Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
LOGAN
By the time we get home, the adrenaline from the morning is still sitting under my skin.
Not from the game yesterday. From her and the way she looked at me in the kitchen, and at the farmer’s market.
Like this was something real.
She hops out of the car, unlocking the door, and we head in together.
“I’m going to yoga today,” she says, glancing back at me. “Like…an actual class downtown.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Look at you.”
She smiles. “Growth.”
“You’re going to the stadium, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I should get going soon.”
“Sounds good.”
We head up the stairs together, side by side, and maybe a little too aware of each other.
At the second-floor hallway, we slow, then stop.
This is the moment. Feels like one, anyway.
Do I kiss her?
Do we do that now?
Is that…us?
She shifts her weight, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“See you later,” she says.
Too casual. A little too quick.
And before I can push back, she’s already stepping back, and her door is closing.
I stand there for a second, staring at it.
Huh.
I exhale, shake it off, and head into my room.
I toss my bag onto the chair and grab a clean shirt for tonight’s game.
It’s the same routine as usual, but something feels very different today. And I can’t tell if I’m the only one imagining it.
The clubhouse is louder than usual when I walk in.
Guys are talking and laughing.
A couple of them glance at me, smirking.
“Hey, superstar,” one of them calls.
I shake my head. “Relax.”
“Nice little home run yesterday,” another adds. “Heard you called your shot.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, heading toward my locker.
“Wade.”
I look up and see Coach Riley standing in the doorway of his office.
“Got a second?”
“What’s up?”
“Come on into my office.”
I do. The door shuts behind me, drowning out the sounds from the locker room.
He leans back against his desk, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Well,” he says. “Congratulations.”
I frown. “For what?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Really?”
I just stare at him. He exhales a small laugh.
“You’ve been traded.”
The words don’t land right away. They just kind of hang there.
“Oh.”
“To Florida,” he continues. “You’re going to the big leagues, my friend. No more Triple-A for you.”
A beat passes as it sets in what he’s saying. I have to take a minute to process.
“Florida,” I repeat.
“I know,” he adds with a smirk, “you were just loving Iowa. Cornfields and such.”
He says it like it’s a joke, and I should be thrilled to be out.
I don’t say anything.
“You can thank that viral post,” he goes on.
“I don’t know if you actually called your shot or not, but—hell—it played great.
GM from Florida saw it. Made him go, ‘who’s that?
’ He started digging into your tapes and your stats, and, well, he liked what he saw.
Guess they’re in need of a third baseman after someone on their team went down with an injury. ”
“Okay. Yeah.”
I still give him nothing from me. I just lean back in the chair, processing.
He studies me for a second.
“…You okay, Logan?”
I heave a deep sigh, and do my best to force something that resembles gratitude.
“Yeah,” I say. “No. Yeah. This is—this is great.”
My voice sounds off, like it belongs to someone else.
“Thanks.”
He nods, satisfied.
“Good. You earned it. Hate to see you guys go. But that’s what the game is all about, right?”
A beat passes. “Yeah. That’s what it’s about.”
“Don’t worry about tonight. Contract’s already moved. You’re off the hook.”
I swallow. “So I—”
“Plane leaves tomorrow morning,” he says. “They’ll send you the details.”
Another grin from the man.
“Congrats again.”
“Thanks, Coach Riley.”
“And Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome to the big leagues. Give ‘em hell.”
I nod, turn, and walk out.
The noise of the clubhouse hits me again.
Louder now, or maybe it’s just me.
“Yo!” someone calls. “You good, Wade?”
I don’t answer, just keep walking past my locker and past the guys out into the hallway.
I pull my phone out and stare at Cassie’s number.
My thumb hovers over her name.
I should call her and tell her.
Right now.
Instead I lock the screen, slide it back into my pocket, and stand there.
This seems like an “in person” type of discussion.
I get a tin of sunflower seeds for the ride home and throw on the same radio station Cassie and I had on during our drive the other day.
“That was George Strait. Playing one of the classics. Now, one of my favorite new ones. Love this cover. Had a request for it the other day, and, well, I do love it.”
“Stepping Stone” comes on.
The lyrics hit different this time.
I don’t want to be your stepping stone
I don’t wanna watch the fall of Rome
I tighten my grip on the wheel.
By the time I pull up to the house, the sun’s starting to dip again.
Everything looks the same, but feels different. Like I’m taking one last snapshot of the house.
Inside, ambient music is playing, soft and soothing.
I follow it down the hallway until I find Cassie in the living room.
She’s on a yoga mat, mid-pose.
She glances up when she hears me and smiles, a little breathless.
“Hey,” she says. “Just working on my…poses.”
“Class wasn’t enough?”
Her tone’s light and playful.
“It ended up being one of those yoga crossover classes that was more lifting light weights. And I’m trying to get more flexible.”
I lean against the doorway and watch her for a second.
She looks so good.
But there’s something new about her vibe. She seems happy.
Comfortable in her own skin. She’s radiant.
Not like yesterday. When she was practically crying in the truck on the side of the road, wondering why she wasn’t good enough for some guy who will definitely regret not ending up with her.
“Yeah?” I say. “Looks like it’s working.”
She laughs softly, shifting out of the pose, reaching for her water.
She’s a little flushed. Her hair is pulled back with a thin sheen of sweat on her skin.
I step in closer.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks up at me.
“Yeah?”
I grab some water from the fridge, pour myself a glass, and take a sip to buy myself a second.
“Hey…wait. Why are you home?” she asks, the realization hitting her. “Aren’t you guys playing right now?”
“I have some news.”
“Okay.”
“I got traded.”
She freezes.
“Oh.”
I nod. “To Florida.”
Another beat of silence passes, and it feels like hours.
“Oh.”
I let out a small breath.
“Yeah.”
“Wow.”
I glance at her.
“Major league team.”
This time, she smiles.
Wide.
Immediate.
“Logan—that’s amazing. This is huge for you. Congratulations.”
I nod, searching her face for the level of sincerity she’s at.
“Thanks.”
Silence settles in.
She shifts her weight, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I mean…that’s kind of the dream, right?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause as she nods to herself.
“Wow.”
A small laugh escapes her, this time a little awkward.
“That’s—yeah. That’s huge.”
I watch her, waiting for something that I don’t even know. A hint, maybe, about her thoughts.
She doesn’t give it.
“Well,” she finally says, a little too bright now, “thanks.”
I frown slightly. “For what?”
She shrugs.
“For the…ride home. And dinner. And, you know—”
She gestures vaguely between us.
“This whole…thing.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“Cass—”
“It was really fun,” she says quickly.
Still smiling, and light, but her use of the past tense doesn’t escape me.
Was fun.
“Right,” I say. “Was fun.”
“Yeah.”
She nods again, then picks up her water and steps back.
“I’m gonna shower,” she says. “I feel gross.”
“Okay.”
She turns and walks up the stairs.
“Cass. Wait. Can we talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, really.”
I hear the door close quickly—almost a slam, but not quite.
Then I stand there in the middle of the hall.
A minute passes, maybe two.
Finally, I head to my bedroom and pack my things. I try to make sense of this moment, pacing out and into the hallway intermittently, but I don’t catch her.
Laying on my bed, I pull my phone out.
Stare at her name.
Logan: You up?
The message sends.
I wait.
And I wait.
Nothing comes through.
I get up and glance down the hallway, at her door.
It’s still closed.
And for the first time since the coach said the words…
It really, really hits.