Chapter Seventeen
Tessa
Chills run up my arms as I blink awake, eyes adjusting to the light slipping through the window. The room’s quiet, but it takes me only a second to know he’s gone.
I sit up, the blanket slipping down my shoulders. Clothes are scattered across the floor, and the faint smell of his cologne hangs in the air. Last night comes back in flashes—his hands, his voice, and the way he looked at me like he was saying goodbye without the words.
Afterward, we talked for what felt like hours.
He told me how weird it still feels being out of the league.
How he’s been trying to figure out what’s next—something that keeps him close to hockey without being back on the ice.
He said he’s been living out of bags more than he’s been home, trying to find somewhere that actually feels like one.
His voice went low then, tired in a way that made my chest ache.
I remember teasing him about how serious he got when I mentioned late nights at the Silver Spur.
The flash of jealousy that crossed his face was impossible to miss.
I told him he had nothing to worry about, that the only guy I ever left with was the bouncer.
The small smile that tugged at his mouth then—it’s the one I can’t stop seeing.
At some point, I must’ve drifted off. When I woke up, the other side of the bed was cold. At some point, he slipped out quietly, careful not to wake me. I tell myself he just didn’t want to risk getting caught by my mom, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t buy it.
I push the covers back and pull on my tank top and shorts. My hair’s a mess, and there are faint shadows along my neck—marks I can’t exactly explain. Heat floods my face as I tug on a sweatshirt and head downstairs.
The smell of maple syrup and cinnamon hits first. Candles flicker downstairs, and the familiar sound of Elf playing in the living room. It feels like home.
“About time you crawled out of bed,” Mom calls when I step into the kitchen. She’s still sporting her favorite Christmas apron, cheeks pink from the heat of the waffle iron.
She hums along to the music on the TV as she pours batter onto the hot plates. “I was wondering when you were going to drag yourself out of bed. For a second, I thought I’d have to lure you out with breakfast.”
Relief hits that I managed to wake up on my own. If she’d come knocking earlier, I don’t even want to think about the questions I’d be answering.
The iron clicks shut, steam curling from the sides. Mom wipes her hands on a towel and looks over at me.
“Well,” she says, her smile softening. “Looks like it’s just us this morning.”
I blink, still shaking off sleep. “Us?”
She nods toward the window. “Your brother and his crew headed out early. Erica wanted to beat the snowstorm coming through. And Clay…” She reaches for a plate. “He left not long after them. Said he had some work things come up that he had to handle. It sounded pretty urgent.”
My stomach twists, and my brows deepen in confusion. “So who’s left?”
“Just you, me, your dad, the Barlowes, and Evan,” she says, smiling like it’s no big deal. “Should be a quiet day. I love having all you home under one roof, but I won’t pass up a chill day with my girl.”
I circle the island, pretending I’m just looking for coffee, but when I glance out the kitchen window, the driveway looks too empty. The sports car that was parked there last night is gone. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
The microwave clock blinks at 9:47. He must’ve left around sunrise, deciding it’s better if I don’t wake up to see him go. Still, knowing he slipped out without saying goodbye shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
Mom slides a platter of waffles across the counter, laughing at the part in the movie where Buddy calls the department-store Santa a fraud and yells, “You sit on a throne of lies.”
She turns back to me. “He wanted me to tell you he booked you a flight back to Kolmont. He needed to return the rental and wanted to make sure you made it back to school safely.”
Of course he did. I force a small smile.
I nod and move, because standing still feels worse. I pour coffee, trying to steady my hands, trying not to replay every second of last night.
In the living room, Dad’s voice carries over the crackle of the fireplace. He’s talking with Clay’s parents. Evan must’ve joined them at some point because I hear him laugh along with them. The sound is another reminder of the person I’m missing here.
I tell myself it’s fine. Clay has a life, responsibilities, and a hundred reasons to leave before things get messy. But the picture of him slipping out without even a goodbye sticks with me.
I grab plates from the cabinet and help Mom set the table. The smell of waffles and coffee fills the kitchen. I take a seat next to her and load my plate, pretending not to think about why Clay couldn’t tell me about the ticket he bought me himself.
When I go back to my room, something catches my eye—a white envelope sitting on my dresser. I didn’t notice it when I woke up. My name’s written on the front in his handwriting. Underneath it is his Kolmont hoodie, folded neatly like he meant for me to find it. The same one he wore last night.
Inside is a single plane ticket with my name on it. The date printed on the confirmation is from last night. My stomach twists as it sinks in.
He booked it before he ever came to see me. Before he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the hoodie to my chest and breathing in the faint trace of him still clinging to the fabric. I don’t know if I should be angry or just sad. I pull out my phone and type a quick text: Thanks for the ticket.
His reply comes a few minutes later. It’s short and to the point. No mention of what we shared during our trip home for Christmas.
I spend the rest of the day with Mom—helping her clean up after breakfast, watching old movies, and pretending it’s just another quiet Sunday. By the time I pack my suitcase and head back to Kolmont, I’m ready.
I text my roommate, Summer, to meet me at the arrivals pickup, and she gives me a ride back to campus.
After a day full of traveling, I collapse onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room feels both familiar and hollow. I plan to shower, change into my pajamas, and binge Supermarket Sweep until it’s time for bed.
I tell myself that keeping busy will help. It’s easier than sitting with my thoughts.
“Why are you acting so…” Summer tilts her head, studying me. “I don’t know. Mopey?”
“What? I’m not acting like anything.” I roll over, hugging my pillow.
“Uh, yes, you are.” She crosses her arms, her messy bun sliding off-center. “Usually, you come back ready to spill every detail about any trip you take. You’re never this quiet, and it’s weirding me out. What’s going on?”
She’s right. I barely said a word the whole drive home. Just thanked her and stared out the window.
“Spill it,” she says, flopping back against her pillows. “Give me something to make my family look normal.”
I hesitate, debating how much to tell her. Then I sigh. “You want excitement? Fine.” I sit up, elbow propped on my pillow. “I ended up sleeping with my ex-boyfriend’s brother.”
Her jaw drops, eyes narrowing as she processes it.
“Yeah, and I gave Santa a blow job,” she deadpans. “Come on, Tess. You’re serious?”
I don’t answer. I just meet her stare, the corner of my mouth twitching.
Her voice jumps an octave. “Wait. You mean the one you mentioned being snowed in with? Evan’s brother? He’s the older and moody one, right?”
I nod, my throat tight.
She’d texted to make sure I made it to the lodge okay. The snowstorm hitting the East Coast was all over the news, and she was worried about me traveling, especially after I told her I’d gotten snowed in with Clay.
I never told her about the kiss three years ago, though. Never admitted how I tried to bury it, pretending it hadn’t meant anything. For a while, I almost believed it myself. Until I saw him again.
“You have to show me a picture,” Summer says, eyes wide. “I can’t process this without visual evidence of the perpetrator.”
I reach for my phone, still shoved in my back pocket. My hands shake a little as I scroll through Facebook. Clay doesn’t post much, but he’s been tagged in a few photos from the gala. I find the one that stopped me cold the first time I saw it, and I hold my phone out toward her.
Her jaw drops again. “You’re kidding me. He looks like he just stepped out of GQ. Look at those shoulders. And his arms—holy shit.” She presses a hand to her chest and fans herself with the other. “I think I just had an orgasm.”
I snort, lunging across the bed to snatch my phone back. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
For the next twenty minutes, she pushes, prods, and pries until I finally give in and tell her everything.
From Clay showing up grumpy, to us bickering in the car all the way back home, to the night we were snowed in at the cabin, to the nights we snuck into each other’s room, and even the quiet moments that started this whole mess three years ago. I don’t hold back.
By the time I’m done, I feel lighter—like someone lifted a weight off my chest I didn’t realize I was carrying.
Summer exhales, eyes wide. “Girl, we need to get you back out there. You know what they say—the best way to get over one man is to get under another.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes, but close enough.”
We end up ordering pizza and scrolling through Netflix until we settle on the new season of Outer Banks. For a few hours, greasy food, soda, and Summer’s running commentary are enough to dull the ache in my chest.