Page 77 of Switch Pitching

I know I’ve been hot and cold with you for the past two months and I want to make it up to you. You’re coming to Toronto for the next few games and I need to see you while you’re here. I really care about you and I want to make this work

Holding my breath, I wait for him to reply. Three dots pop up on my screen, showing that he’s typing, and the wait for his text to come through is agonizing.

After what feels like hours but is actually just a minute, his response pops up.

Ethan

I really care about you, too. Don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re injured and obviously have other things on your mind. I’m coming to Toronto tomorrow, and we should meet up to walk and talk it out.

The next day, I’m a bundle of nerves as I sit on a bench facing the Harbourfront Park Hotel, waiting for Ethan to come outside. The team landed a while back and got stuck in traffic again, so Ethan only finished checking in ten minutes ago. Sure, there’s still warmth in the few texts he’s sent me, and I’m so relieved that he isn’t pissed or icing me out. Not that I don’t deserve that.

Something breaks inside me when I spot Ethan striding out of the building. I almost let myself give up on him because I was bitter about being injured, and seeing him again in the flesh makes me wonder how that was even a consideration. It’s hard to hold myself back from breaking into a sprint as I walk toward him, but I manage. Barely. Almost-recovered-but-still-injured shoulder be damned, I jump forward and wrap him in the tightest hug I can manage.

“I missed you so much,” I say, burying my face into Ethan’s hoodie.

Ethan returns the embrace, rubbing my back and ruffling my hair. “I missed you too, James. Let’s go on that walk.”

The sunset hits Ethan just right, throwing streaks of amber across his face and making his skin glow with golden-hour light. I’m reminded of how he always looks so effortlessly good.

I find an empty bench facing Lake Ontario and sit, inviting Ethan to settle next to me. As I turn to face him, a tiny, tentative smile crosses his lips. Words are failing me, but I rack my brain to find the right ones, determined to explain myself.

“I wanted to start by saying—” I pause, taking a quick breath. “—that I’m sorry.”

Ethan seems surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all.

“I’ve been a dick to you, Ethan, ignoring you and brushing you off, and I should’ve realized that earlier.”

He looks lost for a moment, his bright eyes gazing at the lake. Turning his focus back to me, he bites his lip and weighs what to say next.

“James. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“What?” I kick myself because that wasn’t the right way to react.

“You were feeling down from your injury and being benched. Stuff like that is hard on anyone. I understand why you might not have been super responsive or attentive.”

“I made you think I wanted to break up with you.” My voice is firm, but cracks weakly as I trail off.

“Sure, that got me scared, but you never said that outright, and you reassured me when it mattered.”

“I shouldn’t have scared you in the first place,” I mutter. “You mean so much to me.”

Ethan smiles and places a hand on my thigh. Immediately, I move my hand and put it over his, holding firmly. I don’t care who can see. Toronto’s trashy sports magazines couldn’t care less about baseball, let alone a team that isn’t from here.

“Really. I should have treated you better. And I want to be better for you.”

“James.” Ethan sounds concerned. I know I shouldn’t cut him off, but I need to tell him. The words on the tip of my tongue are practically burning a hole through my mouth.

“I love you, Ethan.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. My heart pounds, waiting for his reaction. The seconds stretch out.

And then, he flips his hand up to wrap his fingers through mine. His voice comes out soft and steady, and I swear it’s the most amazing sound in the world. “I love you too, James.”

Relief spills over me and I pull him into another hug. His cheek presses against mine, warm and damp. I blink, realizing that it’s not just him, my eyes are watering too. It doesn’t matter. The tension between us dissolves, leaving behind that familiar connection we’ve always shared.

We sit there locked together for who knows how long, accompanied by the background buzz of the city and waves lapping against the shore. For the first time in ages, everything makes sense.

A random seagull starts squawking, and we pull back, our eyes still misty.

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