13. Emiliano
THIRTEEN
EMILIANO
Baseball is routine until it isn’t. Friday night, we beat the Giants, and it feels like we’re setting up for another series sweep. My arm feels good, command sharp, the kind of outing that makes the stadium roar and the reporters ask you about “poise” like it’s some mystical thing.
Saturday’s another game, another grind, another round of cameras and questions and fans shouting my name like they own it.
But I’m ready for it. Then the weather in the Bay Area decides to be petty.
Sunday morning, the forecast is a mess, and postponement is set for Monday.
The Coyotes have no game this weekend, which means Sean has no excuse to skip Easter with his family.
And I can tell by the way he texts that he’s been holding his breath all week.
Sean overthinks in bullet points. He panics in drafts. He spirals in silence if you let him.
So I didn’t let him. All week, my phone has been a constant buzz with him. Not just horny texts.
Real things like questions and fears.
Sean
What if my dad asks if we’re serious?
Emiliano
We are serious.
Sean
Like… serious serious.
Emiliano
Sí, bebé. Serious serious.
Sean
Don’t call me bebé. I’m not a baby.
Emiliano
You’re my baby.
Sean
Emiliano.
I grin every time because I can practically hear the blush bloom across his face. Then he sends something on Thursday that makes my chest go tight.
Sean
I keep thinking about saying it out loud again.
Sean
“This is my boyfriend.”
Sean
I’m scared my voice is going to shake.
I stare at that message for a long minute before I answer. Because I wanted to tell him the truth. That even if his voice shakes, I’ll still be proud. That courage doesn’t mean steady hands. It means moving anyway.
Emiliano
Let it shake.
I’ll be right there.
And if you freeze, I’ll squeeze your hand once. You’ll know I’m with you.
He takes a minute to respond.
Sean
Okay.
As long as you’re with me.
Don’t let go of my hand.
Sean
I’m outside.
Saturday night’s game ended in another blowout win, but it’s the fact that Sean is waiting for me that has my stomach in knots. I don’t even try to pretend I’m calm. I’m out the doors in ten minutes, overnight bag on my shoulder, cap low, scanning the crowd until I spot him near the curb.
Sean is leaning against his car like he’s trying to look casual, but his jaw is tight and his eyes are too bright. He sees me and something in his shoulders drops.
Relief.
Like my presence makes his nervous system unclench. It’s the same for me when I see him. He takes my bag without asking and puts it in the backseat, then opens the passenger door for me.
“Hey,” I say softly when he raises his eyebrow at me.
Sean swallows. “Hi.”
His eyes keep shifting from my eyes to my mouth, looking like he wants to kiss me. But there are people around. Cameras. Phones. So I do the small thing; I gently slide my hand over his. He flinches, then leans into it.
“You ready?” I ask.
Sean huffs a shaky laugh. “No.”
I smile. “Me either. Real shit, I’m nervous.”
He glares. “If you’re nervous, we’re both fucked. I was counting on you being the level-headed one.”
“Nobody's getting fucked, so get in the car, pelirrojo. We’ve got a drive.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mutters.
I lean in, keeping my voice low. “You love it.”
Sean’s cheeks are pink. “Shut up.”
I grin and slide into the passenger seat. The second the doors close, Sean exhales, and he starts the car and pulls away from the stadium, city lights blurring past, and for a moment it’s just us.
Not Mets. Not Coyotes.
Just two men in a car, driving toward a defining moment in their relationship.
Monterey feels like a different planet compared to New York. The air changes first; it’s cleaner. The ocean smell crawls into the car like a calm hand on your chest. Not going to lie, I love it. Sean drives like he’s trying not to think. He keeps both hands on the wheel.
Ten and two, like a teenager who just learned how to drive. I watch him from the side, the way the dashboard lights catch the freckles across his nose and the way his lips press together when he’s overthinking.
“You’re quiet,” I say.
“I’m trying not to have a panic attack.” He huffs, then steals a quick glance at me. “If I weren't the one driving right now, my leg would be bouncing and I’d be breathing into a paper bag.”
I smile. “You want me to drive so you can crash out before we get there?”
Sean shoots me a look. “No. Don’t encourage me.”
I reach over and rest my hand on his thigh.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, then run my fingers through his hair.
Sean swallows. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like you’re sure,” he mutters.
I squeeze his thigh with my other hand once. “I am sure.”
He exhales, and I swear I can see his brain arguing with him.
“Also,” I add, because I can’t resist, “if your dad says something stupid, I’ll fight him.”
Sean laughs, a real laugh. “You can’t fight my dad, Mili.”
“Watch me,” I say, patting his thigh before moving my hand. “I have no problem becoming a problem when it comes to my man and his happiness.”
By the time we pull up to the house, Sean’s hands are sweating on the steering wheel. He sits there for a little bit, just staring at the house. I don’t rush him and wait until Sean finally turns his head toward me.
“I know I already told them your name,” he says, voice tight. “But… this is different.”
I nod. “I know.”
He swallows. “If I freeze—”
“I’ll squeeze your hand,” I finish for him. “And I won’t let go.”
Sean’s eyes soften. “Okay.”
I reach across the console, cupping his cheek gently and turning his face to mine.
“Cobre,” I murmur. “You chose me in front of my family.”
He nods slowly and swallows.
“You can do this,” I say. “And if it goes bad, we leave. Together. Simple as that.”
Sean’s eyes go glassy as his lip quivers. “I can do this.”
Then he opens the door and we step out into coastal air that tastes like salt and nerves. Sean walks up the path like he’s marching into battle and I follow half a step behind him, close enough that he can feel me.
The door opens before we knock.
Okay, that's a little scary.
A woman appears, eyes sharp, with a warm smile. This must be his mom. She looks at Sean like she’s seeing her son, and the way her face softens tells me everything I need to know.
That this woman loves him unconditionally.
I silently pray to God that I’m right.
It’s then that her gaze flicks to me, and she stares at me curiously. Like she’s assessing me. Now, I know I’m not dressed up; I’m in a pretty basic pair of jeans and flannel, but I made sure to shower before leaving the stadium.
The way she’s looking at me isn’t cruel by any means. She’s just doing what moms do, making sure I’m good enough for her son.
Sean’s hand finds mine, and his fingers are cold when they weave with mine.
I squeeze once.
I’m here.
Sean inhales, then he steps forward.
“Ma,” he says, his voice a little shaky but clear. “Dad?”
A man appears behind her, taller and older, with the same green eyes as Sean.
Sean swallows, then says it.
“This is Emiliano Guerrero,” he says, and his voice steadies on my name like it belongs there. “My boyfriend.”
Everything around us pauses as if the breath has been stolen from everyone. Sean’s fingers tighten around mine, and I don’t let go. I keep my face calm, my posture respectful, and my eyes on his parents. His mom’s gaze drops to Sean’s hand in mine.
Then back to his face.
Something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe.
Then… love.
Always love first if you’re lucky.
She steps forward and extends her hand to me, and I take it.
“Hi, Emiliano,” she says, her voice kind. “Welcome to our home.”
Sean’s still holding his breath next to me, and I see why… his dad.
His dad’s gaze stays on Sean a beat longer, and it’s like they’re having a conversation between themselves.
After a few moments of the most intense stare-down I’ve ever witnessed, he nods slowly.
“Come in,” he says.
Sean doesn’t run, even though I feel he wants to. He squeezes my hand once, then he pulls me inside.
Together.
Sean’s family house is different from my mom’s.
It’s not that it’s colder; more like it’s quieter.
The kind of place where affection is real but controlled, like they set it down carefully so it won’t get broken.
There are framed photos lining the hallway, generations of O’Malleys smiling with matching outfits and red hair.
A crucifix on the wall, a rather large altar, and a bowl of rosaries on a side table like they’re keys.
Sean’s hand stays in mine when we step inside, and his grip is tight.
Not the cute romantic type, either.
Panic tight.
I squeeze once.
I’m here.
“Seán,” she says, her voice thick with love and warning. “We’re so glad you were able to come. I was so worried that you’d have to miss Easter because of a game.” Then her gaze flicks to me. “And Emiliano, we’re so happy to have you.”
Well, at least she’s polite and not giving me the third degree like his dad, who is just staring at our hands.
“Dad, I—” Sean says, his voice coming out tight.
His dad shakes his head. “Not now, Seán.”
Then, as if God knew we needed a buffer, people start appearing, like the house has a hidden door specifically for siblings. I recognize some of them from pictures Sean has shown me.
David appears first, loud as advertised, grin already loaded. “So this must be Emiliano.”
Behind him comes Sam, arms crossed, eyes sharp like he’s a human lie detector.
James hangs back, calm and observant, the one who’s already clocked where the tension lives and how to defuse it.
Scott comes in carrying a beer like he’s here for entertainment, not stress, eyebrows lifted when he sees our hands, letting out a low whistle before finding a spot on the couch.
Kieran follows last; he’s closest to Sean in age, looking at Sean like he’s checking for bruises you can’t see.
Then his sisters drift in like a tide.
When he told me he had three younger sisters, I figured this would be where I’d shine.
I have two sisters. I know this battlefield.
Leeann saunters in first, her expression dry like she’s just waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
Mary is right behind her, gentler in her face, but her eyes don’t miss anything.
Ciara is the youngest at twelve and brings up the rear, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Sean swallows hard, shoulders tight, and gives me a look that says, “Welcome to the chaos.”
His mom’s gaze softens. “Everyone… just give them a second.”
David immediately ignores her. “Hey, aren’t you the Mets ace?”
Sean groans. “David… please… I’m begging you.”
“What? I’m just curious.” David lifts his hands, then looks back at me. “So very curious why my brother's rival is in our house for the holiday.”
Sam mutters under his breath, “You’re insufferable.”
Kieran’s eyes stay on Sean. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Sean nods too fast.
Out of all his siblings, it’s James who steps forward and extends a hand to me. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry some of us have forgotten our manners. I’m James, the second oldest of the boys. The one with no filter is David.”
I shake it. “Thanks for having me.”
Ciara’s gaze flicks between me and Sean, and then she says, “Oh my gosh… you’re holding his hand.”
Sean chokes. “Ciara.”
“Are you two like…”
I glance at Sean first. When he gives me the smallest nod, I say. “Yes. We are.”
Mrs. O’Malley appears with a tray of snacks, as if food can solve discomfort.
It can.
Sometimes.
“Emiliano, can I get you something to drink?” she asks.
Before I can answer, Sean’s dad clears his throat from the doorway. His voice is calm, but it carries.
“Seán,” he says. “Kitchen. A word.”
The entire room tightens, and his mother’s head snaps toward her husband. “Not tonight,” she says softly, as if she’s giving him a warning.
Mr. O’Malley’s expression doesn’t change. “Tonight.”
Sean’s hand squeezes mine once, automatically, and I know he’s scared. He starts to step forward, like he’s about to go alone, and I catch his hand just before it slips away.
Then I lean close enough to murmur, “I’m gonna be right here.”
His throat works, and he nods once. Then he lets go and walks toward the kitchen like he’s walking toward his own execution.
No… fuck this; if he’s going to get ripped into, I’m going to be there too.
I start to follow, and his father’s gaze pins me in place. “Just Seán.”
My jaw tightens, but I promised I wouldn’t bulldoze his life for him.
So I stay frozen in place, even when every cell inside me wants to be with him. I just angle my body toward that hallway anyway, ready to run in.
Just in case.
And for the first time since I met Sean O’Malley, loving him means staying exactly where I am.