Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cassidy
“We made too many wrong mistakes.”
Yogi Berra
Nate unlocked his truck after we left the hospital, opening the door for me as I climbed in without a word.
I briefly noticed his cologne and the way his gaze bore into me.
The insult from earlier still stung, but it dulled after watching him interact with patients the last hour.
He was kind and thoughtful and even though this was a PR stunt, it changed lives.
It made me want something more, something more meaningful.
“Cassidy,” Nate said, shutting his door and staring at me with his dark green eyes. The way he said my name shifted the air around us.
My heart leapt in my throat as he scooted closer to me, his hand reaching up to cup my face. His warm, rough hand rested against my skin. “Wh-what?”
“We’re not leaving until you hear me out.” His jaw flexed and his thumb swept along my jaw, the sensation sending chills all the way down my neck and arms. The simple tough set me on fire.
“I don’t understand.”
He pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing for a second, before he rested his forehead on me. “I’m sorry that I insinuated something rude and untrue about you. I never meant to minimize or ridicule what you do.”
“It’s fine, Nate.” I swallowed, pulling away from how close we were.
His breath hit my lips. His finger kept sweeping up my jaw in a tender, gentle caress.
His minty breath and musky cologne surrounded me, entrapping me in a bubble.
My stomach swooped when his thumb teased my bottom lip, the gesture almost sinful from how I squirmed.
“It’s not fine. I hurt your feelings.” He leaned back so he met my eyes.
“Not sure you cared about that before,” I replied, trying to put some distance between the intensity and seriousness of his gaze. “But really, it’s fine. People have all sorts of opinions on my job being an influencer.”
“Don’t minimize yourself or what I said. And I do fucking care.” His attention moved from my eyes to my lips, lingering enough to make me suck in a breath. He looked like he wanted to kiss me and I knew I’d let him.
Despite the fact he upset me. Despite all the reasons we shouldn’t. If Nate O’Brien closed the distance between us, I’d let him.
“I hate that I upset you. You pulled away from me and gave me your fake smile and I can’t have that. I need the real you.” His tongue wet the side of his lip, the gesture simple, but heat exploded in my core.
He continued, “I know you don’t just chase likes, okay? It matters than you know this.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Damn it, be upset with me. Call me an asshole, please.” He frowned before tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You’re letting this go too easily.”
“I do chase likes though. You were right.” The same hollow feelings that had been with me the last year flared up, the what am I even doing with my life thoughts keeping me up at night.
It felt so good to help those kids. With the audience I had …
maybe I could mobilize it for good? “I don’t have a brand without likes, so even if my content is genuine … I’m chasing them.”
Nate shook his head, his jaw in a tight line. “No. You’re being genuine and people love seeing that. You’re inspiring young people, it’s impressive.”
“Young people, huh?” I teased, a hint of smile sneaking out. “Not inspiring the older folks like you?”
“There she is.” He grinned hard, his eyes crinkling on the sides as he let go of my face. “There’s my little ballbuster.”
“Such a cute pet name. We should use that. Oh! And ball buster could work for baseball, eh?”
He chuckled and finally started the truck, his shoulders less tense than before. “Are we good then?”
“Yeah, Nate, we’re good.”
It was wild how much I missed the heat of his hand on my face.
I had no idea what it meant that I wanted his touch, that I liked when he stared at me with those green eyes.
It was like he actually saw me, something very few did.
I always acted super flirtatious with everyone, but it was always an act.
I was actually quite shy if I wasn’t putting on a show.
I had a curated personality, staged online presence.
To have someone see the real me and tease and laugh with me?
I hadn’t had that since Mathias.
But even that felt … different. Mathias had always seen the version of me I let him see—the curated, polished, brand-friendly girl who knew when to smile and when to spin a bad day into a marketable caption. Nate didn’t look at me like a brand. He looked at me like a person.
But I was so damn lonely and Nate filled that gap—I just hadn’t parsed out if these feelings were because of Nate, or because of the void filling. Luckily, I didn’t need to figure it all out. I had a new focus. The new charity focus that had me excited for the first time in a long time.
Nate drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “So, any chance you coming to the game tonight?”
I opened my mouth to fire off some smartass reply, but when I turned, he was already watching me—steady, unguarded, that little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And suddenly, breathing felt like work.
“Maybe,” I said, pretending to look at my phone. “Maybe not. Depends on if you behave.”
He laughed quietly, and I swear the sound warmed me. “I know I’m not starting but if you want to come, I can show you the club house if you want?”
He invited me to the stadium, without a PR angle and I had no idea how to respond.
I wanted to see more of the Gila Monsters, see more connections with my dad, but I had a podcast interview already scheduled and a tik tok live with an influencer from Michigan.
“Not gonna lie, Nate, it sounds like you might like me.”
He barked out a laugh this time, unfiltered and loud. “Don’t go too far.”
“Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile. Remember that.”
“Noted.”
“I have a few scheduled events tonight that I can’t back out on, or I totally would go. I did splurge and buy the channel to watch games though.”
“Alright, well, that’s something at least.” He shrugged. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel again, a little faster this time, like he needed to burn off the disappointment.
“I mean, if you miss me that much, you could sneak your phone into the dugout and watch my videos.” I winked. “I’ll make sure to mention my hot older boyfriend.”
“What is it with you and me being old? I’m still in my prime, Calloway.”
“Oo, touchy subject for you. It’s okay.” I patted his thick forearm, briefly wondering would it would feel to have his arms wrapped around me.
“You are such a brat.”
This time, when he said it, there was a softness, a hint of tender there.
I cleared my throat, thankful that we were approaching my complex.
Banter was easy. Annoying Nate was easy.
This space between though, where he comforted me and was kind, was unfamiliar.
Mathias got a curated version of me, where Nate saw all the ugly parts first. So to have him see the real me, and like me? It was too much, too soon.
He pulled into my apartment complex, easing to a stop with a quiet sigh.
I unbuckled my seatbelt but didn’t move right away. Neither did he. I had to say something, anything really. I could sing a song. I could burp. I just had to get rid of this silence that suffocated me.
“Thanks for today,” I said, voice scratchy even to my own ears.
Nate drummed his fingers once against the steering wheel. “You’re more impressive than you give yourself credit for, Calloway.”
I forced a smile, forced a laugh as his words hit me right in the chest. “Careful, O’Brien. Keep saying stuff like that and I might think you have a crush on me.”
His mouth quirked, but the way he looked at me—steady, unflinching—made it clear: he already did.
“See you around, sunshine,” he said, low and rough.
I didn’t look back when I climbed out of the truck.
The second I stepped out of Nate’s truck, the bubble we’d been floating in burst.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment slower than usual, dragging one hand along the railing, grounding myself in the normal.
Normal felt safer than whatever almost happened in that truck.
I turned, almost hoping he already pulled away, but nope.
He waved and waited until I was inside my place.
It was pushing it on time—he had less than ten minutes to get to the stadium yet he waited for me to get inside.
Mathias would never be late to something to ensure I got inside.
He only worried about himself and if I ever asked him about it, he’d retaliate in other ways.
Man, the relationship was not healthy for me.
The fact Nate waited for me to get inside, despite me saying not to meant a lot to me. It made me feel taken care of?
Why are you comparing Nate to Mathias? I mentally told myself to shut up. Nate and I were not dating, like, at all. It was all PR, yet how he acted kept reminding me of Mathias so it was confusing. Throw in grief from my dad, I was a just a mess.
I needed a distraction before my brain spiraled into do I kinda like him territory? I was in no shape to have feelings for anyone. NO FEELINGS.
I pulled open my planner, thumbing through pages filled with bright gel pen scribbles and color-coded notes. The sight of my plans calmed me.
I grabbed my laptop from the kitchen counter and logged into my accounts.
Email traffic was a nightmare, with fifteen new partnership pitches and two collaboration requests in just the last twenty-four hours.
My banking app was a little friendlier—$32,000 in content income over the last month, not counting affiliate bonuses.
Not bad for posting videos and surviving on sarcasm.
Still, looking at the influx of pending contracts made my stomach twist. I was pushing it, and I knew it.
I couldn’t keep managing every detail alone without something breaking. The recent success had pushed me into a whole new stratosphere and I was unprepared.
Maybe it was finally time to hire a PA—someone to filter brand deals, help plan merch launches, answer emails when I wanted to scream.
Preferably someone who doubled as an emotional support human and worked weird hours and could keep up with my ups and downs.
Someone who lived in the valley, too. Most of my friends hired remote workers but I needed to sit down with someone.
If I was gonna trust them with my life’s work, then I needed to trust them.
I smirked at the thought of the job title: Personal Assistant / Emotional Buffer Hybrid.
Maybe I’d add “must tolerate existential crises before coffee” in the requirements.
Maybe I’d actually post the job listing this time instead of chickening out.
Before I could spiral again, my phone buzzed.
Live with Harper Ray in one hour.
My stomach flipped.
Harper Ray. The Harper Ray—queen of TikTok, breaker of Internet records, advocate for mental health and “wear your weird proudly” icon. She wasn’t just viral—she was respected, which in this world was like finding a unicorn who could juggle.
When her team reached out saying she wanted to collab after my funeral-breakup horror show, I thought it was a prank. Apparently, she loved the “messy but real” vibe I’d stumbled into and wanted to talk about grief, healing, and rebuilding when life burned down.
I’d jumped at the chance. Not just because it was Harper freaking Ray, but because of what Angie said at the hospital—being real mattered.
Maybe I could finally be more than chaos in a cute outfit. Nate calling me brave—nope, not thinking about that.
I set up my ring light, adjusted angles, wiped down the lens like it mattered. My nerves buzzed—not about views this time, but about doing this right. This felt big.
Thirty minutes later, Harper popped into the live queue, all warmth and charisma in an oversized hoodie that read FEELINGS ARE COOL.
“OMG,” she said the second I accepted. “Look at you, absolute smoke show. I’m here in pajama pants and you’re giving Super Bowl ad energy.”
I laughed. “If you don’t think I’m wearing slippers, you’re giving me too much credit.”
She gasped. “ICONIC. Mental health queens wear fuzzy socks, that’s canon.”
The chat blew up—#FuzzySockSquad trending before my coffee kicked in.
Harper leaned closer. “Okay, serious moment. Cass, your post about grief? Being dumped at your dad’s funeral? Warrior-level honesty. Most people would hide—you made art out of it.”
My throat tightened. “Thanks. It felt less like art and more like a public emotional car crash.”
Harper snorted. “That’s why it worked. Nobody wants perfect anymore. They want messy, real, surviving anyway.”
I laughed, shoulders easing. “Then I’m your girl. Ninety-eight percent hot mess, two percent coffee creamer.”
She wiped fake tears. “And that’s why you’re winning, bestie. Don’t let the brand bots tell you otherwise.”
The chat exploded again—CASS IS QUEEN, PROTECT THEM AT ALL COSTS.
We slid into a rapid-fire Q&A, laughing until I snorted on camera and blamed the coffee. It wasn’t polished or curated—it was real. And it felt good. Like the initial rush I got back when I first started.
For the first time in months, I could breathe. Maybe I was allowed to be messy and still move forward.
Then the doorbell rang.
I laughed, covering the mic. “Probably a collab delivery! Hold tight, besties.”
Harper cracked a joke about caffeine and carrying the Internet on her back as I jogged to the door, still smiling.
And froze.
Mathias stood there.
Bouquet in hand. Smile familiar and infuriating.
He stepped forward like he belonged here—like he hadn’t walked out two months ago when I was at my lowest.
“Hey, Cass. I wanted to see you.”
The comments exploded.
WAIT WHO IS THAT??
ZOOM IN ON THE FLOWERS!!
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Somewhere, Harper asked if everything was okay.
Mathias reached out—like he meant to kiss me—and the whole world watched.