Chapter 28 #2
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple,” Pavin’s voice cut in, dragging us back to reality.
He strolled up with a bucket in one hand and the smirk of a man who’d clearly walked in on something private and enjoyed every second of it.
“Cass, I’ve got an extra pair of gloves if you get tired of Grandpa here and want to partner with someone who doesn’t groan when he squats. ”
Cassidy turned toward him, cheeks flushed, ponytail swaying with the motion. She didn’t let go of me. Her hand stayed hooked in the front of my shirt, fingers curled casually like I belonged to her and I fucking loved it. Pavin noticed her hand placement and grinned even more.
“Tempting,” she said, grinning. “What’s your sales pitch?”
Pavin leaned his elbow on my shoulder, the familiarity of it landing wrong. “Superior trash-picking technique. Better jokes. No trade rumors.”
Cassidy laughed—light, bright, full of that sun-soaked warmth that hit me somewhere I hadn’t guarded well enough—and Pavin looked pleased with himself.
“That’s cute, but not an option.” I shrugged his touch off and put my arm around my girl.
Cassidy smirked at me, and I had to kiss her again..
Slower this time, but deeper. I didn’t care about the dozen volunteers behind us or the fact that J.O.
might’ve been ten yards away. My hand slid around her waist and the other cradled the back of her head.
She opened for me without hesitation, like we’d picked up in the middle of something, like the last four days had been nothing but a waiting game.
Her fingers fisted my shirt again and her body leaned into mine.
Pavin let out a low whistle, but it wasn’t mocking.
Just a mix of amusement and resignation, like he’d walked into a movie halfway through and realized he wasn’t the lead.
“Okay,” he said, backing away with both palms raised.
“I’ll just go … rattle some paint cans or flirt with retirees. You two carry on.”
Cassidy giggled, a warm, unfiltered sound as she finally let go of my shirt. She didn’t move far though. Her hand slid down, caught the edge of my belt loop, and gave it the smallest tug like she wasn’t quite done with me yet.
“Have fun, Pavin,” she called over her shoulder, the smile still in her voice but her eyes locked on mine.
Pavin saluted, spinning off like he had nowhere to be and nothing to prove, muttering something about hazard pay and emotional damage.
Cass turned back to me, but her grin faded into something quieter. More real. Her fingers slipped from my jeans, but her presence didn’t retreat.
“That was … intense,” she said, voice softer now. “Very public. Very hot.”
I didn’t say anything at first. I was still trying to recover from the feel of her mouth, the way she kissed me back like she didn’t care about the cameras or the heat or the fact that J.O.
could’ve been ten feet away. I wanted to touch her again.
Not for show. Not to prove anything. Just because being near her eased something in me.
“You do that on all your community service projects?” she asked, nudging my side gently with her elbow.
“Only when the girl’s worth the press fallout,” I said, quiet.
That made her smile, but it faded just as fast, and her gaze flicked toward the field where volunteers were still scraping gum off picnic benches and trimming overgrown hedges.
She stepped away, and I thought she was going to head back to the fence line, but instead, she veered hard left—toward a kid maybe eleven, struggling to lift a broken-down cardboard box taller than his chest.
The kid had a ballcap on sideways and shoes that were three sizes too big. The box buckled in his arms and scattered half its contents on the ground—a mess of water bottles, gloves, and crushed soda cans. He stood there, stunned, eyes wide, like he was waiting for someone to yell.
Cassidy didn’t hesitate.
She crouched beside him, smiled without an ounce of condescension, and helped him start collecting the mess. No camera in sight. No performative voice. She just talked to him like he mattered. Asked his name. Told him his shirt was cool. Picked up every single can.
When he finally smiled back, she bumped his shoulder gently and said something that made him laugh so hard his knees knocked. He looked like he’d just been handed a front-row ticket to his own life.
That’s when it hit me. Not just that I wanted her.
I admired her. I was falling hard for her.
She made people feel seen. Not because she had to.
Not because it looked good in a reel. Because she actually gave a shit.
I’d spent years surrounded by fans and cameras and teammates who only showed up when there was something in it for them.
She showed up for people who couldn’t give her anything back.
And she didn’t even realize she was doing it.
Cassidy stood, wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her glove, and caught me watching.
Her smile faltered for half a second, like maybe she was waiting for judgment, then shifted into something softer when I didn’t look away.
“What?” she called out, squinting in the sun.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She grinned again and pointed to the half-weeded section near the dugout. “You coming, O’Brien, or do I have to save the world without you?”
I didn’t answer.
I just picked up my rake and followed her like I always would. Because the truth was, I could pitch another ten seasons, get traded to a coast, win a ring, and none of it would matter if she wasn’t part of the story.
She didn’t know what was coming. Not yet.
But for now, she was still here.
And for now, I still had time.