8. Cassy #2
I sip my coffee, extra slow. “So, when are you going to find yourself a lady friend? I’ve seen the way women look at you. You'd be a real catch.”
Now he’s the one who wants to vanish. He starts unfolding his newspaper again, then refolds it like the act might transport him to another dimension. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”
“Well,” I say, locking eyes with him. “I was taught by the best.”
He gets up, pushes his chair back, and makes his way toward the door. “You and me. We’ll talk later.”
But just as he passes, he rests a hand on my shoulder. The room is quiet. His voice drops. “But I do love you.”
And then he’s gone.
I sit there with a smug little smile twisting my lips. He’s like putty in my hands.
That is… until I remember the one thing that he doesn't know. The one thing that’s going to crack the sky wide open.
Oh shit…
Feeling slightly dizzy, I finish my breakfast like it’s my last meal on death row, each bite heavier than the last. Martha comes in, her apron on and her eyes bright with that permanent look of someone who knows way more than she ever admits.
She starts clearing the plates but pauses when she gets to me.
That look. The one where it feels like she’s x-raying your soul. “Well,” she says, with that calm, syrupy voice that only ever means trouble. “I must say you handled that well this morning.”
And that’s when it hits.
That low, creeping nausea that’s been threatening to strike since bacon bite number two.
I bolt. Out of the dining room, down the hall, practically shoulder-charging the bathroom door open before I’m on my knees with my head in the bowl.
After emptying my stomach, I get to my feet, splash cold water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror like I’m expecting it to talk back and tell me what the hell to do.
It doesn’t. Rude.
I drag myself upstairs. Shower, makeup, clothes, hair. I’m back in control. Sort of. I grab my bag and laptop case from the foot of the stairs and leave the house like nothing's wrong.
Vegas is already waking up. Blurred neon, digital billboards flash overpriced drinks, and images of half-naked dancers. People stumble out of clubs, and others are already in line for brunch like it’s a sport.
And here I am. One foot in last night. One foot in complete, life-altering chaos.
How do I tell him? Do I just blurt it out?
“Oh, hi, Blake, last night you fucked me so good that this morning I can’t walk straight, and by the way, I’m having your baby.”
Yeah. No. That’s not it.
I need to seriously think this one through. I don’t want him doing a runner.
I like him. I mean, really like him. No, want him. No… need him.
Oh, fuck... Seriously, how the hell did this happen?
Well, technically, I know how it happened. I was there. Very much so. Enthusiastically so.
But emotionally? Spiritually? I don’t know how this snuck up on me. I really, really want Blake Mitchell.
Jesus. What if he wants nothing to do with it?
The nerves creep in as the arena looms ahead. Silver State Arena: home of blood, sweat, egos, and a thousand complicated relationships.
I show my ID at the gate, the security guy gives me a lazy nod, and the barrier lifts.
I pull into the lot.
The team is already making their way to the entrance, Peters, Davis, McAvoy, Bishy, and Brody, while Valerie, Michael, and Torro trail behind. Riley is leaning against Holly’s car, chatting with Musa, Gretchen, and Holly herself.
And then, Blake pulls into the lot.
His truck rumbles into its usual spot, and his engine cuts off like a statement.
I’m mid-step when Riley waves me down.
“Hey!” she jogs up beside me. “Remember, we have a ten o’clock meeting with Valerie in the board room. Scheduling for the Roomies filming.”
I nod, trying to pretend like the world isn’t tilting. “Got it.”
She keeps talking, all about some new bar that opened on the Strip, but out of the corner of my eye, I watch Blake swing his door open.
I interrupt her mid-sentence. “Listen, I’ll see you inside soon. There’s something I need to do.”
“Okay, girl.” She smirks and tosses me a wink as she heads inside.
I make my way to Blake’s truck.
He looks up just as I approach. The grin’s already forming. “Morning, beautiful,” he calls out. “Last night. Wow!”
But this time, I’m not smiling. I’m not joking.
“Blake.” I stop near the door, my heart beating like a war drum in my chest. “About that talk I wanted to have with you… Can we have it now?”
He studies me for a second, eyes narrowing, not with suspicion, but something quieter. He jerks his chin toward the passenger side.
“Yeah,” he says. “Get in.”
I do, and shut the door behind me.
He turns to face me and leans back in his seat. His tone drops. “Go… I’m listening.”
My throat is tight. Not the sexy kind of tight like it was last night when he… No. Focus .
“Well…” I start, already fiddling with the hem of my skirt like it’s going to give me the answer. “I’m not entirely sure how to say this, but…” I pause. Too long. My fingers smooth over the fabric of my skirt, pressing it down like I can iron out the panic in my chest.
Just say it. Just. Say It.
“It’s okay.” He watches me with those maddeningly calm eyes. “Just tell me.”
I glance at him. And something about the way he speaks, that steady patience, makes it worse. Like I might break.
And just like that, the floodgates open. Tears. Great. Snot and panic, exactly not the combo I was going for. I blink fast, try to breathe, try to stop my voice from wobbling like a goddamn earthquake.
He puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Well, a few days ago…” I manage, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand like a five-year-old. “I took a pregnancy test. And it was positive.”
His reaction? Silence. Total, earth-splitting silence, then he looks at me like his brain just packed a bag and left town. “Huh?” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. One syllable. Flat.
His jaw moves like he’s trying to talk again, but forgot how language works. But then something shifts. He blinks, sits up straighter, and smiles.
What?
He leans in. Doesn’t say anything. Just kisses me. Warmly, firmly, not a flicker of hesitation.
When he pulls back, he whispers against my lips, “Oh fuck. Cassy, Cassy, Cassy. That is wonderful. I’m going to be a Dad?”
And now I’m the stunned one. “What… You’re not angry?” I ask, blinking like I misheard him.
“Angry?” he says, his eyebrows shooting up like I just suggested we rob a bank. “Why would I be angry? It’s half my fault,” he says, as he leans back in the driver’s seat and buries his head in his hands. “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!” he yells up to the roof of the truck like he needs to tell the universe.
Then he leans back over and kisses me again. This time, it’s not careful. It’s all heat and shock and something electric that settles in my chest like maybe, just maybe, this is going to be okay.
“Come on,” he says, breathless. “Let’s get inside, and we can talk tonight if that’s okay with you.”
“Definitely,” I whisper, nodding while my heart tries to sprint out of my ribcage.
He squeezes my hand. Not just a little squeeze, he holds it like he means it.
We both get out of the truck, and I swear we’re both smiling like idiots. Like actual idiots. Like teenagers who think love is easy.
But at this moment? That’s exactly how it feels.
He looks at me as we start heading toward the entrance. “Oh fuck. What did your dad say?”
I stop and meet his gaze. “Haven’t told him yet.”
“Okay…” He reaches for my hand again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We head to the entrance, flash our IDs at the door, and the scanners beep us through.
The moment we enter, we let go of each other’s hands, still grinning. Like we know something the rest of the world doesn’t.
Like maybe, just maybe, we’ve got this.
What could possibly go wrong?