Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Nate
“You better cut the pizza in four pieces, because I’m not hungry enough to eat six.”
Yogi Berra
The smell of coffee reached me before the light did—hazelnut, warm, familiar. From the kitchen came the quiet rhythm of her morning: cabinet doors, soft music, the calm of someone starting the day.
Sunlight cut thin lines across the ceiling. I lay there a moment, the ache behind my eyes dull and heavy. Her side of the bed was empty. That made sense. She was always up before me.
My chest hurt in that slow, pressurized way it does when something important is already gone and your body hasn’t caught up yet.
In daylight, her apartment looked different.
Yesterday’s chaos—the things said and unsaid—was tucked into corners.
A notebook sat open on the table, filled with sketches and brand notes for the hospital project she’d been outlining.
She’d talked about it last night like it already belonged to her, the way her dad used to talk about spring training—with reverence, with hope.
I pulled on my shirt and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The hardwood was cool. She stood at the sink, pouring coffee into two mugs, one already fixed with cream the way I liked it.
And for a second, I saw everything I could lose—Cassidy, barefoot in my shirt, bathed in morning light. It felt like a snapshot of a life I wasn’t allowed to keep.
J.O.’s voice from last night still looped in my head:
“They’re offering us a package we can’t ignore,” he’d said. “You’re thirty-six, Nate. Still performing, but we’re not making a run. Toronto’s offering pitching depth. New York’s offering cash. Either way, we rebuild—and you walk into a playoff race.”
Then the part that stuck: Your clause protects you. You don’t have to go unless you say yes. But think about what makes sense for both sides.
He’d been calm, professional, even kind. It still felt like someone handing me my own obituary.
Cassidy turned then, catching me in the doorway. She smiled—small, unsure—and slid my mug toward me like this was any normal morning, as if the conversation echoing in my head wasn’t about the end of everything I’d built.
I took the cup, our fingers brushing for a second.
“Morning,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.
“Morning,” I managed, though it didn’t feel like one.
We stood like that longer than we should have, both of us cradling our mugs like they might tell us what to say next.
The silence wasn’t tense, just … full. Heavy with what we hadn’t said.
Last night, we didn’t say much as I slid into bed next to her, our bodies syncing together like they had numerous times before.
There wasn’t much talking, and now, it felt like we had to.
Cassidy broke first, her bare feet padding quietly toward the couch. She folded herself into the corner, tucking one leg beneath her and pulling her laptop onto her knees. The screen glowed against her skin. She didn’t look at me when she spoke.
“I got a few emails from the clean-up day,” she said, voice steady. “Couple local outlets want to do a spotlight. I figured I’d loop in Lauren and let her handle it. That cool?”
I nodded and moved to sit beside her, close but not touching. I watched her hands as they moved over the trackpad—quick, precise, almost like she was trying to finish before the weight in the room caught up to her. Her mouth was neutral. Her brows slightly drawn. She didn’t once glance my way.
I took a sip of the coffee she’d made. She remembered how I liked it.
“You heading in today?” she asked.
“Yeah. Short schedule. Film and lifting.”
She nodded, still clicking through tabs. Still not looking at me. I hated this. I fucking hated that there was this awkward cloud over us now.
“Tell Garcia I said he’s too attractive for manual labor.”
That made me huff out a breath, not quite a laugh. “He’ll be unbearable if I do.”
“Good. He deserves that.” Her voice stayed light, but I saw the shift in her shoulders. A barely-there drop. She finally leaned back and looked at me. Her gaze was careful, clear, and the softness there nearly undid me.
“Nate, are you okay?”
The question sat between us like a live wire.
I wanted to say yes. Wanted to say fine. Wanted to protect her from the worst version of this—the part where I was already somewhere else in my head, packing bags in rooms I hadn’t seen yet. But I couldn’t lie to her.
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging and finally feeling the tension break around me.
Cassidy nodded once, then again slower. She took a long sip from her mug, her eyes flicking toward the window like she couldn’t hold mine any longer. But when she looked back, I saw it. The acceptance. The knowing. The strength I always saw in her.
“You’re allowed to not know,” she said. “That’s not weakness, Nate. That’s just human.”
The way she said it didn’t crack—it held. Like she’d already made peace with what was coming. And that was what gutted me the most. That she was being calm for me when I wanted to be there for her.
I reached for her before I could think better of it. Brushed her hair off her shoulder and pressed my mouth there, to the warm spot just below her neck. She exhaled, soft and uneven, and tilted toward me like she needed the closeness as much as I did.
I kissed her again, slower, deeper. My fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, brushing the skin at her waist. She didn’t pull away.
She never did. Her hands moved to my chest, her fingers curling into the cotton as she let me guide her onto my lap.
Her thighs braced around me. Her arms looped behind my neck.
We didn’t speak.
There was no frantic need. No performance. Just the weight of everything unsaid. The ache of two people trying to press pause on what they couldn’t stop.
I kissed her like I was begging the moment to stay, like the weight of everything we weren’t saying could be rewritten in touch.
Her lips moved with mine in slow, aching rhythm, not rushed but purposeful, like she knew this could be the last time we had quiet like this.
I tasted hazelnut and something sharper, something that had nothing to do with coffee.
My hands slid along her back, fingers splaying across the stretch of skin just beneath her shirt.
I could feel the dip of her spine, the softness of her waist, the rise of her breath as it hitched beneath my touch.
I moved slowly, reverently, like I was cataloging her into memory.
The curve of her ribs. The warmth of her stomach.
The way her body tilted into mine without hesitation.
She let me lift the hem of her shirt, didn’t stop me when I kissed along the line where her skin met fabric. Her breath caught, sharp at first, then leveled into something deeper, quieter. I felt her fingertips press into the back of my neck, not pushing, just holding, steadying.
Her skin was warm and smooth under my palms, her body pliant and close. She shifted, legs tightening around my waist, and her forehead dipped to my shoulder as her mouth brushed along my jaw, her breath feather-light and trembling.
She sighed into my mouth again—this time longer, almost broken. It wasn’t about want. It was about need.
I pulled her tighter, my hands sliding over the line of her back, over every inch I could reach, not because I wanted to possess her—but because I needed to feel that I still could.
Her chest pressed to mine, and I could feel the tremble in her body echoing through my own.
It wasn’t lust. It was ache. It was please stay. It was don’t forget this.
I kissed her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth, anything I could reach, and she let me. She tilted her face to mine, kissed me with the kind of care that cracked something open in my ribs. Her hands found my jaw, holding it like she was afraid I’d turn away. I couldn’t have if I tried.
Every inch of her was imprinted on me. The scent of her skin. The way she exhaled my name like a prayer. The soft hitch in her breath when I touched the sensitive spot just under her ribs. I wanted to live inside every reaction. Carry it with me.
She opened her eyes—barely—and looked at me. Really looked. And what I saw there wasn’t fear or sadness.
It was love.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I whispered, sliding her shirt off her and cupping her heavy breasts. “Every part of you is perfect. You were made for me.”
I sucked her nipple, biting and teasing to the point she moaned.
I knew her body now, knew how to make her feel good.
I used my other hand to remove her pants, taking my time feeling her smooth skin and massaging her round ass.
Cassidy was a walking fantasy, the woman who somehow worked her way into my heart and she’d forever be there.
“Yes, Nate, touch me, please,” she begged, her body perfectly naked and arched on top of me. “I want more. I need more.”
“Tell me what you want, baby.” I kissed her neck, my cock rock hard and ready to sink into her. “How can I please you?”
“I need it rough. Hard. Help me forget you’re leaving me.”
Fuck, her words hurt, but I knew what she meant. I lifted her and set her on the couch, kissing her ear and behind her neck as I pushed her hair over one shoulder. “Grab the back of the couch, love, and hold on.”
“Yes, Nate, oh my god,” she cried out.
I stared, wishing I could wake up to this every day of my life.
She was wide open, bare, arms and legs spread as she waited for me to take her.
She trusted me with her heart, and body, and I took that honor seriously.
I ran a hand down her spine, bending down to bite the two dimples at the base of her back.
“I love your body, baby. So sexy, so perfect.”
“I’m so wet right now, I’m so needy.”
“Yes, you are.” I slid my fingers through her pussy, thrusting two of them into her and curling the end. She moaned and I added a third, stretching her, causing her thighs to tremble. “That’s my girl, sucking in my fingers.”
“Nate, please,” she begged, pushing her ass toward me so my face was an inch from her entrance.
Without warning, I slid my fingers out and bent forward to lick her clean.
Her reaction made it al lworth it. She screamed, coming off the couch to let me go deeper and after a few sucks, I had her taste all over my mouth and I instructed her to hold onto the couch again.
“You want it hard or slow, baby? I can take my time with you, cherish this body for hours if you want.” I kissed her spine, reaching around and playing with her clit. “You want an orgasm first like this, or you want my cock?”
“Your cock, please, yes, Nate.”
“Mm, love how hungry you are for me.” I thrusted into her, gripping her hair in one hand and using my other to grip her ass. “Such a good fucking girl, taking me like this.”
“I’m gonna come, Nate. Your voice … yes, keep doing that.”
I was relentless. I fucked her hard, never letting her catch her breath before bringing her more pleasure.
She was perfect and mine and I’d never get tired of her.
Every reaction felt like a fucking world series.
Every cry and moan and pleading way she said my name would live with me forever.
“Yes, baby, that’s it,” I growled, feeling her clench around me. “Hold on and come.”
“Nate, oh god, Nate!” she screamed, her cries echoing across her condo.
“Every time you see on this couch, you think of me like this. With you, loving you, fucking you,” I gripped her ass hard, groaning as her thighs tightened.
I was close. Sweat pooled on my chest, the wet, sexy ass sounds of me fucking her filling the room and she pushed back against me, the pressure causing me to come.
“God, yes Cassidy, yes baby, you feel so good.”
Once I came, I pulled out and turned her around, assessing her to ensure she was okay. I kissed her eyes, forehead, lips, chest, right above her heart. Her watery eyes stared back at me, content, sad, and filled with love. That affection there had my own breath hitch.
She rested her forehead to mine. Her thumb traced my jaw as her breath hit my lips.
“I know you’re leaving,” she whispered. “Even if you don’t say it. I know you have to do this, Nate. You have to go after the ring.”
I didn’t answer. My hands stilled on her back. My throat burned as her gorgeous, perfect blue eyes held mine.
“I’m not asking you to stay,” she continued.
“I’m not asking you to pick me over a dream you’ve worked your whole life for.
But I need to be honest too.” Her voice didn’t waver, even though it should’ve.
“I wish you’d told me this was an option sooner.
I wish I didn’t have to find out the way I did. ”
My chest tightened. “I was trying to protect what we had. Just for a little longer.”
She nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “I know. That’s why I’m not mad. I hate that I understand.”
That hit harder than anything else. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t yelling. She just understood and it broke something in me that I didn’t have the words to fix.
“I just want you to know,” she said, her hand now moving to my chest, “that I’m proud of you. That I want you to win. Even if I have to watch it from a different city with your sister, with you wearing the wrong colors.” She scrunched her nose. “I’m rather fond of the Gila Monsters colors now.”
God, it fucking hurt me, physically, imaging not seeing Cassidy or Amanda for weeks, months at a time.
How could I do that? How could I choose to chase a dream over the people that made everything worth it?
I scrubbed a hand over my face, and Cassidy grabbed it, kissing my palm as she gave me a small smile.
“You are meant for great things, Nate, and this could be the biggest thing for you.”
“I don’t want to go,” I said, my voice small, weak even. It showed my cards and I didn’t care if that made me pathetic. “I don’t want to leave … here.” You. I don’t want to leave you.
“I know,” she said, leaning closer to me and placing a hand over my heart. “But we both know you have to.”
She kissed me one more time—gentle, sure, full of everything we hadn’t said aloud.
Then she slipped off my lap, quickly dressed and walked toward the kitchen, picking up her mug like we hadn’t just carved each other open in the quiet.
I sat there, hands loose in my lap, my entire body aching. She always surprised me. I once thought her young, foolish, but fuck, I was wrong. She was the strongest, best person I knew and I wasn’t sure how I could ever walk away from her.
J.O. said I had two weeks to make a decision. And somehow, two weeks already felt like a lifetime too short.