Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nate
“If the fans don’t want to come out to the ballpark, nobody’s gonna stop them.”
Yogi Berra
The morning sun carved sharp lines across the dashboard as mile markers blurred past. Last night should’ve felt like a win—unfiltered, honest, everything I hadn’t let myself hope for. But my knuckles were tight on the wheel, jaw locked, gut twisted the whole drive.
“The Gila Monsters aren’t making a playoff run this year,” one radio host said. “Nate O’Brien’s thirty-six, contract expiring, farm system dry.”
The stats guy jumped in. “O’Brien’s having one of his best seasons—top five in FIP and chase rate. Any GM looking for a rental should call. Toronto and New York already have.”
I breathed slow, the way the team psych taught me, but it didn’t help. They weren’t talking about me; they were trading a concept.
Good business. They said it like I was a stock option ready to mature. None of them knew me or the life I’d built in Phoenix, the house I bought for Amanda, the mornings I tied my cleats in the same locker. They didn’t know Cassidy.
Or that I’d asked J.O. point-blank if I was being shopped and he hadn’t said yes or no. Just keep pitching.
I killed the radio. Silence filled the cab like concrete. Worst possible time for a trade. Cassidy, Amanda, everything was here. But if Toronto or New York called? An opportunity to earn a ring.
I rolled the window down, dry heat whipping my face. The desert smelled like metal and dust.
Cassidy had been wrapped around me twelve hours ago—bare skin, sleepy smile, whispering that she felt safe. I kissed her like I meant it, because I did.
And now strangers were deciding where I’d go next, like it was inevitable.
I pulled into Amanda’s complex, my hands numb, my stomach tight with something between dread and fury. I didn’t know who I was more angry with—J.O., the team, or myself for thinking I’d earned something more than this.
The sun glared off the windshield as I killed the engine. I didn’t move for a second. Just sat there and let it settle.
They were right, I realized. The numbers were good. The team was average. Trading me made sense.
It just didn’t feel like it should be happening now.
Not after this city gave me everything. My loyalty was to the team, this town … plus … Not after Cassidy. Not after I finally felt like I had something worth staying for.
Amanda would see it on my face. She always did. But what could I even say? There was nothing. I was a pawn and I had no choice but to wait. She let me in and within seconds, arched a brow.
“Are you spiraling again?”
I grabbed a bottle water from her fridge, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. “There are trade talks again.”
“You are a baseball player. There will always be trade talks.” She frowned, red coming to her cheeks. “If this is about me, I’ll punch you in the throat. I’m fine, Nate. If you get traded to a bigger market, you could win a world series. You have dreamed about that since you were born.”
“I don’t want to leave Phoenix,” I said, but even saying them felt hollow. I wanted a ring. But did I want to leave my sister … and Cassidy? Did I want to let this city and my teammates down after everything we’ve gone through?
“Okay first off, this is all rumors. Rumors, my big idiot brother. Until you have something concrete, it’s not worth stressing about. You tell me that a million times a year.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, hating the tension in my shoulders and neck. “You’re right.”
“What was that? Could you say that louder for me?”
“Shut up.” I snorted, then pulled my sister in for a quick hug. “Thank you. I needed that. Until there is something real, I’ll try not to think about it.”
“Good, now can you actually help me set up this damn crib? I want the nursery done so I don’t have to worry in case I go into labor early.”
It wasn’t easy keeping the trade rumors boxed up while pretending everything was fine.
In Colorado I threw five solid innings, got pulled early, and spent the rest of the trip pacing airports like I could outrun my own nerves.
Cassidy and I texted constantly—check-ins, memes, photos of her in different Gila Monsters tees asking which one was “cutest for chaos.” We FaceTimed when I could, her voice soft from laughing too hard.
She talked about the hospital visits she was planning and new ideas for her platform, eyes bright with purpose.
She was building something here. So was my sister.
I was so damn proud of both of them and the connections they were growing in my hometown.
And I might not be here to see it.
By morning, the team group chat was buzzing about Lauren’s Community Clean-Up Day—4 p.m. at the rec center, team gear, cameras, no half-assing.
I hadn’t slept and wasn’t in the mood, but I showed up anyway.
The field was crawling with interns, reps, and half the roster looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.
I spotted Lauren near the lot with J.O. beside her, both too polished for this much heat. Her smile was bright, her eyes anywhere but mine. Something was off.
But none of that compared to seeing Cassidy again—first time since I’d left her bed four mornings ago. She stood near the check-in table in cutoff shorts and a Gila Monsters tank, laughing with Garcia, sun catching her hair, completely unaware my chest cracked open the second I saw her.
They handed me the biggest trash bag. The rec field was all glare and dust; Lauren hadn’t lied about media showing up. Henderson wielded a leaf blower with no adult supervision, Garcia took selfies with fifth-graders, and I tried to rake mulch without staring at Cassidy every ten seconds.
Lauren appeared beside me. “Glad you made it, O’Brien.” Her voice was too cheerful. “You’re with Cassidy and Pavin along the east fence—graffiti, old signs. About an hour.”
“Got it,” I said, shaking the bag open.
Her eyes flicked toward J.O. near the sponsors’ tent.
“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.
“Fine,” she said, which meant it wasn’t. She patted my arm and walked away before I could ask more.
I made my way to the east side of the field, past the half-filled dumpsters and paint trays.
Cassidy was already there, crouched beside a faded wooden post with Pavin holding a bucket of soap and a sponge.
Her glove was off, her hand bracing against the sign as she scrubbed hard enough to make her shoulder flex.
Cassidy spotted me before I even made it to the fence line.
She lit up like the goddamn sun came out just for her.
Her whole face transformed—eyes wide, mouth lifting in a grin that nearly knocked the air out of my lungs.
She dropped the trash bag she’d been tying, half-jogged toward me with that loose, confident bounce in her step, ponytail swaying behind her like it couldn’t be bothered by gravity.
“There’s my favorite pitcher,” she called out, her voice bright, teasing, and so effortlessly her it made my chest ache. “Took you long enough. I’ve already picked up three bags of trash, carried mulch, and was almost recruited into a local HOA board.”
She didn’t stop until she was close enough that I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone, the flush on her cheeks, the freckles across her nose.
Her cutoff shorts clung to her hips, the tank top she wore smudged with dirt and stamped with Clean Up Crew in crooked, iron-on letters like she’d made it five minutes before the event.
It should’ve looked ridiculous. It didn’t.
She looked alive and effortless and so goddamn beautiful I forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes caught mine, then dropped to my mouth, and something shifted between us. I could feel it in the air. Like gravity leaned in.
I had been spiraling all week. Trade rumors, silence from the front office, late nights wondering how the hell I’d say goodbye to a place that had built me. But one look at her and the noise quieted. She anchored me without even trying.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, already reaching. My hand found the hem of her tank, fingers curling in the fabric. “Come here.”
She didn’t even blink. She stepped in without hesitation, and I dragged her against me.
“I want your mouth,” I said, voice rough and low.
She smiled, slow and wicked, and tilted her chin up like she was daring me. “Then take it.”
So I did.
I kissed her like I hadn’t seen her in months, not days.
Like I needed her to believe I meant it—every unspoken word, every unfinished thought.
Her lips met mine with that familiar heat, soft but demanding, and I kissed her deeper, sliding one hand up to the side of her neck, the other still gripping the back of her shirt not wanting to let her go.
She melted into me, arms winding around my waist, fingers curling into my shirt as she rose on her toes and kissed me back.
My tongue brushed hers and she let out the smallest sound, not quite a moan, but enough to spike my blood pressure and remind me exactly what it felt like to need someone.
She tasted like mint gum and sunshine and whatever magic had gotten under my skin from the first day I saw her.
We kissed until the world faded out. No cameras. No teammates. No J.O. standing across the lot like a goddamn chess master. Just me and her.
When I finally pulled back, I didn’t go far. Just enough to see her eyes—glassier than before, her lips pink and swollen, a little breathless.
“Hi,” she whispered, a slight blush on her face.
“Missed you,” I said, brushing my thumb along her jaw, still catching my breath from kissing her.
She opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance.