Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cassidy
“The towels were so thick there I could hardly close my suitcase.”
Yogi Berra
It was Wednesday, and the second I pulled into Amanda’s driveway, I knew this was the right call.
Sunday had been easy when we first met, almost too easy, but it was the first time since everything went to hell that I didn’t feel like I was flailing.
We’d tested out a light workflow, split up a few small tasks, and somehow, it clicked.
Today was the real test. A weekday. A full four-hour block.
I just accidentally forgot to tell Nate.
I had three brand briefs in my tote bag, two iced coffees in the cupholder, and one low-key panic in my chest that I hadn’t texted Nate since Monday.
Not that he’d been blowing up my phone either.
We’d exchanged a few texts, but none were meaningful.
A photo of Garcia passed out on the plane, which yeah, was amusing, but not exactly the vibe I thought we were going for.
It was barely enough to keep our connection without talking about anything real.
I told myself I wasn’t waiting for him to bring it up.
That I didn’t need him to validate whatever that night was.
But the truth sat heavy in my chest. I didn’t know how to start a conversation that might change everything.
I didn’t regret what happened in his bed.
I regretted how confusing it made everything else.
My body still remembered his. My heart didn’t like pretending we were still playing fake, especially when nothing about that night felt staged.
Or how I oddly missed him. I wanted to see his eyes crinkle and hear his tone drop when he scoffed at me. I also wanted to feel his arms and hands on me, feel his heat. He made me feel safe and seen, and desired, a combination I hadn’t felt … ever.
Hence why I was a confused mess of emotions.
I didn’t want to have feelings for him. But, I had work to do and I shoved all thoughts of him away, deep down to not bother me.
The fake relationship had taken up so much fan energy, where every other comment was about him or the team.
No matter what I did, Nate was in my face.
Amanda opened the door before I knocked, looking cozy as ever. She wore a long tank dress, her hair in a low bun, and a necklace with a little number 9 on it. Just like Nate’s.
Her bare feet slapped softly against the hardwood as she waddled back to the couch with her tablet. She looked tired, but happy, and any nerves I had disappeared.
“Come in, come in. You better have caffeine,” she said, holding out her hand like a medieval queen accepting tribute. “I will consume every single milligram of caffeine allowed and not one less.”
I handed her the good coffee and tossed my stuff onto the loveseat. “How are you this peppy at 9 a.m. when your baby has been punching your bladder for months straight?”
“Delusion. Also, I ate half a croissant before you got here, so I’m practically thriving. Plus, hello, I’m working with you so I’ve been up for hours.”
Our plan was clear: finalize captions for the upcoming skincare collab, draft short reels for the dating app promo, and build out a working outline for CassCares.
Amanda wanted to create a color-coded content tracker based on engagement types, comments, saves, shares, and I had notes on visual hooks that could align with it.
We were going to divide tasks into high-energy and low-energy columns, a system that made it easier for both of us to navigate her limited windows of comfort.
She brought up Nate a few times, but I deflected, and she followed my lead.
I wasn’t ready to talk about him with his sister, not when he was everywhere.
We also had a draft email to a potential nonprofit partner to refine.
I’d been putting it off, unsure how to position the tone—genuine but still polished enough to be taken seriously.
Amanda suggested a short intro reel to go with the pitch, something raw and low-fi to match the mission.
She had already jotted down ten name variations for the charity content pillar: CassCares, CassCommunity, even CassConnect.
I wasn’t sold on any of them yet, but it felt good to brainstorm out loud with someone who saw the value in what I was trying to build.
While Amanda took a call from her OB’s office confirming a follow-up for next week, I pulled out my phone to skim the draft reel selects she’d organized.
A few stills made me smile—me fake-collapsing onto the floor in a pink sheet mask, Amanda giving a deadpan stare to the camera while holding two bottles of hydrating serum like nunchucks.
Then I hit one that stopped me entirely.
It was a candid shot of me and Nate from the dugout last week, just before the charity softball game.
My head was tilted back mid-laugh, hair wild from the wind.
He was looking at me. Not the camera nor the crowd.
Just me. That crooked half-smile on his face wasn’t PR-polished or practiced.
God. I shivered, knowing that game was what had our chemistry explode.
Not now. Not with his damn sister next to you.
I quickly went to the next photo, where an old photo of my dad and me popped up. It rained that day, probably four years ago. It was a huge monsoon and we were caught outside and completely soaked. We laughed so hard that day and he demanded we take a photo together.
A breath hitched in my throat before I even realized what was happening.
It started like it always did. A rush of warmth, then that hollow thud in my chest like I’d been punched from the inside out.
I hated that grief could feel like betrayal.
Like I was doing fine until I wasn’t. Until I missed him so badly it physically ached.
I set my phone down on the coffee table and rubbed under my eyes quickly, the familiar sting returning.
She was still on the call, nodding and answering questions with the ease of someone who had done this a few too many times.
I stood up and wandered toward the kitchen, pretending to get a cup of water just to do something.
I stared at the photo of Nate and Amanda on the fridge, scolding myself.
What was I doing?
Hiring the sister of the man I was fake dating for PR, but had feelings for?
What if shit hit the fan? What if Nate broke what was left of my heart?
I’d still have to see him here, if I worked with Amanda.
I hated lying to her. Guilt ate at me and sometime soon, I’d tell the truth. I just had to talk to Nate first.
“Okay I have some annoying news.”
I spun, facing Amanda as she walked into her kitchen. Her face was whiter than before, her face pinched with pain. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“I might have to reschedule the rest of our work session. I’m so sorry. I can do it later, remotely, if you want. Or I can move things around tomorrow. I just—they want me to come in right now.”
My body clenched. “What do you mean?”
“I was on the phone with the OB nurse and answered a bunch of questions honestly, which I’m now regretting.
They asked if I’d had any cramping and I said yes.
Then they asked about pressure and spotting, and I mentioned my lower back’s been tight since last night.
I guess paired with the fact that I haven’t felt the baby kick much today, they don’t want to wait it out.
They said to come into triage immediately. ”
My mind jumped into action. Nate told me how serious her pregnancy was, and I now saw what he meant about Amanda being stubborn about it. Despite not being that much older than her, my protective instincts kicked in. “Okay then we’re going. Do you have a car? I can drive you.”
“Oh no, I can’t have you do that.” Her eyes widened but her hand flew to her stomach and she winced. “On second thought…”
“Yeah, this really isn’t up for discussion.” I pocketed my phone, grabbed my bag, and yanked Amanda’s charger out of the wall. She needed snacks and comfy clothes, right? Probably. “I’m grabbing a sweatshirt too, where is a duffel?”
She instructed where things were and we were in her car within ten minutes. “Thank you for doing this,” she said, mumbling. “This is annoying and embarrassing.”
“What’s annoying or embarrassing about this?” I turned onto the main road, ensuring she was buckled in and sitting properly. This was Nate’s sister and I had to take care of her. I had to make sure she was safe and okay.
The rest of the drive went quick, and soon enough, the hospital entrance doors parted with a quiet hiss, and I helped Amanda out of the car, slinging the duffel over my shoulder and gripping her elbow.
Her hand still hovered protectively over her stomach.
She didn’t look terrified, but her silence was notable.
In the short time I knew her, she was high energy.
We stepped up to the check-in window just inside the triage wing. I let her speak first.
“Hi, I’m Amanda O’Brien,” she said, breath catching slightly. “Twenty-four weeks. My OB’s office called ahead. I was told to come in for monitoring.”
The woman behind the desk nodded. “Got you here. Any new bleeding or fluid since you spoke to the nurse?”
Amanda shook her head. “No, just the same symptoms.”
The woman handed her a wristband and typed a few things into the computer. “You’re already in the system. Have a seat. Someone will call you shortly.”
I bristled. “Just sit and wait? This is an emergency,” I barked out, gripping Amanda’s arms. “She needs to be seen.”
“I’m fine, Cass. Truly. You and Nate worry too much. Please, can you get me a glass of water while we wait?”
I met her eyes, seeing the stubbornness and pride there, something that looked very similar to Nate’s. I sighed, nodding even though this felt urgent. “Sure, yeah, of course.”