Chapter 34 #2
“Lauren, you drama king.” She brought my face toward hers, her eyes shining with love. “I am so proud of you, Nate O’Brien. Go celebrate and enjoy every second of it.”
She kissed me quickly, then patted my butt. “Go. Now, Nate. Or I’ll get bossy.”
The locker room was louder than the field.
Louder than any bar, any concert, any celebration I’d ever walked into.
The door barely closed behind me before someone shoved a bottle into my hands, another sprayed the ceiling, and a third poured something sticky and suspicious directly down the back of my neck.
Champagne exploded every few seconds. The floor was already soaked.
The strobe lights someone had rigged up were pulsing against the speakers blaring ‘We Are the Champions’ like it was a wedding anthem.
Garcia had already lost his shirt and was standing on the bench with two bottles held high like he was baptizing us all in liquor and sin.
Pavin sprinted past in nothing but goggles and compression shorts, flailing a towel like it was a sword. “O’brIEN HAS ARRIVED!” he screamed. “GET THE MAN A TROPHY AND A DAMN SHOWER.”
“Put some pants on!” I called back, ducking a spray from Wells, who was laughing so hard he’d nearly slipped twice.
“Rules don’t exist tonight,” Pavin shouted over the music, leaping into my arms with a terrifying level of force. “We are gods!”
“You weigh more than a god,” I grunted, nearly tipping back. “Jesus, Pavin, get off.”
“Make me,” he said, clinging like a koala. “You’re the one who saved our asses this season.”
“I didn’t throw the last pitch.”
“You kept us alive long enough for someone else to.”
Garcia dropped down beside us, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. “This is what we needed, boys. This is what no one thought we could do.”
“I still don’t think we did it,” Wells said, walking over with beer streaming down his arms like sleeves. “Someone pinch me.”
Pavin reached out and pinched him right on the nipple.
Wells yelped and smacked him. “You sociopath.”
“This is the most beautiful locker room I’ve ever seen,” Garcia said, spinning in a circle like he was about to break into song. “It smells like mildew and regret and it’s perfect.”
“Where’s the damn confetti cannon?” Pavin asked.
“There was a budget meeting,” I said.
“I hate budgets,” he replied, then opened another bottle and sprayed it at the ceiling like vengeance.
We yelled. We jumped. We slammed lockers and poured beer on each other’s heads like we didn’t know it was going to be a nightmare to clean up. Someone brought out goggles for the rookies, and someone else duct taped a bat to the door as a symbol of war. It was total chaos. Beautiful chaos.
Then someone cued up a highlight reel on the clubhouse screens.
It started with opening day. It ran through midseason injuries. The losing streak. The rumors. The trades that never happened. My name in headlines I didn’t want. The team that no one bet on. The guys in this room. Fighting. Staying.
It cut to our final pitch.
To Alfaro’s strikeout.
To the celebration.
The room went still.
Just for a second.
We watched it like we hadn’t just lived it.
And then someone yelled, “RUN IT BACK,” and we went unhinged all over again.
I found myself shoulder to shoulder with every guy who had made this season worth it. Sweat dripping. Beer-soaked. Half-laughing, half-crying. It hit me then—how close I came to missing this. How close I came to chasing a future that didn’t have this exact feeling. This exact moment.
I grabbed Garcia, pulled him into a hug that ended with both of us hitting a locker. “Thank you for everything. Easy to pitch when you’re behind the plate.”
“You’re the reason we’re here, brother,” he said. “You’re the heartbeat of this damn team, O’Brien.”
Wells wrapped his arms around both of us. “No one’s allowed to leave now. We’re all dying here. Together.”
Pavin popped another bottle with no warning and it sprayed directly into my face.
I blinked. “I hope you know I’m making you pay for every dry cleaning bill.”
“You’re not dry. That’s the point.” He grinned. “You’re soaked. In glory.”
I was soaked in beer and sweat and maybe a little mascara from where Cassidy kissed me earlier. I didn’t care. I never wanted to forget this.
And that’s when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I reached for it on instinct, wiping my palm on a towel before pulling it out.
One message.
Amanda: Water broke. Heading to the hospital. You better get here.
I froze.
“Everything okay?” Garcia asked.
I turned to the group. “Amanda’s in labor.”
The room went from riot to reverent in seconds.
“Oh shit,” Wells said, already grabbing a clean shirt for me. “You’ve got to go.”
“Text us as soon as you get there!” Pavin shouted, then threw a towel at my head. “Tell her to name the baby after me!”
“Absolutely not,” I said, backing toward the exit, still grinning.
Garcia patted my shoulder, voice soft now. “You go be an uncle. We’ll hold this down.”
I put on a clean shirt, my heart racing for a different reason now. I smelled like a bar, my hair was damp from beer and champagne, and my phone was vibrating with updates I hadn’t read—but I bolted out of the clubhouse and into the hallway where I spotted Lauren and Cassidy near the entrance.
Cassidy’s eyes were wide, her hair going every direction. “Nate! Oh my god, Nate, we need to go right now!”
“I know!” I yelled back, grabbing her hands, my heart racing. “She’s in labor!”
“She texted me too! Let’s run!”
Lauren immediately went into crisis-mode. She pulled her phone out like she was dispatching an airlift. “I just called a car for you. It’s already circling. Head downstairs, player exit. Black SUV.”
“You are an angel,” Cassidy said, hugging her without hesitation.
Lauren, who rarely let people get close enough to breathe the same air, hugged her back. “I’ll text you. But go. And be ready to cry. I mean that in the best way.”
We bolted. Full sprint down the hallway, hand in hand, Cassidy barefoot and swearing under her breath as she nearly tripped.
“This is a fever dream,” she said between gasps. “What is our life right now?”
“Playoffs and babies,” I said, grinning. “You couldn’t script this shit.”
We burst through the exit and slid into the back seat of a waiting SUV like we were trying to escape a heist.
The second the doors closed, I felt the shift.
The adrenaline wasn’t game-day sharp anymore—it was heavier.
Realer. I leaned forward, barking the name of the hospital to the driver.
This reminded me of the time Amanda was born.
I was just a dumb teenager but I was so excited to meet this little human.
I now felt that love twenty times stronger.
Cassidy pulled her seatbelt across her chest, chest still rising and falling like she hadn’t taken a full breath yet. Her hand found mine and laced our fingers together tightly.
“She okay?” she asked.
“She said they’re checking her in.” I looked at her, at her flushed cheeks and smeared mascara. “You came with me. Just like that.”
Cassidy turned to me, dead serious. “There’s nowhere else I’d be.”
I nodded once and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for not making me go alone.”
“Are you kidding?” she said. “This is the most exciting night of my life! My first playoff experience and a baby? I’m emotionally unwell.”