Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Nate
“Nobody goes there anymore—it’s too crowded.”
Yogi Berra
The roar of the crowd was distant, muted almost, like I was underwater.
I stood on the mound in the top of the seventh, sweat clinging to every inch of my skin, glove snug around my hand, and my legs beginning to scream from the grind of six shutout innings. One on. Two outs. Pitch count at ninety-eight. Every part of me was burning, but I didn’t want to leave.
Not yet.
Garcia squatted behind the plate, flashing a one and then wiggling his fingers. Fastball. Low and away. The batter was their DH—powerful, late swing, not great with outside heat. I nodded once and exhaled.
Leg lift. Glove tuck. Drive.
The ball popped in Garcia’s glove and the batter whiffed like he was swinging underwater. Strike three.
The stadium erupted.
And for once, I let myself feel it.
I didn’t walk off immediately. I stayed where I was, soaking it in, the cheers vibrating through my bones. People on their feet. Hats waving. The scoreboard flashing my name in bold, overlaid with numbers that confirmed what I already knew—this was one of the best starts of my career.
I tipped my cap as I walked toward the dugout.
It was a formality, but also a thank you.
Because this—this moment—was one of the few in my life that made all the ice baths, mental exhaustion, and aching joints worth it.
It made the bad games, the shitty calls, and stress meaningless.
All the decades of blood, sweat and tears …
It didn’t get better than this. I had to top of my career with something that was meaningful, a legacy.
As soon as I hit the top step, Coach clapped my shoulder. “That’s it. You’re at one-hundred.”
I nodded. Didn’t argue. I knew the number. I knew the limit.
I sat down and let my heartbeat slow. My cleats pressed into the packed clay as I stretched out my legs.
Water bottle. Towel. Breathe. In. Out. Damn, it felt good to go out there after the last start.
No more mentioning of the curse or that I was too old and past my prime.
Yeah, we needed to win this game to get me to 8-1 but I bounced back.
That was the thing about being a pitcher, half the battle was your mind.
But I pushed everything out tonight. The worry about contracts, my sister, Cassidy.
Now that I was done though, my thoughts went straight to her and the cracks on her facade I witnessed.
Her life had been a roller coaster since I knew her, but seeing the real human underneath the intentional persona had me worried.
She was alone and just needed someone to take care of her.
I glanced toward the suite level. I found it instantly—box 214, third from the left, tinted glass and stadium seats that were technically mine to fill too if I ever gave a shit about entertaining guests.
Amanda sometimes came but with how she was feeling, she chose not to.
Actually, she hadn’t come once yet this season.
I wanted to ask her about that but my sister wasn’t on my mind anymore.
It was the beautiful blonde sitting alone. Not on her phone. Not talking to anyone. Just … watching the game by herself.
Or, more accurately—not watching.
Her hand was pressed to the glass, her eyes a little too glassy to ignore. She looked like someone trying not to cry and losing the battle.
The knot in my gut came fast.
I turned to Garcia the second he peeled off his gear. “What happened before the game?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Cassidy. She was off. You kept looking up there. It almost looked like she was crying. Why is she in the suite alone and not in her dad’s seat?”
Garcia wiped his forehead with a towel. “No idea, dude. You tell me.”
“I don’t fucking know. I thought Lauren had something for her.” I scratched at my chest, shifting in my seat. “Shouldn’t she be … in the stands causing chaos or something?”
“She cried, man. After she threw that pitch, I thought she was gonna pass out. Her eyes were filled with tears and the way she hung onto me, she wasn’t doing well.” Garcia spit out seeds and leveled his gaze at me.
My jaw clenched. “What does that mean?”
“O’Brien, why don’t you ask her after this game?” He arched a brow before grinning. “Someone cares for their little girlfriend, huh?”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, but without heat. Maybe that’s why I’d pitched so well—channeling the jealousy that burned watching Garcia shield her. He saw she was struggling and stepped in. I hadn’t. I’d upset her before the game and disappeared when she needed help about her dad.
I stood, restless. Her voice still echoed—cracked and careful, pain buried under humor. She’d smiled, joked, walked onto the field like it hadn’t cost her something. But I saw it. I felt it.
Knowing I was part of that hurt burned. I wasn’t the guy who made people flinch. But I’d been cold, sharp, hiding behind focus that was really fear.
The game ended without me.
Fireworks roared, teammates celebrated, reporters shouted questions—pitch count, comeback, whatever. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. My eyes were on the tunnel where she’d walked away.
I ducked under the velvet rope, ignoring cameras. My arm ached, my legs heavy, but the pain grounded me. I took the back route through the sterile tunnels, nodding to security, showering, grabbing ice, then heading straight for Cassidy.
Box 214. Third door on the left. The suite was dark, quiet in that expensive way only empty spaces are.
Her nachos sat untouched, water bottle half-warm, chair pushed back like she’d stood too fast.
I stepped to the glass. The grounds crew was already resetting the field, but the air still carried her absence.
She was gone.
I checked the corridor—bathroom, closet, both empty. The faint scent of her—vanilla and citrus—hung in the air, fading like everything else I’d failed to hold onto
A hollowness settled deep in my chest. I hadn’t even realized how badly I needed to see her until I realized I missed the chance.
Then I heard it—muffled voices. A ripple of sound, the sharp pop of camera shutters, laughter that didn’t sound joyful.
And her name.
My stomach dropped.
I moved without thinking, cutting back into the hallway and rounding the corner toward the VIP exit. The noise grew louder—high-pitched questions, overlapping commentary, the familiar hum of phones recording and flashes firing.
And then I saw her.
Cassidy stood against the metal railing near the exit, arms pressed to her sides, her eyes wide behind thick lashes. Her bag was clutched against her hip like it might protect her, and her lips were pulled into that tight, not-quite-a-smile expression that said she was barely holding it together.
People had surrounded her—phones out, shouting over each other, asking the same questions on repeat.
“Cassidy, was that your boyfriend on the mound?”
“Are you moving in together?”
“Was that a real kiss or PR?”
She didn’t answer. Just blinked at the lights like she was back under stadium bulbs again—but this time, there was no game, no structure. Just chaos.
I shoved through the crowd without hesitation. How dare they corner her? Can’t they tell she was nervous and scared? Where the fuck was security?
“Back up,” I said, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.
People turned. Some lowered their phones. Others pointed them at me now, the murmurs spreading quickly. But I didn’t care.
I stepped between her and the press, my hand going instinctively to her back where I shielded her much like Garcia had earlier. “I got you,” I mumbled, pulling her tighter against me. Turning back around to the crowd, I glared at them. “I’m calling security. Get the fuck out of here.”
She trembled. This brave, audacious loud woman trembled against me as I guided us away from the exit, deeper into the stadium. There were offices with doors open and without caring who, I rushed us in an shut the door. “Are you okay?”
Her voice cracked. “No. Not really. Crowds … they make me question what I do.”
“Did they touch you? Hurt you?” I asked, my blood boiling. Cassidy crossed her arms tight against her body, her chin wobbling as she refused to meet my eyes. “Tell me, Cassidy. Did. They. Touch. You?”
“No. But it’s never … I’ve never had that before. I tried leaving a different way and there was a large crowd surrounding me. I…” she closed her eyes and trembled.
I didn’t stop to think. I pulled her toward me, wrapping my arms around her and cradling her head to my chest. “Hey, you’re safe now. I got you. Deep breaths, alright?”
She nodded into my chest, my chin resting on the top of her head. I kept running my hands up and down her back, hoping it reassured her. I could feel how fast her heart beat against my own, and a surge of fury ripped through me. Why the fuck was security not near her? Why weren’t they helping her?
“Thank you,” she mumbled, not lifting up her head. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course, I did.” I scoffed. “I don’t take kindly to strangers making anyone feel unsafe. Especially you.”
“I don’t know what’s been going on with me lately.
I usually handle it alright, or get clever and find a way out.
I think today was just so raw.” She lifted her face off me, wiped under her eyes and took a step back.
“I’m sorry.” She winced as a blush covered her face.
“You shouldn’t be here with me. You should be celebrating.
I can handle it from here. I’m good now. ”
“I’m not leaving, Cassidy.”
Her eyes widened but she shook her head. “You just played amazing. You need to go celebrate.”
“No, I don’t.” I rocked back on my heels, hating the devastation on her face. “I need to make sure you get home safe. Did you drive here?”
“I can take a rideshare home. It’s fine. Seriously, this is silly.” She waved her hand in the air, clearly trying to dismiss me. It was clear to me how much she hated being vulnerable, how unused to being taken care of she was. I wanted to fix that.
“Just give me a minute then I’ll be out of your hair.”