Page 39 of Switch Hitter

Okay, cuddling. This is a huge step forward.

I don’t move away. I just shift slightly and tuck him in, arm around him, hand warm on his side. Sean exhales like he finally has some peace.

“No sex,” he mutters, his voice muffled against my shirt, like he’s reminding himself.

Softly, I kiss the top of his head. “No sex.”

He’s quiet for a second, then reaches for the remote. “What do you wanna watch?”

I blink. “That’s your question?”

Sean huffs. “We’re… talking. Right?”

“Okay,” I say. “I like dumb reality shows. Don’t judge me.”

Sean lifts his head just enough to stare at me. “You? The Mets ace? Watches reality TV?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, and that makes him laugh.

A real laugh.

Then he settles back into me, and it feels… easy.

We put something on, some show neither of us really follows, just noise and light while we exist beside each other until Sean’s breathing slows. His hand finds mine on the couch. And when I glance down at his fingers laced with mine in the soft lamplight of his living room, I think to myself, this is what I wanted.

Not the dark or the constant fighting and shit talking.

This.

The part where he stays, and where he lets me be gentle without flinching. Where he finally stops running long enough to rest. I keep my arm around him and stare at the TV without really watching it.

Tonight, I don’t need him to moan my name to know he wants me.

He said the words out loud, and it’s a good start.

EIGHT

SEAN

I wake up warm, and it’s not because of the sunlight leaking through the blinds. Not the faint noise of a car passing outside. Not even the weird reality show playing on low volume from the TV because Emiliano fell asleep with the remote in his hand, like he lives here.

Warm and safe.

Emiliano’s arm is around me, heavy and steady across my waist. My head is on his chest. His breathing is slow and even. The kind of calm you don’t fake. For a second, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for guilt to pounce.

It doesn’t.

At least not immediately. Instead, all I feel is the echo of last night. That kiss. The way I didn’t run. The way he looked at me, like I was something to fight for. The way he made rules that weren’t about control but about care.

Then reality, like always, finds me. My phone is on the coffee table, and the screen lights up with a new message.

Mom

Sean, don’t forget to RSVP for Easter.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A reminder that I’m still two people, and one of them is terrified. I close my eyes for a second and breathe. Emiliano shifts behind me and murmurs something in Spanish against my hair, still half asleep.