Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cassidy
“It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future.”
Yogi Berra
The kiss haunted me. Two days later I still couldn’t close my eyes without feeling Nate’s mouth on mine—rough, desperate, way too real. The kind of kiss that rewires your soul.
And it was a mistake. I wasn’t ready for anything real—not with my dad’s ghost in every corner of my apartment, Mathias rerunning in my head, and my heart still splintered around the edges.
So obviously I showed up at his game. He’d texted Please come. I’d love to see you. I told myself it was casual—just the suite, not a date, not anything—never mind the ten-day road trip looming and the stupid pang in my chest.
But why would I want to see him?
Oh I don’t know. Maybe because he kissed the hell out of you and was kind to you and checked on you. I groaned, rubbing my temples as I walked into the suite. This wasn’t a big deal. Just supporting a friend … fake boyfriend … guy who kissed the soul of me. Just a causal Saturday for me.
My palms were sweating; my heart did that annoying skip. I tugged my jersey straight, smoothed my ponytail, and slid into the best seat in the suite. I tugged my Gila Monsters jersey straight, smoothed my hair back into a ponytail, and moved down the seats so I had the best view of the field.
The stadium was buzzing, even hours before first pitch.
Kids ran around with foam fingers, vendors shouted about hot dogs, and the smell of sunscreen and popcorn hit me square in the chest. I loved the organ sounds and the team DJ who was going hard with a latest hit.
My gaze tracked the team, the bullpen, but Nate hadn’t walked out yet.
They wouldn’t do that until closer to the game, but I swore I could feel him somewhere, watching this suite.
A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a woman about my age—pregnant belly, flowy jersey, the brightest green eyes I’d ever seen—spotted me and grinned like we were old friends.
“You must be Cassidy!”
“Uh, hi.” I barely finished before she wrapped me in a hug that knocked the air out of me.
“I’m Amanda—Nate’s sister-slash-life coach-slash pain in his ass, and your biggest fan. Honestly, if I had to pick between you or my brother, I’d pick you.”
I laughed, instantly at ease. She had that rare kind of energy—sunlight and chaos all at once. How could Nate not share how wonderful she was? “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, you too! I’ve followed you for years. When this thing with Nate happened? I lost my mind. I have a million questions. Mainly about Mathias and what the hell happened on that live! Girl, I screamed, threw my phone, then had to crawl to get it. Did you punch him? Please tell me you did.”
Amanda was pure hurricane, and I adored her for it. “No punches, but I told him to get the hell out and not to contact me again.”
She gasped dramatically. “Iconic. What else?”
I shrugged. “He was good for a while. Fun, easy, but temporary. I don’t want that anymore. I want real.”
As soon as I said it, Nate flashed in my head. That kiss. That shift. I’d blamed it on adrenaline, but even I didn’t believe that.
“God, I love that.” Amanda rested a hand on her belly. “Nate might’ve told you I’m pregnant—five months, miserable, and probably shouldn’t be here, but he said you were coming, so…”
“Wait, if you shouldn’t be here, are you okay?”
“Girl, not you too.” She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Nate’s protective enough for five people. I’m fine, promise.”
I relaxed a little, but the nerves in my gut didn’t completely settle.
Amanda just had that way of making you want to care—instantly, fully, no questions asked. It was dangerous and wonderful and I kind of loved her for it.
“So anyway,” Amanda said, brightening. “I still have your skydiving video saved—the one where you nearly puked on the instructor but still stuck the landing?”
She waggled her brows. “Iconic. Made all my friends watch it.”
I snorted into my soda. “That was years ago! My ring light was literally a $10 desk lamp taped to a broomstick.”
She gasped. “A DIY queen. Even more legendary.”
Leaning in, she lowered her voice like we were conspiring. “You should collab with Harper Ray again, or that artist, Jayla Moon, the denim jacket girl. Imagine you two painting jackets while ranting about bad exes.”
She fanned herself. “Viral. Then auction them for charity. You’re always giving back. That’s why people love you. You’re not chasing clout; you’re making connections.”
I blinked at her, stunned. She got it—the chaos, the heart, the weird little niche that was Cassventures.
“You’ve thought about this,” I said slowly. “Content strategy, branding.”
Amanda shrugged. “I’ve been basically bed-ridden lately.
Too much time online. I build imaginary business empires in my Notes app so I don’t lose my mind.
” She laughed, though the exhaustion in her eyes didn’t hide.
“Nate helps, but if I don’t keep busy, I spiral.
I can’t tell if he’s told you everything or nothing about me. ”
“He hasn’t mentioned much,” I admitted.
“Figures.” She rolled her eyes and patted her belly. “No father in the picture, which drives Nate crazy. But he’s been great. Still, I’m limited in what I can do—hence my obsession with fake empires and, you know, classy celebrity stalking.”
“No father figure,” I said softly. “That’s tough.”
“Sure, but I’m not alone.” She bumped my shoulder. “I’ve got you now.”
Guilt twisted in my chest. Did she know it was fake or not? It was unclear and I needed to demand an answer from Nate.
Unbothered, Amanda hummed and tapped her soda can. Then, like a lightbulb: “You know what else you should do? Cassventures Challenge—nine dares in nine cities, each tied to a nonprofit. Nostalgic and brilliant. Since the 9 dates moved to dating Nate.”
I stared. “Wait … that’s actually genius.”
“I know!” She grinned. “Been storyboarding it in my Notes app for weeks. Was gonna DM you, but now you’re with me so I can gab about it.”
I laughed. “Amanda, you just did more brand planning in five minutes than any PA applicant I’ve reviewed.”
She blinked. “Wait … you’re hiring?”
I turned toward her, pulse skipping. “I need someone who gets the chaos—the algorithms, the heart behind it all. Someone I can trust with brand deals, scheduling, the spam, the growth. I’ve been combing through applications for days, and you just casually outshined all of them.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. “Shut. Up. Tell me I’m not imagining this and you’re about to offer me the job. Because if not, I’m moving to another country.”
I laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. If you’re interested, I’d love to do a trial run. Remote, no pressure. If it clicks, we’ll figure out the rest.”
She grinned so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Cass, I’m bored out of my mind most days, judging bad fonts and overanalyzing baby name lists. I would love this. Like, actually love it. I’m in. So in.”
Her energy was contagious. She bounced in her seat, and I couldn’t stop smiling. “Sit before Nate sees you,” I said.
“Right. See? Our working relationship already works.” She plopped down, beaming. “This is amazing. Do we need a contract? When do we start? Let’s exchange numbers.”
Her enthusiasm warmed me. This felt right. This was way more hasty than I’d normally be about business but my gut knew this was the right choice. “The team leaves tomorrow. Want to meet in the afternoon? I can come to you so you don’t have to travel.”
“Are you sure? I can come to you.”
I raised a brow. “You think Nate would let me hear the end of that? No chance.”
Amanda’s grin wobbled before her eyes shimmered. “Thank you. I haven’t felt like myself lately, just with the baby, and keeping it from my parents—”
“Wait, what?”
“They’re living their dream abroad. Europe for a year. I made Nate promise not to tell them I’m pregnant. I’ll tell them later; I just don’t want them ending their trip early. They saved for years.”
I frowned. “Amanda, they’ll be upset you didn’t tell them. They’d want to be here for you.”
She looked toward the field. “That’s the thing. Everyone wants to help, to smother, to ask about a father when that’s not an option. My parents would make me move in, and I’d lose myself completely. I already feel like I am. This opportunity with you … it’s a life vest I didn’t realize I needed.”
Her words hit deep. I knew that fog, that feeling of losing yourself and clawing your way back. “Then this was meant to be.”
She smiled, eyes full of gratitude and hope that looked too much like her brother’s. Something shifted in my chest—like there was a reason I’d met the O’Brien siblings. But guilt flickered too. None of this would’ve happened without my dad’s death.
How did one feel lucky for what came from loss, but still wish it never happened?
“Alright folks, please rise for the national anthem…”
The game started like a dream.
Nate stepped onto the mound with that quiet, terrifying focus that made him look carved from steel.
Every pitch cut through the air like it had something to prove—curveballs that dropped like heartbreak, fastballs that snapped into Garcia’s glove hard enough to make me flinch.
The crowd fed on it. Three up, three down, over and over.
By the fifth, whispers of a no-hitter started. Amanda and I didn’t speak, just exchanged wide-eyed glances every time another batter struck out. The energy felt sacred.
In the sixth, he made it look easy: groundout, flyout, strikeout. I yelled so loud Amanda winced, laughing.
“Chill, girlfriend,” she teased. “You’ll give him a heart attack.”
“I can’t help it,” I muttered. “He’s unreal tonight.”
And he was—until the seventh.
Second batter, pinch hitter, something to prove. Nate threw a low fastball, and the guy got under it—sent it sailing over the center-field wall. The stadium groaned in unison. The no-hitter, the shutout, the lead—gone in one swing.
By the end of the inning, he’d given up another hit and a walk before striking out the last batter. His shoulders looked heavier walking off the field, his jaw tight. No high-fives this time, just a glove slap from Garcia and a nod from the coach before he disappeared down the tunnel.
Amanda squeezed my hand. “He pitched his ass off. That was a hell of a game.”
I nodded, chest aching. He’d been perfect, until he wasn’t. And now the loss was his.
The Gila Monsters never recovered. The scoreboard blinked its final insult: 1–0. One run. One swing.
Amanda gathered her things, voice softer now. “I should go before the parking lot turns into chaos. I’ll text you tomorrow?”
“Definitely. I’ll come to you,” I said, hugging her carefully.
When she left, the silence pressed in.
Go to him.
He didn’t need clout or PR comfort. He needed quiet—someone to sit beside him and say nothing. I knew how much this game meant to him now, and the pressure he was putting on himself. He’d held me when I couldn’t speak.
I needed to show him the same. Heart thudding, I took the service stairs down to the tunnel.
“Sorry, miss. Players and staff only,” the security guard said.
“I just need five minutes—”
“Team policy.”
I didn’t argue. Just nodded and walked away.
But I didn’t leave.
Around back, near the fenced player lot, I found Nate’s truck parked away from the crowd. I didn’t know what I’d say. Maybe nothing.
So I sat on the tailgate and waited.
A few minutes later, footsteps. Familiar green eyes landed on me.
“What are you doing sitting on my truck?”