She doesn’t even flinch when she passes me, eyes fixed on her phone like I’m a ghost. But I feel the punch in the gut anyway.
One of the players whistles. “That’s our media girl. Bit of a heartbreaker.”
I keep my jaw tight. “Cool.”
“You know her?”
“Barely.”
Lie.
We dated for six months before she dumped me over text the day I got sent back to Double-A a few years ago. But I’m not even considering going down that road again.
Another guy claps me on the back. “Forget her, man. You’re up here now. Time to eat.”
The door to the coaches’ office swings open.
Coach Riley steps out, chewing gum like it owes him money. “Wade. Let’s go.”
I grab my glove and jog after him.
“We’ve got you starting at third base tomorrow night,” he says without looking at me. “You’ll take grounders with the infielders now. Show ‘em you’ve got hands.”
“Yes, sir.”
He slows, then glances at me sideways. “And Wade?”
“Yes?”
“This ain’t your last shot…but it might be your best. Don’t screw around.”
“Roger that, Coach.”
Message received.
As I head out to the field, Maddie’s perfume still lingers in the hallway.
But all I can think about is Cassie.
In that damn Iowa tee.
Smiling at me like she doesn’t even know she’s already ruined me.
Chapter Ten
CASSIE
I set the last cardboard box on my bed and sigh.
This was supposed to be a fresh start. A clean slate. Not a…Logan-laced fever dream.
I flip the flaps open and start pulling out the last of my things—paperbacks, a few framed photos, my college sweatshirt that still smells like youth and possibility. At the bottom, I find the old leather journal I used to keep tucked in my desk drawer.
I open to a blank page, date it, and write:
June 17 – Things I Want From This Life
I tap the pen against my lip, thinking. Freedom. Peace. Maybe a tiny herb garden. A job that doesn’t require a spreadsheet soul-death every Monday, but somehow, some way still makes money.
