Chapter Twenty-Three
Clay
The air cools around me, calm after the chaos of the bar. Tessa is still inside while the rest of the world celebrates the new year.
I lean against the side of my truck, hands shoved deep into my pockets to keep from going back inside after her. The cold cuts through my coat, biting at my fingers, but I don’t move. The door hasn’t opened yet, and until it does, I can’t convince myself to walk away.
It’s closing in on three in the morning, and I’m still here. Still waiting.
I should’ve left hours ago—should’ve gone home, buried myself in drills, game film, anything that doesn’t have her name attached to it. But I couldn’t. Not after seeing her. Not after the way that guy’s hand landed on her arm while I stood there holding myself back by a thread.
The door swings open, spilling light and noise into the dark. And then she steps out.
Her breath fogs in front of her, cheeks flushed from the cold and the hours. Her hair’s slipping loose, strands falling against her face. She looks worn down from her long shift, but she still manages to knock the air out of me.
I straighten before I can stop myself. She spots me instantly. I see the flicker in her eyes, the way her lips press together, and the way her chin tips up like armor snapping into place.
“Tess,” I say, voice rough.
She keeps walking. Not a glance.
I push off the truck, shoes crunching against the thin layer of salt on the sidewalk. “You’re really not gonna talk to me?”
Her pace picks up, shoulders stiff, but she doesn’t say a word. When she reaches the curb, that’s when I notice the car idling under the streetlight.
She reaches for the handle, opening it enough to catch a glimpse at the person inside. Summer, of course.
Tessa fumbles as she turns to look at me and nearly trips over the curb. It’s like she’s trying to outrun the moment, but I can make out the way her hands shake.
“I just need five minutes,” I say, softer this time. “That’s all.”
She exhales hard, breath curling white in the air. “You shouldn’t be here, Clay.”
“I know.” My voice feels like sandpaper. “But I am.”
Her head tilts toward the waiting car. “Summer’s here. I need to go.”
I glance past her at her roommate sitting in the driver’s seat. Summer’s watching, pretending not to.
“I’m trying to fix this, Tess,” I murmur, stepping closer. “Tell her to go home.”
She turns to me then, eyes wide. “You can’t just show up here and—”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Sug.” My tone drops low. “Just a chance to talk.”
Her laugh’s short and bitter. “Talk? Is that what we’re callin’ it now? Because the last time we tried, well, we didn’t exactly do much talking at all.”
My breath fogs out slowly as I force the words past the lump in my throat. “You’re right. I screwed that up. I’m not here for that now, though.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The street’s quiet except for the low rumble of the engine and honking somewhere in the distance.
“Please,” I say, my voice dropping. “Let me explain, let me make this right. Not out here, though, where anyone can see us. I have a place here now. It’s a few blocks over.”
Her chin lifts, defiant. “A place.”
“Yeah,” I say, holding her gaze. “Until the end of the season, until I know if I officially got the job. Give me twenty minutes, Tess. That’s all I’m asking for. If you want to go back to your dorm, I’ll give you a ride, but please give me a chance and hear me out.”
She glances toward Summer again, and I can see the internal battle written across her face. A part of her wants to walk, and the other can’t quite let go. I can hear Summer quietly mutter something to Tessa, but I can’t make it out.
Tessa hesitates, fingers tightening around her bag strap.
I take one step closer, just enough for her to feel the heat between us. “Send her home. Please.”
I don’t know if it’s my pleading tone or the look on my face, but for the first time all night, she doesn’t look down.
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flick back toward Summer, who’s watching us like she’s ready to intervene.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa calls, her breath fogging in the air. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Summer leans forward, voice carrying over the wind. “You sure?”
Tessa nods. “Yeah. Thank you for coming to get me. I’m sorry you had to wait for me out here—”
“I don’t mind, Tess. You know that.”
Summer slides her stare from Tessa over to me. Only now, with me, I can see the hint of warning in her gaze. It’s the one she gave me earlier at their dorm when she told me to fix it. To stop breaking her friend. To stop being the reason Tessa isn’t smiling anymore.
I hold her gaze long enough to let her see I remember. That I’m trying.
When she finally drives off, her taillights flash once before fading around the corner.
Tessa’s shoulders rise and fall, her breath steady but shallow. I can’t tell if it’s anger or something else tightening the air between us.
I take a slow step toward her and gesture toward the truck. “Come on. It’s cold out tonight.”
She hesitates for a second too long, then lets out a quiet sigh and moves past me. I follow her to the passenger side, opening the door. She climbs in without a word.
By the time I get behind the wheel, the silence is thick. The heater blows warm air that fogs the windshield before the defroster catches up. For a while, neither of us says anything.
Halfway to my place, she finally breaks the silence. “You showed up at the dorm.”
It’s not a question. Just a statement. I’m not even sure how she knows, but I’m guessing Summer told her.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, eyes on the road. “Yeah.”
She turns toward me. “Why?”
“I told you,” I say, my voice deep. “I meant what I said. I wanted to talk to you, and if it meant coming to your dorm or waiting outside of the bar all night, I was going to do what I had to do.”
Her brows knit, suspicion written all over her face. “And what, you thought showing up here at three in the morning would fix it?”
“No,” I admit, glancing over at her. “But doing nothing sure as hell wasn’t helping.”
She breathes out slowly and drops against the seat, eyes on the window as the town slips by in a blur of streetlights.
After a beat, I add, “You’ll have to excuse the mess at my apartment. I have a place, but I haven’t exactly had time to unpack or make it livable.”
That earns a quiet laugh.
I glance over, one brow raised. “What’s funny?”
She turns her head just enough to smirk. “Wow, didn’t have messy apartment on my Clay Barlowe bingo card. Didn’t think you even knew how to live in chaos.”
I huff out a low laugh despite myself. “Yeah, well. Turns out even control freaks crack sometimes. Just… don’t tell anyone. I’ve got an image to keep.”
She studies me for a long moment. “So, look at you, doing the whole hockey coach thing.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Coach Rudnick is retiring at the end of the year. I’ve been filling in, learning more about this part of the job. Well, trying to prove I belong more than anything, so when he leaves, I’m ready to step in.”
She sighs. “So that’s what this is all about? You making sure nothing interferes with your shot at this job?”
I shake my head. “No.” My voice cracks before I can stop it. “This is about you. About what I should’ve said that last night in Briar Creek and didn’t.”
The words hang heavy in the air, thick as the fog on the windows. She doesn’t respond, just looks back out at the street, her reflection hard to read in the glass.
When I pull into the small parking lot behind my building, neither of us moves for a long moment. I finally turn toward her, the words rough on my tongue. “Come inside, Tess. Let me say what I should’ve said weeks ago.”
Her hands tighten around the strap of her purse.
“I’m not asking for the week back. I don’t regret a single moment of the time we spent together,” I tell her. “I’m asking for a chance to explain. To try to fix this between us because I don’t want to lose you.”
My confession fills the silence, leaving nowhere to hide. She finally glances up at me, and I start to feel her anger soften, and then finally she exhales. A tired, defeated sound.
“Okay,” she says.
The relief feels like air after drowning.
She beats me to the door. Before I even make it around the front of the truck, she’s shutting hers and meets me on the sidewalk.
The building isn’t much. It’s honestly pretty sterile, but I needed a place with security, and there wasn’t much available on such short notice.
I lead her to the second floor, and every step of the way, her body screams distance. She’s still here, though, and that’s more than I deserve.
When we reach my door, I unlock it and push it open, immediately wishing I’d thought ahead and stopped by here to make the place look less pathetic.
The apartment is bare. One look and it’s obvious that someone’s living here, but they haven’t quite figured out how yet. Boxes line the wall, and most of them are still packed. There are a couple open on the counter, but only the ones I needed to cook and meal-prep for the week.
Thankfully, this place came furnished, so the couches aren’t even mine.
Tessa steps inside, quietly scanning every inch. She hangs her purse on the back of the dining chair and turns to face me. She crosses her arms, like she’s gearing up to see if this is another argument.
I close the door, the lock clicking too loudly in the silence. I run a hand through my hair and then stop to face her. And standing there, chest tight, words crowding my throat, I realize this is it.
No rink. No family. No reporters. No one left to blame.
Just Tessa and the truth I should’ve said a long time ago.