Page 17 of Switch Hitter

It’s my mom.

Mamá

¿Comiste, mijo?

I snort and text back without thinking.

Emiliano

Sí mamá

Lie.

My mom replies instantly like she knows it’s a lie.

Mamá

No me mientas. Come. Y descansa.

I stare at the screen, warmth and annoyance mixing in my chest.

She’d hate Sean at first. Not because he’s a man, but because he’s loud and stubborn and would argue with her about nothing. Then she’d feed him and adore him and call him mijo like he belongs.

If Sean ever let himself belong. I open our text conversation, my fingers typing before I can talk myself out of it.

Emiliano

You run fast for an outfielder.

Come on, stop being pissed and talk to me. Maybe we could talk through some of your issues if you used that pretty mouth for an actual conversation instead of hurling insults at me. I laugh at the thought, shaking my head as I text him again.

Emiliano

You alive, Cobre?

I wait.

Nothing.

I try again, softer this time.

Emiliano

Look, I’m not mad. I just don’t like when you disappear.

Nothing.

My jaw tightens, and I let out a frustrated breath. This is the part where I should stop. Where I should respect his silence and let him figure himself out.

But I don’t have that kind of patience when I can feel the truth sitting between us like an unopened door.

And the truth is simple:

Sean wants me.

I want him.

And he’s going to keep punishing himself until somebody gives him a reason to stop.