Page 77 of Switch Hitter

Sean swallows, then says it.

“This is Emiliano Guerrero,” he says, and his voice steadies on my name like it belongs there. “My boyfriend.”

Everything around us pauses as if the breath has been stolen from everyone. Sean’s fingers tighten around mine, and I don’t let go. I keep my face calm, my posture respectful, and my eyes on his parents. His mom’s gaze drops to Sean’s hand in mine.

Then back to his face.

Something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe.

Then… love.

Always love first if you’re lucky.

She steps forward and extends her hand to me, and I take it.

“Hi, Emiliano,” she says, her voice kind. “Welcome to our home.”

Sean’s still holding his breath next to me, and I see why… his dad.

His dad’s gaze stays on Sean a beat longer, and it’s like they’re having a conversation between themselves.

After a few moments of the most intense stare-down I’ve ever witnessed, he nods slowly.

“Come in,” he says.

Sean doesn’t run, even though I feel he wants to. He squeezes my hand once, then he pulls me inside.

Together.

Sean’s family house is different from my mom’s. It’s not that it’s colder; more like it’s quieter. The kind of place where affection is real but controlled, like they set it down carefully so it won’t get broken. There are framed photos lining the hallway, generations of O’Malleys smiling with matching outfits and red hair. A crucifix on the wall, a rather large altar, and a bowl of rosaries on a side table like they’re keys.

Sean’s hand stays in mine when we step inside, and his grip is tight.

Not the cute romantic type, either.

Panic tight.

I squeeze once.

I’m here.

“Seán,” she says, her voice thick with love and warning. “We’re so glad you were able to come. I was so worried that you’d have to miss Easter because of a game.” Then her gaze flicks to me. “And Emiliano, we’re so happy to have you.”

Well, at least she’s polite and not giving me the third degree like his dad, who is just staring at our hands.

“Dad, I—” Sean says, his voice coming out tight.

His dad shakes his head. “Not now, Seán.”

Then, as if God knew we needed a buffer, people start appearing, like the house has a hidden door specifically for siblings. I recognize some of them from pictures Sean has shown me.

David appears first, loud as advertised, grin already loaded. “So this must be Emiliano.”

Behind him comes Sam, arms crossed, eyes sharp like he’s a human lie detector. James hangs back, calm and observant, the one who’s already clocked where the tension lives and how to defuse it. Scott comes in carrying a beer like he’s here for entertainment, not stress, eyebrows lifted when he sees our hands, letting out a low whistle before finding a spot on the couch. Kieran follows last; he’s closest to Sean in age, looking at Sean like he’s checking for bruises you can’t see.

Then his sisters drift in like a tide.

When he told me he had three younger sisters, I figured this would be where I’d shine. I have two sisters. I know this battlefield. Leeann saunters in first, her expression dry like she’s just waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Mary is right behind her, gentler in her face, but her eyes don’t miss anything. Ciara is the youngest at twelve and brings up the rear, oblivious to the tension in the room.