Chapter 5 #2
“You really want to see your number on me huh, O’Brien?
” I teased, lifting an eyebrow. Flirting was safe.
Banter was easy. No intruding thoughts being sad.
“This is about aesthetics, obviously.” I rolled my eyes, hoping the action would hide the unshed tears.
I held up the Porcello jersey and spun around to meet his heated gaze. “What jersey will make me look hot?”
His green eyes flickered downward, just for a second. A tiny, almost imperceptible glance before he shot back, “Mine.”
Heat spread from the base of my spine up through my neck, an entirely different kind of suffocation.
I cleared my throat but my breath caught in my throat when Nate O’Brien grabbed the hanger out of my hand, his fingers grazing mine.
They were warm and rough, and I swore I felt that touch all the way to my toes.
“My jersey. You buy my jersey then I’ll share my Jackson story with you.” He hung Porcello’s back up, then moved a foot down to grab a black jersey with a large number 9 on the back. “That’s the deal, Calloway.”
“You’re bribing me.” I crossed my arms, not taking the new jersey from him. “You demanded I unblock you so you could throw a tantrum about me coming to games.” My temper flared. I was on edge. Seeing my dad’s photo hurt me physically and now this pompous ass held a story over my head.
I wanted the story. I needed it. I craved another anecdote, a reminder about the man who left me alone on this earth.
“I didn’t throw a tantrum,” Nate muttered. “You’re the one doing some ridiculous scheme that is distracting and dishonest to the sport.”
I let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. “Oh, wow. Not only did you threaten to sue me, you’re now saying I’m dishonest to a sport?”
Nate pinched the bridge of his nose, a quick sigh escaping his lips as he stepped closer.
He was massive, something I never noticed before.
I was a tall woman, almost six feet, yet he had a good six inches on me.
I could totally wear heels and I wouldn’t tower over him, not that we’d be ever together where I needed to dress up.
“Cassidy, your dad—”
“No way! It’s Nate O’Brien!”
“Dude!”
“O’Brien! My man!”
A group of fans spotted him, whatever he was about to say disappearing as his face transformed from scowls to smiles.
I’d never seen him smile in person like this, like he was actually happy to run into fans here, and it hurt.
Something like jealousy weaved its way in my gut.
How could he so easily be himself in front of his fans, where I couldn’t?
He didn’t have to perform for them, he could just be.
He only chastised me. Why was I even here?
With his back turned to me, I stared at my dad’s photo one more time, mentally sharing with him that he had to change his favorite player. I could almost hear my dad arguing back, teasing me for being dramatic. That made me smile.
Okay, that was good. Progress.
Nate chatted with a group of men and women, engaged and animated in a way I hadn’t seen myself.
If he didn’t have the personality of a pigeon, then I’d enjoy how he laughed and talked with his hands.
I’d definitely enjoy the way his simple black shirt hugged his broad shoulders and toned arms. I used the moment to grab Porcello’s jersey and hesitated.
I didn’t want to wear Nate’s jersey, yet the thought of annoying him did bring me more joy than I would’ve thought. I quickly grabbed number 9 and went to cash out.
“Oh my god, Cassventures! You’re in the store right now!” a dark-haired kid, probably eighteen, stared at me with wide eyes. “My girlfriend and I love following you! God, you doing that goat race was epic. We talk about that all the time!”
“Hell yeah,” I grinned, blushing a little at the way the workers all moved together to stare at me. It had been happening more and more, to the point it was unnerving. I always got recognized and the line between social media and life was thin. “Thanks for being a fan.”
“We love you. Seriously love you.” His voice deepened. “Can I get a photo with you? Please?”
“Of course.” I was used to this, but his gushing drew a small crowd.
There were ten people around us now. Once my following grew to the millions, my dad was always fretting about my security.
He made sure to coach me to search for exit routes and know the positioning of them.
Sometimes being recognized felt suffocating, like I had no safe space away from the brand.
I forced the thought away and fake-smiled. “Let me just go here, please.”
“I want a photo too!” A woman said, her voice loud and right next to my ear. A sliver of anxiety weaved its way through me as I kept a passive smile on my face.
I didn’t want to be filmed having a break down, nor yelling at fans. It’d go viral and I couldn’t have people see me lose control, so I shoved O’Brien’s jersey in the bag and moved to take photos. One, then two, then soon eight and ten. “Okay all, I need to head out but it was so nice meeting you!”
“You are a fucking legend. Obsessed with you, seriously,” the man twice my size said.
What the fuck was I supposed to respond to with that? Thank you? Cool? Right on? I forced a wink and stepped closer to the exit. “I’m obsessed with you, handsome. Have a great day.”
My heart pounded against my ribs as I almost ran toward the exit. I needed fresh air, even if it was already too hot outside. I didn’t want reminders of my dad, or fans closing in around me. God, was this what I wanted?
I shoved open the glass door, stepping out into the thick Arizona heat. The sun hit my skin like an actual punishment, sweat beading on the back of my neck instantly.
Deep breath.
One. Two. Three.
I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow. I’d done this a million times—met fans, taken pictures, put on the big, happy Cassventures smile even when my stomach was in knots.
But today? Today, it felt like too much.
Maybe it was because of the picture of my dad. Maybe it was Nate O’Brien breathing down my neck, making my grief feel bigger just by existing.
Or maybe it was the fact that people recognized me, followed me, loved me—and yet, for the first time since I started this career, I had no idea if I even wanted this anymore.
God. The thought made my throat tighten.
I just needed a second. A little air.
I turned toward the side of the building, where the team shop’s back entrance was, shaded from the sun. It was mostly empty, the only sound being the distant hum of cars and the occasional chatter of a passing fan.
I leaned against the brick wall and let my head drop back, closing my eyes.
Okay. Just breathe.
I counted the seconds, let my pulse slow.
“Hey.”
I cracked an eye open. Of course it was Nate.
He leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with a little less vitriol than usual.
I groaned. “Didn’t you get enough of ruining my life inside?”
His mouth twitched, like he was fighting the urge to smirk. “Looked like you were about to hyperventilate.”
I wasn’t. But also, maybe I was. “Your concern is touching,” I deadpanned.
He shifted, studying me in that too-intense way that made my skin feel too hot. “You okay?”
It was such a simple question. But it was real, and coming from him, it threw me off.
I snorted, trying to shake the moment off. “Wow. Two whole words of sincerity from Nate O’Brien. I’m honored.”
His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he’d snap back. But he didn’t. Instead, he just tilted his head, waiting for a real answer.
And for some reason, that irritated me way more than if he had made some sarcastic remark.
I let out a sharp breath, crossing my arms over my chest. “I just—” I swallowed, looking away. “It was a lot. That’s all.”
He didn’t move, but I felt him watching me.
“Didn’t seem like the usual ‘Cassventures’ performance,” he said after a beat.
That sentence punched me right in the ribs. I turned my head slowly, glaring. “Excuse me?”
Nate shrugged. “All the smiles. The jokes. The obsessed with you, handsome comment? That’s all part of the act, right?”
I laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this coming from you, Mr. I-Have-No-Emotions? Didn’t seem like the usual ‘O’Brien brooding in peace’ performance either.”
His lips pressed together, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to murder me or kiss me just to shut me up.
… Wait.
Where the hell did that thought come from?
I took a step back, shaking it off. “Whatever, O’Brien. You don’t get to dissect my life when you refuse to acknowledge yours.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but I wasn’t sticking around to unpack that.
I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, my fingers curling tighter around the handles.
He noticed.
His gaze flickered to the bag, then back to me. “You get Porcello’s jersey?”
My stomach did a stupid flip.
I swallowed. Then, with as much nonchalance as I could muster, I shrugged.
“Nope. Got yours.” I flashed him a saccharine smile. “Figured it’d be way more fun to wear your name while flirting with other men.”
Then I turned on my heel and walked away before I could see his reaction.