Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LOGAN
I wake up on the couch.
For a second, I don’t know where I am.
My eyes blink open slowly, head heavy, like my brain’s still catching up.
There’s an open bottle of wine on the coffee table.
The TV’s still on.
The Notebook is playing.
Of course it is. Since I made good on my promise to watch that with her last night when we got back.
I shift slightly—and that’s when I feel it.
Her.
Cassie’s curled up behind me, tucked against my back, one arm draped over my waist like it belongs there.
She’s fast asleep, breathing slow and steady.
I go still, because I don’t think she meant to fall asleep like this, given her weird complex about sleeping close to me.
And I definitely didn’t mean to let her. But here we are.
I glance down at her hand, resting against my stomach.
Something in my chest tightens.
I stare at the TV for a second longer—some dramatic scene playing out, music swelling like it’s the end of the world.
I don’t even know what part it is. I’m not watching that. I’m thinking about the field and the way she looked at me.
The way she said we never did anything like this.
I swallow, careful not to move.
Because if I do she might wake up.
And this—whatever undefined magic this is—might disappear.
So I’m going to savor it.
“Well, that scout came, and he called Johnson up,” my manager says on the plane the next day.
“Oh. Really?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, Logan. Thought it’d be you.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You’re not disappointed to be staying here? Instead of playing with the big boys in L.A.?”
“Guess it wasn’t in the cards.”
“Oh. You’re taking this better than I expected. Thought you might be pissed.”
I shrug. The truth is that moving to L.A.—and playing in the MLB—is the end goal, yes.
But for once, I’m actually enjoying my life outside of baseball. And I don’t feel like I’m in a rush to move anywhere or do anything.
“It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen,” I say.
He studies me for a second, like he doesn’t quite buy it, then nods and leans back.
I turn toward the window, watching the clouds drift by.
This is supposed to be everything I’ve worked for.
But all I can think about is her—half-asleep, curled into me like she belonged there.
Just then, my phone pings with a message.
Cassie: Hey. Whatcha doin?
Logan: I’m on the plane. Heading to Seattle.
Cassie: Oh. Well don’t let me interrupt.
Logan: Not interrupting. I have a whole row to myself. What are you doing today?
Cassie: Just got back from the coffee shop. June is CRUSHING it today.
Logan: Thanks to you.
Cassie: No. Thanks to you.
Logan: Hey, the guys all like coffee. And not like they have anything better to do. Probably kept them out of trouble that morning.
Cassie: Well…I just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.
Logan: Yeah? That’s it?
Cassie: I also…went on a little shopping spree today.
Logan: Oh.
Cassie: Don’t make it weird.
I smirk, thumbs hovering over the screen.
Logan: Too late for that.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Come back.
Cassie: I wasn’t going to tell you this but now I feel like I have to.
Logan: That sounds dangerous.
Cassie: It probably is.
I shift in my seat, glancing down the aisle. Still empty. Just me, the hum of the engine, and whatever this is.
Logan: Go on.
There’s a longer pause this time.
Then a photo comes through.
I open it.
And just…stop.
She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, soft light spilling in from the window behind her. One leg tucked slightly under the other. Bare shoulders. Something dark and delicate against her skin—lace, I think, but my brain’s not exactly firing on all cylinders right now.
And over her eyes is the blindfold we played with.
Like she’s not even supposed to see me seeing her.
My throat goes dry.
Cassie: I was…trying something.
Cassie: Like, photography-wise
Cassie: Don’t say anything mean.
I let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand over my mouth.
Logan: Mean?
Logan: Cassie
I glance at the photo again. The way she’s sitting there—unsure, but trying. Brave in a way she probably doesn’t even realize.
Logan: That might be the least mean thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Cassie: That didn’t sound reassuring.
Logan: You’re kidding, right?
Cassie: I don’t know. I’ve never…done anything like this before.
I lean back in the seat, still staring at it.
Logan: Yeah
Logan: I can tell.
Another pause.
Cassie: Is that bad?
I exhale slowly.
Logan: No
Logan: It’s what makes it…
I stop myself. Shake my head a little.
Logan: It’s not bad.
Cassie: That was not a finished sentence.
Logan: I’m choosing self-control.
Cassie: Oh god
Cassie: Now I’m scared.
Logan: You should be.
Three dots.
Cassie: Should I take it down?
My grip tightens on the phone.
Logan: Don’t you dare.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Cassie: Okay
Cassie: I won’t.
I stare at the photo one more second before locking my phone and leaning my head back against the seat.
Forget L.A.
I might purposely tank this series just to make sure I don’t get called up.
Cassie: Hey. See you Saturday.
Logan: Saturday?
Cassie: You’re playing in Davenport that day. And I’ll be at the game…with Jackson and company. We actually bought a bunch of front row seats. So we may or may not be in the front row, heckling you.
Logan: Guess I’d better bring my “A” game then.
Cassie: Don’t you always, though?
I get back late Friday night, the team plane touching down just east of Davenport after midnight.
By the time I grab my bag and get to the truck, the parking lot’s mostly empty. Quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens this late, when the world finally shuts up for a second.
I start the engine and pull out onto the road, rolling the windows down just enough to let the air in.
It’s still warm.
Summer doesn’t really cool off out here—it just…softens.
The radio crackles to life as I flip it on, some late-night DJ talking low and easy like he’s the only one awake.
I drive in silence for a while, headlights cutting through the dark.
Then the bridge comes into view.
The Mississippi stretches out beneath it—wide, slow, black under the night sky.
I ease onto it, one hand on the wheel.
And before I can think too hard about it, I grab my phone and call the station. After a couple of rings, someone actually answers.
“Hi, you’re on.”
“Hey,” I say, glancing out over the water. “Can you play a song for me?”
“Sure thing. What are we thinking?”
“It’s by the Dust Devils,” I say. “They did a cover—‘Stepping Stone.’ That country-fied version.”
“Got it,” the DJ says. “Interesting choice. You playing it for anyone in particular?”
I hesitate. “Nah. Just play it.”
He chuckles softly. “You got it, man.”
I hang up, exhaling, and keep driving.
I pull into a gas station about ten minutes later, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
As I step out, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Cassie.
Cassie: You up?
I huff out a quiet laugh.
Logan: At a gas station.
Logan: So, yeah.
Three dots.
Cassie: I can’t sleep.
I lean back against the car, staring out into the empty lot.
Logan: What are you thinking about?
There’s a pause.
Cassie: You
That hits harder than it should.
I run a hand through my hair, glancing down at the screen.
Logan: Yeah?
Cassie: Yeah
Another pause as I watch the three dots.
Cassie: I missed you this week.
I swallow.
Logan: I missed you, too.
The words feel heavier than they should. Or maybe just more honest.
Cassie: What are you going to do when you get back?
I glance toward the highway. I’m forty-five minutes away. Maybe less.
Logan: Depends
Cassie: On what?
I smirk slightly, shaking my head.
Logan: On whether you’re going to pretend none of this is happening.
Cassie: I’m not pretending.
Logan: Good.
I push off the car, pacing once, energy starting to build in my chest.
Logan: Because I’m not either.
Three dots again.
Cassie: Logan…
I exhale slowly and this is where it shifts.
I know it and she knows it. She better.
Logan: You know I respect you, right?
Cassie: …Yeah
Cassie: Why?
I look out at the empty road, jaw tightening just slightly.
I start, then stop.
And then finish the text.
Logan: Because when I get back it’s probably going to seem like I don’t.
Silence. No typing, and no dots.
Just the dim hum of the gas station lights overhead. Plus my heart kicking a little harder than it should.
I shoot her one more text.
Logan: When I get in, I want you wearing that lingerie you showed me.
Cassie: What…this?
My heart hammers when I see the photo that comes in. Her with a finger on her lips. Wearing a blindfold.
Guess she’s already a step ahead of me.
I get in the truck and I drive a little faster this time.