh.
“CJ,” Evan whispered.
“Don’t.” CJ’s voice was sharp before he inhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Just…don’t.”
CJ pretended he didn’t see the wounded look on Evan’s face when he walked away.
Evan was already in the dining hall when CJ made it to breakfast, sitting with two of their teammates.
His hair was still damp from a shower and he was wearing a sweatshirt with the school logo that made him look like any other guy on campus.
But he wasn’t. CJ didn’t know things about any other guy the way he knew Evan.
He watched him for a moment, cataloging the slope of Evan’s shoulders, the familiar bend of his neck and the way his hair curled at the nape because it had been too long since he’d gotten it cut.
He knew Evan’s body better than his own some days.
He knew the scar under Evan’s left shoulder blade from catching a cleat during a bad slide sophomore year.
He knew the exact spot at the corner of his mouth where Evan smiled when he was trying not to.
They’d been together for almost three years, but nobody called it that.
Nobody called it anything because nobody could ever know.
Evan spotted him from across the dining hall and his face split into a grin.
Not the polite one he used with professors and coaches, but the one that belonged just to CJ.
It hit him square in the chest, but he forced his feet to keep moving, weaving through the tables and sidestepping backpacks in his way.
As he approached, their teammates were just pushing back from the table, still arguing about something that had happened in their last game.
“I’m telling you, you should’ve sent it to the parking lot,” one of them said.