Page 26 of Switch Hitter

Because I’m going to need it.

I sent a quick email to our staff contact, the one who handles travel and availability even on off days.

Nothing dramatic, just personal travel on an off day. Available by phone.

I’m professional. The team expects you to be polished, even when you’re human.

Then I stare at Sean’s contact again.

O’MALLEY.

My thumb hovers over the message icon.

I could give him a heads-up, a quick, “Hey, I’m coming to SJ.”

But he’d bolt. He’d lock every door. He’d tell himself I’m crazy and that he should hate me for it.

So I don’t.

I know it’s a risk. I know he might hate me for showing up instead of asking. But if I ask, I know he’ll choose fear before he ever gets a chance to choose me.

My phone buzzes again, but it’s a different notification.

The flight.

My boarding pass and gate number.

Alright, let’s do this. Let’s go convince a man who’s worried a kiss is gonna get him Sparta-kicked into the fires of Mordor that he is, in fact, allowed to love whoever the fuck he wants.

The airport is all fluorescent lights and people pretending they aren’t stressed. I move through it like I move through a stadium: focused, aware, scanning. I keep my head down with my hat low. I sit at my gate with my legs stretched out and my bag at my feet, and I finally let myself think. Not about sex or how the chain link felt between our fingers.

Not about the way Sean moaned my name like it hurt.

I think about the attempted kiss and his recoil and the panic that flashed in his eyes, like tenderness is a trap. He’ll let me do everything but love him softly.

That’s the line, and I understand it more than he thinks I do.

People assume because I don’t care who knows I’m bi, it means I’ve never been scared.

To me, that just means they don’t understand fear. Fear isn’t always about the world. Sometimes it’s about your own family’s eyes. Sometimes it’s about the version of yourself you were taught to be.

Sometimes it’s about the idea that if you choose wrong, God will turn His face away.

The thing is, I don’t believe God turns His face away from anyone.

Sean does.

Or he thinks he has to, and I’m not going to let him drown in that alone if I can help it.

I take out my phone and open our thread again. His last message sits there like a bruise.

Sean

The next time I talk to you will be at the game.

My mouth tilts.

Stubborn.