8. Evan #2
Yeah, maybe he had some control issues.
When he finished his checks, he cracked the blinds just enough to look out at the courtyard.
The pool shimmered in the afternoon sun, and the card-playing couple was still at their table.
He scanned the windows of the other buildings, trying not to wonder which room CJ was in.
He failed immediately, and he closed the blinds with a sigh.
It had been seven years since he’d seen CJ outside of a baseball stadium.
Seven years of convincing himself that whatever had happened between them was buried in the past. Evan had perfected the art of avoiding interviews, articles, and highlight reels that lingered too long on his face.
Then the World Series happened, and rumors started circulating that the Barracudas were shopping for an outfielder, and part of him had known this would happen.
Chicago needed to free up some room on their payroll, which meant someone had to go.
Evan had known the math, but that wasn’t the same thing as being prepared for the reality.
When the trade was announced, the past was brought into the present and turned into media fodder overnight.
Every sports network seemed determined to revisit their college years, digging up old photos and stories about their friendship, running video montages of them laughing in a dugout somewhere or celebrating when their college team won the College World Series, making Nebraska back-to-back champions.
Analysts speculated about what it would mean to reunite them on the same roster until one commentator pointed out that they had barely interacted on the field when their teams had faced each other over the years.
Before long, the story had shifted, and people were debating whether that distance was just professional focus or evidence of some falling-out neither of them had been asked about before.
Evan paced from the kitchen to the foot of the bed and back.
Eight strides each way, same as always, but the room suddenly felt smaller than it ever had.
He needed water, fresh air, or something to do with his hands that didn’t involve punching a hole in the drywall.
He wasn’t violent by nature, so he grabbed his water bottle and keycard and headed outside.
The ice machine was in a room at the other end of the building, nestled in the corner between the laundry room and another guest room.
He peered around the courtyard, but it was empty.
The card players had disappeared, and the only sounds were the faint churning of the pool filter and the traffic from the other side of the building.
He scanned the doors, wondering which one belonged to CJ, before shaking it off.
It didn’t matter. Knowing which room was his wouldn’t change anything.
He turned to head down the covered walkway and made it two steps before the door to the room next to his opened and CJ stepped out. Because of course he did.
Of course the universe was going to squeeze every last ounce of suffering out of his day.
CJ had changed into a faded gray T-shirt and athletic shorts.
His hair was still damp from a shower, and his eyes were focused on his phone.
Then he lifted his head and stopped like he’d hit an invisible wall.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, and they were just two men standing beneath a motel overhang, staring at each other after seven years of carefully avoiding exactly this.
CJ cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said.
His voice was rougher than Evan remembered. Deeper. Maybe it was the desert air. Maybe it was the years between them.
Evan swallowed hard. “Hey.”
He kept moving because staying still felt like an invitation, and an invitation felt like a bad idea. But the walkway was narrow and he passed close enough to smell CJ’s soap. The almost brush of their shoulders sent heat up the back of his neck.
CJ stepped back, plastering his back against his door. “I, uh, I didn’t know you stayed here.”
“I always stay here,” Evan said before he could stop himself. He paused and looked at CJ.
“Right,” CJ said. “Eleanor mentioned that.”
“She told you that?” Evan stared at him. That didn’t seem like something Eleanor would do.
CJ’s mouth quirked in a poor imitation of a smile. “She didn’t name names. I guessed.”
Of course he had.
“Okay, well…” Evan didn’t know how to respond to that, so he held up his water bottle. “I need to get some ice.”
“Yeah.” CJ lifted his own bottle. “Me too. My freezer is already full of groceries, so I don’t have room for ice trays, and this air is killing my throat.”
“You get used to it.” The words came out softer than he meant them to, and CJ glanced at him, eyes scanning his face.
Evan looked away first and started walking again, and CJ followed.
The glare of the fluorescent lighting in the room housing the ice machine washed everything in harsh white as the machine rattled.
CJ grabbed the plastic scoop, filling his bottle as if it were the most neutral, nonthreatening thing he could do.
“How’s the room?” Evan asked suddenly because, apparently, his brain enjoyed throwing him into conversational traffic with no warning.
CJ blinked up at him, half-bent over the ice, like he hadn’t expected Evan to talk to him. “It’s good. Comfortable. I like the retro feel.”
He stepped back so Evan could have access to the ice machine.
“Yeah, El did a good job with making it feel authentic.” Evan started scooping ice.
“You’ve been coming here a while then,” CJ said after a moment. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Evan straightened and looked at him with raised brows. “Why what?”
“Why this place?” CJ’s shoulder hit the wall as he leaned against it, his posture loose in the deliberate way Evan knew meant he was anything but relaxed.
“There were at least twenty places on the list from Player Services when I got it. You picked the motel on the outskirts with a smiling sun on the sign.”
“It’s quiet,” Evan said simply.
“So are a lot of places,” CJ challenged.
“They mind their business here. They don’t care who you are or who you bring to your room as long as you don’t trash the place.” He locked eyes with CJ and shrugged. “That’s worth more than a fancy lobby or people falling all over you.”
“So, you come back every year so no one knows who you hook up with?”
Evan rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you got from that.” He turned to leave and was almost at the door when CJ spoke again.
“You’re not worried someone will find out?”
Evan froze. “Find out what?” CJ stayed silent, and Evan turned to look at him. “You’re making assumptions, and you’re forgetting one major thing.”
“What’s that?” CJ furrowed his brow, and Evan had a sudden, stupid urge to smooth the line in the center of his forehead with a finger.
“You don’t know anything about me anymore.” He said the words softly, but CJ flinched anyway.
“Right, and now you’re stuck with me right next door,” CJ said finally, his voice too light, like it was a joke he didn’t find funny.
“That doesn’t matter,” Evan replied. “We’re here for six weeks. I think we’ll survive.”
CJ’s jaw flexed like he was swallowing something sour. “Right. Six weeks.”
Evan took a breath. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”
CJ’s mouth twisted. “I don’t see how it could be anything but weird.”
That stung more than it should have. “CJ—”
“Look,” CJ said, cutting him off as he pushed off the wall. “We’re teammates now. I get it. You like your routine. I’ll stay out of your way. You stay out of mine. We’ll be fine.”
The words were reasonable, but the tone was not, and Evan frowned. Movement caught his eye, and he shifted his gaze to CJ’s hands. One gripped his water bottle and the other flexed like it needed something to do. He remembered the weight and feel of those hands, and he blinked the memory away.
“That’s not what I—”
CJ shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re good.”
We’re not, Evan thought. He stayed silent.
CJ slid past him out the door. “See you at the park tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Evan said. “See you.”