18. Evan #2
He expected to feel relieved once he’d admitted what he wanted, but he didn’t.
He felt a little light-headed and a lot nauseated, and his heart started pounding as he waited for CJ to respond.
CJ’s expression shifted, and Evan watched some of the tension ease out of his shoulders.
But he just held Evan’s gaze and didn’t smile or push or try to offer reassurances or promises that Evan wouldn’t have believed anyway.
“Okay,” CJ said.
“I just don’t want you to think that this is fine—that we’re fine—just because we fucked,” Evan added. He could hear the edge that had crept into his voice, but he didn’t care. This was too important. “Because we’re not. Not really. Not yet.”
CJ nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
“You hurt me,” Evan said. His words were blunt because he couldn’t think of any other way to say that. “You walked away, and I had to deal with that. I had to figure out how to—” He broke off, and his jaw tightened before he shook his head. “I’m not doing it again. I can’t.”
“I know,” CJ said quietly.
Evan searched his face for the defensiveness he was expecting, but he didn’t find it. “I’m serious, CJ.” Evan needed to make sure CJ understood. “I’m not going to just trust that this is different because you say you won’t walk away this time.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Evan blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You shouldn’t just trust it,” CJ repeated. “I haven’t given you reason to yet.”
There was no attempt to soften the reality of what he’d done in the past.
“You’re going to have to earn my trust again,” Evan said. His voice carried more conviction. “Last night doesn’t erase everything that came before it.”
“I know.” CJ met his eyes without flinching.
“I’m not going to pretend that I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop because I am. And I’m not going to make it easy for you,” Evan added. It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact.
CJ’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. “I’d be worried if you did.”
Evan narrowed his eyes. CJ was being too agreeable. Evan didn’t trust it. “This isn’t going to look like it did before,” he said. “I’m not some na?ve kid now. We’re not those people anymore.”
“No, we’re not,” CJ agreed. “I’m hoping we’re better.”
Evan nodded, then shifted his weight and stared down at his hands before looking at CJ again. “If we’re doing this—” He stopped to recalibrate. “If I’m doing this…I need you to show up. Not just when it’s easy. Not just when it feels good.” He gestured vaguely between them. “All the time.”
CJ didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
The answer came so quickly that Evan almost didn’t believe him. He picked up his coffee and looked at CJ suspiciously. “You keep agreeing with me.”
“Would you rather I argue?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.”
CJ laughed softly. “No, you wouldn’t.”
A slow smile spread across Evan’s lips. “No, I wouldn’t. I hate it when you’re right.”
CJ smiled back, and for a moment, they just grinned stupidly at each other. Then Evan’s smile faded slightly and he took a sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” CJ responded cautiously.
“If we’re doing this,” Evan said carefully. “What does it look like?”
CJ frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Evan gestured vaguely between them.
“We’re teammates. For most of the year, we spend almost all of our time around each other.
We’ve got reporters and cameras following us around at the ballpark and during practices.
And there’s a clubhouse full of people who notice when somebody switches brands of sunflower seeds. ”
CJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Are we talking about keeping this quiet?”
Evan stared into his coffee without answering.
A few years ago, the answer would have been easy.
In college, he’d wanted more, wanted everyone to know how much he loved CJ.
Not because he’d been reckless—he’d never been reckless—but because he’d been twenty-one and stupid enough to believe that if he loved someone loudly enough, the world would have no choice but to make space for them.
Professional baseball had cured him of that particular fantasy.
When he looked up, CJ was watching him carefully, waiting for his response. Evan exhaled and shrugged. “Yeah,” he said finally.
“Really?” CJ seemed surprised. “I thought this would be more of an argument.”
“So did I.” Evan smiled wryly as CJ gave a small laugh, then he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Things are different now.”
“Different how?”
Evan didn’t know how to answer that. There were a hundred reasons he could give: the casual comments from teammates who weren’t trying to be cruel, the stories that circulated through the league each season, the way people sometimes thought they were entitled to know everything about the players.
“We’ve been in the league long enough to know,” he said finally. “Baseball likes things a certain way.”
“Yeah.” CJ looked at him, a frown creasing his brow. “And you’re just okay with that?”
“No,” Evan said immediately. “I’m just realistic about it now.”
CJ looked toward the windows, staring at the harbor.
Evan knew without asking what he was thinking because he’d spent years thinking the same thing.
But it was probably CJ’s first time realizing how unfair it all was, and how exhausting it could be.
How ridiculous it was that they had to have a conversation like this before they’d even had breakfast.
Eventually, CJ sighed and looked at him. “Okay.”
“But I need to know what we’re talking about here,” Evan said. “Are we talking about keeping this secret? Or just private?” CJ looked confused, and Evan shrugged. “They’re not the same thing.”
“No?”
“No,” Evan said emphatically. “A secret is something you’re ashamed of. It’s something you hide because you don’t want anybody to know it exists. Private is just…not everybody’s business.” The room fell quiet, and Evan felt his entire body tighten as he looked away.
“Private then,” CJ said quietly, and Evan’s shoulders relaxed. “I told you I wasn’t running anymore. Maybe we can’t go out there and be the poster kids for gay pride in professional baseball, but I’m not ashamed of you, or me, or this.”
Evan nodded slowly. He really wanted to believe him. “I still think we should keep it between us for now,” he said. “Until we figure out what this actually is.”
CJ’s expression tightened slightly, but Evan pressed on, “No point in coming out or telling people we’re together if we end up proving we can’t make it two weeks without someone running away.”
CJ winced, and Evan almost felt bad about it. Almost.
“That’s, uh…” CJ took a deep breath. “That’s a pretty grim view of our chances.”
“I think it’s pretty realistic given our history.”
CJ stared at the floor. “Fair.”
Evan sighed and moved to stand between CJ’s legs, resting a hand on his knee.
He waited for CJ to look up. “I’m not saying we’re going to fail.
I’m just saying that, even though this isn’t some random relationship that just started, it’s still new.
Yeah, you know me and I know you, but we have years of individual histories and a spectacular amount of unresolved issues. ”
CJ chuckled at that, then placed his hand over Evan’s on his leg.
“If this goes wrong now, it’ll hurt worse than it did the first time.” Evan brushed his thumb over CJ’s knuckles. “But I’d still rather try.”
“Me too,” CJ said.
“Okay,” Evan said, and CJ’s face broke into a wide smile. Evan pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then stepped back. “I’m gonna head to my place for a little while. I think we both need some time to regroup.”
CJ nodded, but he didn’t argue or try to convince him to stay.
Evan glanced toward the door, then back at CJ, who remained seated on his kitchen counter, giving him the space he needed.
Evan headed to the front door and slipped his sneakers on before grabbing his bag from where he’d dropped it.
He turned, and his eyes landed on CJ, leaning against the wall outside the kitchen now, arms crossed, watching him.
He looked guarded now, cautious, and there were a dozen things Evan wanted to say to him, but they stuck in his throat.
Instead, he closed the distance between them and pressed another quick, firm kiss to CJ’s mouth before pulling back just as fast.
“I’ll see you at the field,” he said.
CJ nodded, and Evan hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, then turned and forced himself to walk out the door without looking back.
His condo felt different when he stepped inside.
He couldn’t put his finger on how, but when he locked the door behind him and walked to his kitchen, the space felt empty.
He dropped his keys onto the counter with a clatter, and the too-loud sound made him flinch as he started to replay the last hour in excruciating detail.
He braced his hands on the counter and dropped his head as he let out a slow, shaky breath.
“Yeah,” he muttered into the quiet. “This is fine.”
It wasn’t. Not even close. But it was a start.