Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cassidy
“It’s like déjà vu all over again.”
Yogi Berra
I woke up with a headache behind my eyes and the emotional equivalent of a hangover—like I’d downed a cocktail of adrenaline, tears, and Nate O’Brien’s arms. Spoiler: didn’t handle it well.
Full meltdown, no makeup, no filter, sobbing into the guy I’d spent two weeks trying to irritate into retirement.
I groaned into my pillow, regretting every honest emotion that escaped last night.
He’d been nice about it—calm, solid, holding me like he meant it.
Which was rude, frankly. You’re brave, he’d said, and he’d meant it.
He’d looked at me like I was something fragile and important—not weak, but worth protecting.
I didn’t want him to be kind. That was the problem.
Kindness made me feel. And feelings were a hard no.
I grabbed my phone—no text. Not that I wanted one, but still. I opened a draft.
Thanks again for last night. Delete. Too formal.
You didn’t have to stay, but I’m glad you did. Delete. Too soft.
You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought. Snort. Delete.
Blanket over my head. I wanted to go back to the version of me who didn’t care what Nate O’Brien thought.
But it was Sunday—my strategy day. Time to map content like a general before battle: three brand deals (skincare reel, coffee carousel, dating app TikTok), plus my usual outfit inspo, GRWM, chaotic vlog, and AMA. It only worked if I stayed consistent. If I showed up—even when I didn’t feel like it.
I set up my ring light, adjusted my hoodie so the logo showed, and hit record. “Hi besties,” I said with a sleepy smile. “It’s your favorite emotionally compromised girl with your weekly AMA-slash-postgame recap—98% less thirst, 100% more existential dread.”
I joked about the foul ball, the snacks, Garcia catching my pitch. The comments rolled in, the chat scrolling fast.
Then I saw one that stopped me cold: Did your dad ever get to see you on the field?
My fingers stilled on the trackpad. I blinked once. Twice. My mouth opened, then closed. It was a simple question. Just words. But it sliced through me.
I tried to laugh. It came out weird. Croaky.
“Um. No, my dad didn’t ever see me on the field,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“He wanted to. For years, actually. He always tried to get me to go to spring training, or home openers, or like, any game really. But I was busy. Hustling. Building my brand. Trying to prove I didn’t need anyone.
But what was I really doing? What could’ve been more important?
” I paused, shaking my head as the wave of sadness hit me.
“I guess he just stopped asking me to go with him.”
I swallowed and stared at the blinking red recording dot, hating it.
The act of filming used to bring me joy, a challenge, but now I wanted nothing to do with it.
It made me feel hallow. It had been years since I’d felt a spark of joy in creation.
I’d been going on autopilot after hitting success after success, but for what?
“It’s been over two months,” I said, softer now, my pulse racing as my stomach ached with grief.
“And everyone keeps saying it gets easier, that time will help or whatever. But I swear, some days it still feels like yesterday. Like he’s gonna text me and ask if I caught the score.
Or show up at my door with a breakfast burrito and god, there was so much I’d want to talk to him about now. ”
My throat burned. My eyes blurred. I bit my lip to stop it from trembling.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the camera. “I didn’t mean to make this sad. I just … wanted to answer honestly. I don’t know how to move on or get better. I just … I’m struggling.”
I hovered over the save button and hit “Draft.” I wasn’t ready to post it. I didn’t know if I ever would. It felt too real, too raw, too far from the confident, flirty girl who normally showed up in videos with winged liner and a punchline.
A knock sounded at the door and I turned my head, my finger dragging over my screen in the process.
“Cassidy, hey, it’s Nate.”
Shit. My heart jumped in my throat as I ran my finger under my eyes, and quickly adjusted my hair. Not that I cared what he thought but I was in comfy mode, not flirty mode he was used to.
“Uh, one on. No, hold on, one second,” I blurted out, face burning as I scanned my set up.
Three old coffee cups sat out, a bag of popcorn and my swimming suit sat on the chair.
I quickly grabbed everything in sight and tossed them into my bedroom, shutting the door and smoothing my hands over the front of my hoodie.
Nate was at my condo. At nine in the morning.
Why?
I swallowed the ball of nerves and twisted the front door to find him standing there with a to-go carrier with a large cold brew and a delicious looking pastry.
But there was only one and my filter must still be sleeping because I blurted out, “That better be for me. It’d be rude to bring one pastry over and then eat it all to yourself. ”
He laughed, and my gaze went from the treat, up his chest to his face and my breath caught in my throat.
He wore a simple white shirt that clung to every part of his broad shoulders.
That gold chain with a small number 9 dangled over his pecs and he must’ve shaved that morning.
His jawline was lethal and he smelled like pine and soap, where I hadn’t showered and probably smelled like sleep and sadness.
“Put your claws away, you menace. I brought these for you.” His gaze softened as he smiled at me and it was so jarring.
I was used to his scowls, not this warm and inviting expression. Was it pity? Did he pity me now? That wouldn’t do. I hated nothing more than a pity invite, or a pity compliment. “Why? Why did you come here and bring me these?”
His lips parted and his eyes shifted toward the ground. “Uh, well, can I come in first?”
There was no way this man was here just to be nice. Men didn’t show up unless they wanted something. Right? I frowned, my heart rattling against my ribs as I contemplated what to do. Did I trust this new version of Nate or was it an act?
“Cass, I promise I won’t be here long.”
“Oh. Sure, then yeah.” I awkwardly bumped into the doorframe, wincing as my arm throbbed from the stupid contact. My brain was acting out of line and I didn’t appreciate it. Just because he was hot and brought me food didn’t change much. I moved toward the couch and pointed to it. “Have a seat.”
Once the front door shut, his gaze zeroed in on my legs and his nostrils flared. “Are you—you know what, never mind.” He exhaled and shook his head a little, causing me to stare at my legs.
There was nothing weird with them, but then it hit me. My hoodie was so long it looked like I wasn’t wearing pants. “I’m not pantless, don’t worry. See?” I lifted up the sweatshirt, showcasing my plaid boxer shorts that I always slept in, but regret heated me up inside.
He didn’t even blink. Just stared at my legs like they’d personally offended him.
“Great,” I muttered. “I just gave a man who wears eye black like war paint a live viewing of my college sleep shorts. Should I twirl for you?”
Nate met my eyes and I swore there was a hint of heat there. It didn’t last long, but he handed me the pastry and coffee, letting his fingers linger on mine. “I came to talk to you about Lauren and our deal.”
“Oh, yeah.” The fake PR thing I agreed to in the middle of some kind of grief-induced breakdown? “Do you want to call her now and tell her its off? I can too.”
“No.” He gripped the back of his neck, his eyes somehow greener in the sunlight from my living room. “I’m asking you to stick it out with me.”
“But, Nate, you hate this. You were very vocal about not wanting this.” I swallowed the ball of emotion in my throat. I pushed my wild curls behind my ears, hating that he looked so put together and I was in old pajamas and no make up. My make up was my shield, and I felt naked without it.
It’s just Nate though.
Yeah, but he already saw me cry so he doesn’t get any more vulnerability.
I quieted my inner voice as he sighed. “I know I came across that way.”
“You said very explicitly you didn’t want this so there is no need.”
“Can you listen for one goddamn second?” He barked out a laugh, his gaze moving toward my mouth and then my legs before returning to my eyes. His attention felt like a caress and I awkwardly rubbed my knees together.
“I can listen for one second, but do I want to is the question?”
His lips twitched before he bit down on his bottom lip. “I’m glad to see you have your attitude back. Much prefer this than to see your tears.”
“Yeah well, that won’t happen again. It was a fluke. A one time thing. Mars was in retrograde, I’m pretty sure. Or there was a glitch in the matrix.” I crossed my arms, ridiculing myself for being literally a blabbering mess.
Nate could’ve called me out for my nonsense but he didn’t. He arched one brow, a hint of a smirk on his face before he motioned for me to sit. “Please, I want to ask you something.”
I plopped onto the edge of the couch and pulled one of my pillows into my lap.
There were tassels on the end that were silky and I needed to do something with my nervous energy.
Nate was on my couch, his massive, strong body just a foot from mine and he wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to duct tape my mouth shut. “Okay, what is it?”
His weight shifted the cushions as he met my eyes, this time they were serious. “I told you last night that my contract with the team is on the line, right?”
“You hinted it, yeah. Why?”
“I need to stay with the Gila Monsters. I don’t want any other team.
This town, team, all of it is my home. I’ve put my heart and soul into this city.
The thought of them not resigning me makes me want to fucking throw up and this charade, this fake dating PR stunt, might be annoying and yeah, I hated it at first. I don’t like not feeling like I have control. ”