Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nate
“A nickel ain’t worth a dime anymore.”
Yogi Berra
“Damn it, Cass,” I muttered, jumping out of my truck to try and get the passenger door for her. I planned on knocking, but nope—she waited outside and practically sprinted to the passenger side. “I was gonna get that for you.”
“No need, O’Brien.” She buckled in, took a long swig from her iced coffee, and my brain immediately short-circuited watching her lips wrap around the plastic straw.
Her lips were red. Bright, fire-engine red.
So was her off-the-shoulder shirt and toenails—all matching, like she planned to cause my premature death before we even hit the hospital parking lot.
Her collarbone peaked out under the fabric, dusted with freckles, and I had the wild, absolutely inappropriate urge to trace them.
Fuck.
It was one thing to admire her when she was being chaotic and loud, while she intentionally flirted with me and pushed my buttons.
It was another thing entirely to sit beside her all soft, nervous, and casual and realize my brain was no longer in safe territory.
I was too old for this shit. Too professional. Too out of the game.
“Shit, you look good. Should I change and wear something nicer?” she said, frowning as she tugged the hem of her shirt. The Gila Monsters logo stretched across her chest, and my entire body temperature spiked. She wasn’t even trying to be sexy but her curves and blue eyes and red lips? Damn.
“You’re fine,” I barked out too quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
She smelled like sunshine and some kind of floral shampoo, and her voice had that sleepy rasp that made me think of what she looked like waking up—which why? Why did I need to picture her all sleep, her blonde hair going everywhere?
I had to focus on the event. On anything but her petite, curvy body practically vibrating with nerves next to me.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice a little smaller. “I’ve never really done hospital visits. I figured simple would be better. Do you … do you know what to expect?”
“Lauren emailed,” I said, clearing my throat. “Want to read it while I drive?”
“Oh good, yes.” She sighed and pulled up her phone. “Okay. She sent a mile-long email with rules for the hospital visit which can be summed up as: smile, sanitize, don’t screw it up. The last part was for me, I’m pretty sure.”
I snorted despite myself. “You’ll be fine.”
“You say that,” she said, shaking her head. “But in about thirty minutes, I’m gonna end up TikTok famous for accidentally elbowing a security guard or something.”
“Then at least it’ll be entertaining. Your followers will love that. They seem to really enjoy when you do something wild.”
“Shut it.” She smiled for a second before her shoulders relaxed.
It was near impossible to not watch everything about her.
The way she crossed one denim leg over the other, how her left knee bounced either with energy or nerves, and how she slid me a smirk.
How did I think she was just another pretty face?
Did I not realize how intoxicating she was?
“Kinda sounds like you’ve been stalking me, Nate. ”
My face flushed. “No! No, no—”
“Saying no three times that fast means you’re lying.” She giggled and playfully hit my shoulder. “Its okay to admit it. If you want, I’ll sign something for you, big guy.”
“Jesus.” I barked out a laugh, rubbing my hand over my jaw. “Here I thought you wouldn’t be a morning person but you’re back to being a pain in the ass.”
“You thought very wrong. I am the most morning person you’ll ever meet.
That quiet before the sun rises? The stillness?
How the air isn’t quite hot or disgusting with the Phoenix heat?
I love those moments.” She leaned back in the seat, releasing a cute little contented hum.
“Make note—if we have morning events, I’ll be peachy.
If we have any late nights, I’m cranky. I go to bed at like, 9:30 most nights. ”
“Duly noted, Calloway.”
“Hey, don’t give me attitude. What if we get quizzed on our relationship and someone asks you my bedtime habits? You need to know this stuff. You obviously sleep with your baseball glove and a large stuffed Gila Monster. Oh, plus you wear pajamas with my face all over them.”
Damnit. I snorted again as I pulled into the hospital parking lot and found an empty spot that said VISITOR. “And what do you wear to sleep? Your ex’ sweatshirt? Some sparkly thing?”
“Incorrect on both, O’Brien. I sleep naked.” And with that, she winked and jumped out of the car as my mind went to picturing her naked.
Her long hair. Her toned body. Her damn legs. Shit. I took a deep breath and locked my truck, noting the smugness radiating off her. “Proud of yourself for that one?”
“I am. I like flustering you.” She grinned, hard. “It helps keep you young.”
“Oh my god,” I moaned, half laughing, half annoyed. “Knock that off.”
She laughed, the sound fucking the best melody I’d heard in years. It was so joyful and genuine, I realized I hadn’t heard her laugh for real yet. I wanted to hear it again. “You’re so easy to poke.”
“Glad I amuse you,” I deadpanned, but couldn’t stop the way my lips curved up the longer I stared at her. The sun hit her hair and blue eyes, reflecting all the joy and life she had in her. It was almost contagious. I held out my hand and nodded toward the front entrance. “Let’s go in.”
She stared at my hand for a second before taking it, her gaze zeroing in on our intertwined fingers, but she stilled me. “I did a little research last night, but this is new for me.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding.
“I’ve never done this but if the situation calls for it, I’m going to ask you to do a tiktok dance with some of the kids. Going viral is a thing now and you’re not exactly known for being silly … I honestly hate that this visit is a PR stunt instead of visiting to be kind—”
“Hey, we do that too,” I blurted out. “I visit the children’s hospital with some of the guys every few months without content being recorded. I’m not doing this for likes or views, Cassidy. I don’t seek those.”
She stiffened. “And I do?”
“What?” Shit. Her expression shifted, the amused, happiness shifting to the crafted mask of indifference. “Wait, Cass, I didn’t—”
“No, you meant me.” She swallowed. “I get it. No one gets what I do or they think its stupid. Not a career. Not real. I’m searching for fame or clout. I understand.”
I opened my mouth to fix it—to explain, to backtrack, to say something—but Cassidy was already pulling away, her fingers slipping out of mine.
She smiled at the approaching woman, but it wasn’t her real smile.
It was polished. Practiced. A PR smile so bright it hurt to look at.
And I knew, deep in my gut, I had fucked up in a way I wasn’t sure I could undo.
“Hey you two! I’m Angie.” A middle-aged black woman with purple scrubs and long curly hair approached us with a huge grin. “Lauren said you’d be here now. We are so excited for this. We know exactly what kiddos need a pick me up.”
“We are so honored to be here, Angie. It’s so nice to meeting you.” Cassidy dropped my hand fast and went up to Angie, shaking hers. “This is so special.”
“It’s great meeting you. My daughter follows you and sent me your post from last night.
I recently lost my mom and let me tell you—the grief you’re going through, it doesn’t get easier, but it does get smaller.
” Angie gripped Cassidy’s forearm with a soft, watery smile.
“But you posting about that? Showing the messy reality? It’s so healthy.
Kids see all curated things online now-a-days.
We need more vulnerability, more realness.
” Angie shook her head, letting go of Cassidy before meeting my gaze.
“So glad you’re here too, Nate. We have two little guys who are going to lose it when they meet you. ”
“Can’t wait to meet them,” I said, hating that Cassidy wouldn’t look at me.
“Our first stop is room 312—Leo. He’s ten, got Cystic Fibrosis, and he’s in for a tune-up after a rough winter. He’s doing really well though—sharp as a tack, total stats junkie, and absolutely obsessed with Nate. But he’s been talking about meeting Nate O’Brien for days.”
“How serious we talking?”
“Oh, very serious,” she said. “Kid’s got a binder.”
Cassidy let out a quiet laugh beside me. “I love organization and am always looking for fellow binder lovers.”
My mind went to her apartment, the binders and paperwork I hadn’t expected. Cassidy worked hard and I insulted her job.
Angie smiled. “This is going to be adorable. You ready? You’re going to make his entire week with this visit. That is such an honor.”
“Yeah, it really is,” I said, wishing Cass would look at me.
Instead, she practically floated down the bright cartoon-lined hallway with Angie.
I wanted to know what she was thinking. She was never quiet or kept her thoughts to self, but for the next hour, I knew we had focus on the kids.
Even if my mind kept going back to the hurt look on her face.
When we stepped into room 312, the air immediately shifted—soft sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the space. A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, sat propped up in bed with a binder in his lap and a Gila Monsters hat perched slightly crooked on his head.
He looked up and blinked. Once. Twice. Then his eyes went huge.
“No way,” he whispered. “You’re THE Nate O’Brien.”
“That’s what they tell me,” I said, offering a smile and stepping closer. “You must be the expert on our rotation, huh?”
He grinned so wide it nearly split his face, clutching the binder against his chest like it was a lifeline. “I’ve got all your stats. From the minors, too. And your cards and jersey.”
“That’s dangerous knowledge,” I said, settling into the chair beside the bed. “Means you probably know the bad games, too.”
“I skip those pages,” he whispered conspiratorially. “No one needs to remember the four-walk outing in 2019.”