9. Cj #3
She motioned for them to stay put while the reporters packed away their cameras and recorders and slowly filtered out of the room. The moment the last reporter cleared the doorway, Margo swooped in and plucked the microphones from their hands.
“You guys were fantastic,” she gushed, already tucking the mics into her back pocket. “Seriously, they were thrilled to be able to talk to you together. The college reunion angle is absolute gold. We’ve got so much planned for you two this season. It’s going to be so much fun.”
Based on the way she said “fun,” CJ was pretty sure she was going to schedule them for photo shoots and interviews until they dropped.
Before he could ask, she waved vaguely in their direction and swept out of the room, eyes glued to her phone, typing with the speed of someone who lived on caffeine and adrenaline.
CJ slid off his stool, joints cracking after sitting so stiffly. He shot a sideways glance at Evan, half-smiling. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Evan stood with a quiet groan, rolling one shoulder. “Wait until the articles come out.”
CJ’s mouth twitched with badly contained amusement. “I can see the headlines now. Barracudas’ Golden Boys College Reunion, probably with some old photo they dug up where we look like we’re twelve.”
Evan groaned. “Fuck. You’re probably right.”
CJ laughed because he could already picture the exact photos: baby-faced, awkward, freshman-year versions of themselves, with forced smiles and uniforms they didn’t quite fill out yet. “You know they’re gonna use the one from that preseason tournament. The one where your hair was—”
“Don’t,” Evan warned, pointing at him.
“—uneven because you let your roommate cut it—”
“CJ.”
“—and my hat was so big it kept sliding over my eyes, and I looked like a Little Leaguer playing dress-up.”
Evan pressed his lips together, fighting a smile before his expression slid quickly back to irritation. “This isn’t a heartwarming reunion.”
CJ should have let it go, but the warmth from the interview and the surge of half-fond nostalgia made him reckless. “It kind of is.”
The second he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Evan’s glare flicked toward him, a sharp enough rebuke that CJ immediately regretted having a mouth. He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re right. It’s an absolute PR nightmare. Worst thing that could’ve happened. Tragic, really.”
A reluctant, barely there twitch pulled at the corner of Evan’s mouth before he smothered it with a sigh. CJ pretended not to notice. Pretended that almost making Evan laugh didn’t feel stupid and warm in his chest.
Margo poked her head back into the room. “Break’s over, guys. Team meeting in ten. Do not make Coach send someone to look for you.”
CJ frowned. “Why did that sound like a threat?”
Evan grabbed his water bottle. “Because it is a threat.”
CJ followed him out of the room and into a hallway buzzing with players funneling toward the video room.
Someone whose name he couldn’t remember offered him a fist bump he barely registered.
He could feel Evan walking beside him, close enough that their arms brushed once, accidental and quick but more than enough to short out his brain for a beat.
He kept his eyes forward, pretending it hadn’t happened.
He wasn’t delusional enough to think Evan would welcome him sitting next to him, so he hung back until Evan took a seat in the second row on the aisle.
Once he was settled, CJ slid into a seat in the third row on the far side of the room, close enough to see the straight line of Evan’s shoulders.
Around him, chairs scraped, coaches murmured, and the scent of grass and sweat settled in the air.
Coach Reyes strode to the front of the room. “All right,” he barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Let’s get rolling.”
He ran through expectations, training and game schedules, and early notes from the drills he’d watched that morning, then he paused to look over the room.
“Some of you are fighting for jobs,” he said, eyes landing on CJ before flitting away. “Some of you are fighting to keep them. All of you are here to make this team better. If you want to be on the field in April, handle your business now. I don’t want any bullshit or drama once the season starts.”
The words landed harder than they probably needed to.
CJ opened the notepad that had been left on the table for him and started taking notes he didn’t really need.
He knew his numbers coming from Chicago were solid, but he was still the odd man out.
Baseball had a way of turning names into headlines, and trades like his came with expectations and opinions attached.
He would have to prove to everyone that he deserved his spot on the roster.
He flipped to a clean page in the notepad and wrote in small, neat letters: do not be the story. CJ shoved the memories, the interview, and the stupid warmth in his chest to the back of his mind and let baseball mode kick in. For the moment, it would have to be enough.