Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
LOGAN
Two weeks after the trade, I make the move and just put a down payment on my own place.
The house is nice.
It’s not some mansion, but it’s nice enough for my first big-league paycheck.
Right on the water—west-facing, the kind of place that probably looks incredible at sunset.
It’s got white walls, a marble kitchen counter, and high ceilings. And did I mention the ocean view?
It’s a little sterile for my liking, but the price is right for what I’m looking for. I don’t have some million-dollar contract. Not yet, anyway. Even though I’ve been playing well so far.
“Yeah, man,” Ray says, cracking open another beer in my backyard like he owns the place. I reluctantly agreed to let him help me move in since I needed someone. “You are gonna get so much ass in this house. Welcome to the big leagues, bro. Cheers.”
I huff out a quiet breath, and wave a hand.
“Nah. Not really my thing.”
He looks at me like I just spoke a different language.
“Not your thing?” he repeats. “Then what is your thing, man?”
I shrug, and think. It’s honestly a fair question.
I like long drives in the middle of nowhere with good company and no destination.
Good music from the soul.
People who don’t try too hard to impress.
I like backyards, barbecues with good friends, and hot dogs on the grill.
But most of all, it’s her that comes to mind.
No, dude. She’s not even that into you.
I clear my throat slightly.
“Just…simple stuff,” I say. “I liked the Midwest when I was playing with that minor league team.”
Ray laughs, shaking his head.
“Man, you are in the wrong state for simple. We’re gonna be hitting the club, man. You gotta work on your bachata.”
I laugh. “I mean, I’m not going to hate the winters here, that’s for sure. I bet it’ll grow on me. Just gonna take some time. And sure, I don’t hate a dance party once in a while.”
He sticks around for another ten minutes.
Talking mostly at me. Then he leaves.
Honestly, I don’t hate the guy. I do have to play with him. And despite how he annoys me, hey—the guy helped me move in.
But with chatty Ray gone, just like that, it’s quiet again.
Way too quiet.
I head inside and just stand there for a second in the middle of my living room.
I have no couch and no rug. I haven’t picked out my furniture yet.
There’s just the one chair, and a bunch of unopened boxes stacked against the wall, which I still haven’t touched.
The place doesn’t have bad bones, but it feels a little barren, like a model home nobody’s actually lived in. A far cry from that homie, dark wood, early 1900s build of my home stay.
I grab a beer from the fridge and flip on the TV, propping my laptop up on a stool.
I scroll for a while on YouTube, spacing out. Then something surprises me on my feed.
A minor league stream of the Davenport team buried on YouTube.
The camera angles are bad, and the audio is worse. So I lean forward slightly and watch.
The announcers are, honestly, hilarious.
“And it’s a high, high fly to left,” one says. “That’s going, going…wow. Well he didn’t hit it out. Not by a long shot. But Douglas has really been working on that swing as he flies out.”
“I tell you what, Greg, Douglas was an animal in batting practice today, an absolute animal. He’s twenty-three and he’s got a great swing. And he’s really looking fresh heading to the dugout there.”
“He’s gonna get some high-fives after that swing on an 0-2 count. That’s great baseball, Julio. Great baseball.”
“Greg, I tell you what, I think they’re the most exciting team in America right now.”
I chuckle. I love how they’re trying to make minor league baseball overly dramatic and interesting.
But I look up, and I’m still in an empty house. I think back on hanging with Jackson, playing whiffleball with those neighborhood kids. Sure, we didn’t have oceanfront views, but that was really livin’, if you ask me.
L-I-V-I-N.
Maybe I can get a dog. A puppy?
Something that greets you when you walk in, makes the place feel like something.
But I really can’t.
I’ll be gone 82 days out of the year for away games, and that’s definitely not fair to a dog.
So I guess it’ll just be me.
Me and Ray. Bros. Shortstop and third base.
I laugh again to myself.
Welcome to the big leagues, Wade. The dream is complete.
How does it feel?
I take a sip of my beer and let the quiet settle in again.
The ocean’s right there, and the sunset is starting so I head to my back patio to watch.
Just taking life as it comes.
Comes.
My mind flashes back to that concert in the rain. Speaking of coming…
And just like that, I’m getting turned on. Well, I haven’t gotten laid or even felt like rubbing one out, since Riverbend. And Cassie.
Cassie.
I actually laugh out loud. Great. Random phrases with the word ‘comes’ I’m thinking in my own mind are reminding me of her. Well, that’s just perfect.
I scroll through my phone, and I realize I don’t even have a single photo of the two of us. Imagine that. I was too busy enjoying life to snap a pic.
Plus…you don’t snap pics of rebounds.
I should have known better. I’m just not the type for casual. That’s the last time—
Just then, a notification dings on my phone.
From Cassie.
My heart starts to hammer.
Cassie: You up?
I stand up and look around.
Logan: Excuse me?
Just then, I hear a sound. Music, maybe. Coming from…the ocean?
No.
It’s “Stepping Stone,” the version the Dust Devils covered.
What the hell?
I can distinctly make out the lyrics:
I don’t wanna put my heart on a spire
Just to wind up another fleeting desire
Where on earth is that sound coming from? I pace around my patio toward the ocean, then double back, walking around to the front of my house.
My jaw is on the floor at what I see.
It’s Cassie.
She’s wearing blue cowgirl boots, short shorts, a crop top, and big sunglasses.
A cowboy—cowgirl—hat to top it off.
And she’s holding up a gray, Bluetooth boombox like it’s The Lion King, which is playing “Stepping Stone.”
“Hi,” she says with a grin. “Any chance there’s a hot cowboy who lives here?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“Just happened to be passing through.”
“Passing through. You were passing through south of Tampa?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, you know. Just decided to go for a drive and…whoopsie. Must have turned off my GPS.”
My expression tightens. “No, seriously. What are you doing here?”
Her smile softens. “Mind if I come in? This cowgirl is awfully thirsty. My canteen ran out of water. And this Florida heat is something else.”
I swallow, letting a beat pass while I process.
She breaks the silence. “Can we…talk?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Come on in.”
The door shuts behind us with a soft click.
She steps inside, glancing around.
“Wow,” she says lightly. “This place is…minimalist.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
“It’s a work in progress. As in, I just got the keys two days ago. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
She walks a few steps in, boots soft against the floor, taking it in.
“No couch?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“No rug?”
“Not yet.”
She turns back to me. “Just the one chair?”
I nod. “Just the one. I wasn’t planning on company so soon.”
A beat passes, an awkwardness hanging between us.
“Well,” she says, setting the speaker down on the counter, “guess we’ll have to stand.”
I cross my arms.
“Or you could start talking.”
That lands, and her smile fades a little.
“Right,” she says. “Yeah. Talking. That’s…why I drove seventeen hours.”
“You drove? For real?”
She shrugs. “I like a long drive, you know?”
I don’t react.
Not yet, at least.
“So,” I say. “Talk.”
She exhales slowly, like she’s trying to organize everything in her head.
“I messed up.”
I tilt my head.
“Okay.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, searching.
“I did,” she says. “I made it seem like…like you were just—”
She gestures vaguely.
“—content. For a video. And that’s not what it was. Not even close.”
I hold her gaze.
“Then why say it?”
That hits her.
She swallows.
“Because I got scared. And it just kind of came out on the phone with George, and I didn’t stop it.”
Silence.
She lets out a breath, shaking her head a little.
“Because I’ve been hurt before. Badly. And everything with you was moving so fast and feeling so…” she trails off, searching for the word.
“Real,” I interject.
Her eyes snap to mine.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “That’s a good word for it. Real. Not rebound-like.”
I nod once.
“Yeah. It was. It was real.”
Her eyes search mine, then avert.
“And that terrified me,” she says. “So I did what I always do. I…downplayed it. Made it smaller than it was so I wouldn’t have to risk anything.”
I let out a slow breath.
“Right.”
She frowns slightly.
“That’s it? ‘Right?’”
I shrug.
“What do you want me to say?”
Her voice tightens.
“I want you to say something, Logan.”
I take a step closer.
“You want honesty?”
She nods.
“Okay,” I say. “That sucked. I got the best news of my life. Something I’ve been working toward for as long as I can remember.
And then you just shut me out. Closed the door.
Then called me ‘content.’ Meanwhile, I don’t have a single picture of us on my phone.
Because all I was doing was enjoying the moments with you.
And I was really, really enjoying those moments. ”
She flinches.
“You don’t get to act like that didn’t mean anything,” I continue. “Like I didn’t mean anything. And then just show up here with a speaker and a cowboy hat like it fixes it.”
Her eyes glass slightly. “Well, you could have told me how you felt, you know?”
“I could have. I wanted to. Maybe I should have. And that last night, I really wanted to. But I didn’t know how. What was I supposed to do? Bust down your door? Maybe I could have, but it seemed like you were pretty okay with me leaving that morning.”
“I know. I didn’t give you that chance. That’s why I’m here.”
I search her face for some kind of signal. I’m not sure what I think I’ll find.
“It wasn’t nothing,” she says, stepping closer. “It was everything. That’s the problem.”
That lands. I run a hand through my hair and spin around, then turn back to face her.
She moves closer. Close enough now that I can smell her floral perfume.
“I was wrong,” she says. “About all of it. About you. About me. About the whole thing.”
I avert my eyes, looking around at my empty place. I really need some warm lighting.
“I don’t do casual either,” she adds. “I tried to pretend I could. But I can’t.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Cass. Can I be honest?”
“Of course.”
“I feel like you’re still hung up on your ex. You’ve got some things to sort out.”
“Maybe, but…”
I glance outside. The sunlight is rapidly disappearing.
“Look,” I say. “I have an afternoon game tomorrow and I have to get some sleep. I’d love to continue this conversation in the morning. I’m pretty wrecked from the whole move and…this.”
She tentatively reaches a hand out and puts it on my forearm. “I understand. I can go—”
“No. Don’t go. Just…stay here.”
“No, I shouldn’t—”
“Cass. Stay. We’ll talk in the morning.” I put my hand on her hip. “I want you to stay. Please.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Do you have a bag?” I shake my head. “Of course you do. Let me get it.”
I breeze past her toward the door and hear her steps following me.
She opens her car, and I grab her bag for her and bring it in.
“Oh, and by the way,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I literally only have one bed.”
“Oh.”
“It’s king size. We can spread out.”
“Right.” She nods slowly. “Got it.”