Page 34 of Switch Hitter

My laugh comes out broken. “Because I don’t know what that makes me.”

Emiliano steps closer, slow and careful. He still doesn’t touch me because he’s giving me space to breathe.

“It makes you human,” he says.

I shake my head hard. “No.”

“It makes you scared,” he corrects.

My chest burns. “You don’t understand.”

Emiliano’s voice drops lower. “Then make me understand.”

I stare at him, throat tight, eyes stinging like I’m about to cry, and that’s humiliating too.

“My family,” I say, like the word is a wound. “They’re… they’re Catholic. Irish Catholic. Like, the kind where everyone knows everyone and shame is basically a hobby.”

Emiliano’s expression doesn’t change; he just listens. I keep going because if I stop, I’ll lose it.

“I’m the youngest out of six boys,” I say. “I’ve got brothers who would… I don’t know. They’d probably protect me the best way they could, but my parents…” My throat tightens. “My parents are good people and that’s the problem. Good people still get disappointed.”

Emiliano’s jaw tightens. “And you think they’ll just stop loving you⁠—”

I swallow hard.

“—Because you want to be with a man?”

I don’t answer, because the answer is yes.

Emiliano’s eyes flick to my rosary again, then back to me.

“They taught you love has conditions,” he says quietly, and my chest aches so badly it feels like someone grabbed my heart and squeezed.

I whisper, “Yeah.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Emiliano finally reaches out, slowly, and touches my wrist. I flinch, but he doesn’t tighten his grip. He waits.

He’s warm and steady.

“You’re not dirty, Sean,” he says softly.

Don’t you fucking cry, Sean.

“And a kiss isn’t a sin,” he adds. “It’s just… honesty.”

I shake my head, panic rising. “You just don’t get it.”

Emiliano’s grip stays gentle. “I do get it. I’m Catholic too.”

My eyes snap to his. “Then why are you not…” I gesture helplessly. “Why are you not like this?”

The way his mouth tilts hits me, because it isn’t smug now. It’s sad.

“Because my family taught me God with warmth,” he says. “Not punishment. I grew up with a priest who preached about love and acceptance. I don’t think yours was the same.”

It wasn’t.

“And because I decided a long time ago,” he continues, “I’m not letting anyone else tell me my worth.”