Chapter 12
Tessa
“We need to talk. Face to face. Pick the place.”
The text comes from an unknown number, but I don’t need to be a genius to know it’s Nate.
I stare at the screen for a full minute. The coffee I just made, forgotten. Outside, Seattle wakes up gray, like it almost always does this time of year.
I could ignore it. Delete it. Pretend it never showed up.
Honestly, I should.
But I need to know what he’s planning. I need to understand what we’re up against.
I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: The Greyline. Capitol Hill at 10.
Public. Busy. Witnesses everywhere.
It’s not that I’m scared of him, but I like precautions. If Nate Henderson wants war, at least it happens on neutral ground.
**
The café has that Seattle hipster vibe. Styled without looking like it tries. Every detail curated. Six people stand in line to order while the window tables are already taken by laptop warriors in headphones.
Nate is already here.
He sits at a quiet table in the back. Gray suit, no tie. Hair perfect. He wears that stupid expression I’m sure he practices in the mirror every morning, the one that’s supposed to make women melt. It makes my stomach turn. He’s the type who tells you you’re amazing while he slides the knife in.
When he sees me, he smiles like he doesn’t hate me.
“Tessa. Thanks for coming.” He extends his hand.
I don’t take it.
I sit and lock eyes with him.
The smile doesn’t slip. If anything it grows. He folds his hands on the table, relaxed, like we’re two old friends catching up and not walking into a trap.
“Did you file the anonymous ethics complaint with the league?” I ask, no warm-up.
“I see you’re still as direct as ever.” He lifts his brows. “Good. I like it. I almost prefer it.” He leans back, then adds with a lazy shrug, “As you just said, it’s anonymous. So I don’t know what you’re talking about, of course.”
Nate reclines, arms behind his neck like he’s sunbathing.
I debate calling him a jackass or throwing his tea in his face. I settle for rolling my eyes and letting out a hard breath.
“Do you know why I married Zoe?” he asks, like it’s a fun story.
“For her money?”
Nate chuckles. We all know it’s true. That and the way being married to a soccer star opens doors for a sports journalist, but he likes to pretend.
“You wrecked her life and she needed someone to make her happy.”
“And I can see how well that worked,” I say.
“Well, we lasted about six years.” He shrugs. “Everything ends.”
I refuse to picture what Zoe’s life with him looked like. He took advantage of her lowest point, and I helped create it. I lace my fingers in my lap so he can’t see the slight shake in them.
“Do you know when I realized I failed?” Nate continues.
I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear any of it. But I’m here.
“Enlighten me.”
“On our honeymoon.”
“On your honeymoon?” I stare. “You were with her for six years and you figure it out on your honeymoon?”
He looks amused, like my disgust is a compliment.
“We went to Mauritius. Her pick. She was paying, after all.” He pauses and takes a sip of tea like he’s savoring the moment.
“There was a women’s soccer match on the hotel bar TV.
Two German teams, I don’t even remember which.
You know that even though I’m a sports journalist, I hate women’s soccer.
We’re sitting there, newly married, supposed to be the happiest moment of our lives. ”
“Can you get to the point?”
“The team you used to work for scored first.” Nate’s eyes sharpen. “She smiled. And do you know her first instinct? She grabbed her phone.”
“Grabbed her phone?” I repeat, confused.
“Yes. She grabbed her phone and went to your Instagram to see if you posted something.” His mouth twists. “You two weren’t talking, but several times a day she had to pick up her damn phone and check your feeds.”
My throat tightens.
Because I did the same thing.
“She married me. She put on my ring.” Nate taps the table once, like punctuation. “And she still kept looking for you.”
I blink hard. I refuse to let my eyes water. I won’t give him that. But my stomach flips like I’m falling.
“In the end, I was her consolation prize, Tessa.”
“It didn’t go that badly for you.” Now it’s my turn to push back. “It probably helped you a lot, being married to a soccer star, right? I mean, that kind of access has to be good for something.”
It lands.
Nate’s expression twists for a second. He recovers fast, but I see it. I feel it.
“Well,” he says, voice cooler, “the point is, I’m the one who picked up the pieces you left broken and scattered all over the floor. All your crap. And you know what? I made peace with it. I told myself sooner or later it would work.”
“Oh, come on.” My voice rises, loud enough that a couple people at nearby tables glance over. “So now Zoe’s the villain and you’re the hero?”
“No.” Nate lifts a finger and points at me, slow. “You’re the villain.”
“Me?”
Shit. Words race through my head because, yes, I hurt Zoe. I did. But that isn’t why we’re here and—
“I’m not here for an apology, Tessa.” His voice stays smooth. “I’m here because I want you to understand the damage you did to her. And the damage you’re going to do. Bluntly, you ruined her life seven years ago, and I’m almost sure you’ll do it again.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, close to a growl.
“No idea?” He leans forward. His voice drops to a harsh whisper.
“You put those ideas back in her head. Coming back. Being the best again. She has enough money to live forever, to give Wes anything she wants. And then you show up and what does she do? Instead of focusing on the baby, she chases fame again. It’s pathetic. ”
“It wasn’t pathetic when she was the best and you were next to her.” My jaw aches from clenching. “And what you’re saying isn’t true.”
“Ask yourself something, Tessa.” Nate’s eyes glitter. “Does she want you, or does she just want not to be alone? Did she come back to you because it’s easier than risking something new? Or because you remind her of her glory days when you were the campus power couple?”
I dig my nails into my palms to hold control. He knows where to hit. He hits anyway.
“I already told you,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. If you think you know her—”
“I knew her for six years,” he cuts in, and every word turns into a blade.
“I lived with her. I married her. I had a child with her. I woke up next to her every morning. I knew every version of Zoe. Happy. Sad. Furious. Vulnerable. The one you left wrecked because of you.” He leans in farther.
“And you? You left when it got serious. You ran to another continent. Seven years without a call, without a text, without anything. And now you think you can come back and—”
“Stop!” I shout, losing it.
Nate smiles.
He wins.
“Does it hurt?” he asks. “Good. That’s the point.”
He stands, drops a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and walks toward the door.
“You know what the saddest part is?” he adds, sliding on his coat. “Deep down, she isn’t in love with you. She’s in love with what you used to be. With the ghost of something that died seven years ago.”
He leaves the café without looking back.
I sit there frozen.
I can’t move.
I breathe.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Nate’s words spin in my head. They drill straight through my ribs.
“Does she want you, or does she just want not to be alone?”
“You left her alone with a shitty letter.”
“The ghost of something that died seven years ago.”
A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it off with anger.
Because he’s right about some things. That’s what hurts most.
I ran to Munich. Zoe ran into a marriage she thought was safe. Deep down, we both have a habit of dodging what scares us.
I close my eyes. Breathe. The café noise returns in layers: the steam hiss from the espresso machine, someone laughing at the next table, a spoon clinking against a cup.
I think of Zoe.
The way she looked at me last night. Wesley asleep between us. The way her hand finds mine in the dark. The way she whispers “I love you” before she falls asleep.
Nate came to plant doubt.
He succeeded.
God, he succeeded.
But doubt isn’t the same thing as truth.
And there’s something Nate doesn’t get. Something he can’t get because he’s never felt it. The way Zoe and I look at each other now, like nothing else exists. Back in college, it was heat. Now it’s turning into something steadier. Sharper. Stronger.
It isn’t nostalgia. It isn’t fear of being alone. It isn’t settling for familiar.
It’s love. The kind that hurts when it’s missing. The kind that rewires your life. The kind that makes you want to be better every day.
Nate wants to break me. Nate wants me to run again.
This time he doesn’t get that win.
“I talked to Nate,” I text.
The reply comes in two seconds.
Zoe: WHAT?
I smile. I can see her in my head. Wide eyes. Furrowed brow. Heart racing.
Me: I’ll tell you later. But I’m okay. He’s a fucking asshole. I’m not going anywhere.
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Zoe: You sure?
Me: Sure.