Page 28 of Switch Hitter

I’m already across the line, so fuck it.

I walk in like I belong because confidence is half the battle. If you move like you have permission, most people assume you do. I flash the front desk attendant a polite smile and lean against the counter.

“Afternoon, so I don’t know why I’m spacing so bad, but Sean O’Malley is on floor three, right?”

She smiles back and looks over at the computer screen. “Close. He’s on four. 5-B.”

“Damn, the flight really got me good. Guess almost seven hours traveling back in time will do that to you.” I smirk, and she laughs.

“Oh, for sure!”

I knock my fist against the granite, give her a nod, and head toward the elevator. Once the doors close, I hit “4.” The ride is short and too loud in my head.

My heart is steady, but my hands are warm, fingers flexing on the strap of my bag. When the doors open, I step into the hall and find Sean’s door.

I stand there for a second because I’m imagining him behind it.

Imagining his face when he sees me.

Anger first.

Panic second.

Then that thing in his eyes when he wants something he doesn’t think he’s allowed to want.

I pull my phone out and check the time. His practice should be ending soon.

Good.

I take a breath, reach into my pocket, pull out the lockpick set, and slide it into the lock.

After a few careful turns, the knob gives. I twist it, and the door swings open.

“Dammit, Sean.” I step inside and close it behind me quietly. “Fucking get a better lock and lock the damn deadbolt.”

Something we’ll have to talk about later.

Sean’s apartment smells of laundry detergent and the faintest trace of something citrusy. It’s clean enough to be functional, but not decorated with care. It’s a place a man lives when he’s always somewhere else. I set my bag down by the couch and look around. There’s a baseball glove on the counter like it was dropped there without thought. A hoodie is thrown over a chair, and there’s a bowl of keys and a rosary on the coffee table.

That stops me because seeing it here, in his space, makes it feel real.

His faith isn’t a concept.

It’s a weight he carries into every room.

I sit on the couch, elbows on my knees, and wait as the calm part of me settles in. The pitcher part, the part that knows timing matters. Sean will come home full of adrenaline, sweat, and defensiveness.

He’ll try to bark first, trying to push me back across the line I crossed.

I’ll let him.

Then I’ll tell him the truth.

No more disappearing.

No more shame.

No more running from kisses like they’re eternal damnation.