Page 19 of Switch Hitter

I send one more text, simple, direct, and with no jokes.

Emiliano

Cobre.

I wait a full minute and finally…

Sean

Stop.

Oh, that’s cute.

Emiliano

No.

Fine. We can play this game. I love games so much that I do it professionally.

I open my calendar and see that my next day off is in three days.

There is a window. Not a big one, but enough. I open flight apps with the same calm focus I use on the mound.

San Jose. Red-eye options. Early options. Return flight.

The price doesn’t matter, and my pride doesn’t either.

The only thing that matters is that Sean needs someone willing to reach into the guilt with him before he disappears inside it. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to be that someone.

I book the flight, and the confirmation email hits my inbox a second later. My stomach flips, not with fear but with anticipation.

This is insane. I know that. I know what this could look like if Sean doesn’t want me there. But I also know silence is the monastery Sean locks himself up inside for punishment.

Sean O’Malley can run because he’s scared.

Fine. I’ll go to him.

FOUR

SEAN

San Jose sunlight is different from New York’s. New York clings to you, humidity making it hard to breathe. Like the air itself wants to be involved in your business. San Jose is clean about it. Bright. Casual. Like the sky doesn’t care what you did in a dugout three thousand miles away.

Which is annoying, because I care.

I’m back in team housing with a duffel in one hand and my phone in the other, staring at my screen like it’s going to confess for me.

Emiliano

You make it home, Cobre?

Sean

Yeah, I’m home.

Emiliano

Stop ignoring me then.