13. Tessa
Chapter 13
Tessa
T he text from Zane stares up at me from my phone screen, making my heart race despite my best efforts to stay calm.
Zane
Can we talk? I know it's late, but I can't stop thinking about earlier.
I glance at the clock—11:43 p.m. The responsible thing would be to wait until tomorrow. To give us both space to process what happened at dinner, how quickly things had escalated from passionate to painful when his walls slammed back up.
But when it comes to Zane Mercer, I've never been very good at being responsible.
I text back, already reaching for my coat.
Me
I'll be there in twenty.
The Uber ride feels endless, Chicago's late-night traffic crawling past glowing storefronts and holiday displays. Snow is starting to fall, delicate flakes that melt the moment they hit the ground. Like Zane's moments of vulnerability—beautiful but fleeting.
By the time I reach his building, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. The doorman gives me a knowing look as he waves me through—I've been here enough lately that he knows me by name.
Zane opens the door before I can knock, like he's been waiting. He looks perfectly put together as always in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, but there's something uncertain in his eyes.
"Hi," I say softly, suddenly unsure why I came.
"Hi." He steps back to let me in, running a hand through his hair—a rare tell that he's nervous. "Thanks for coming."
"Well, when the great Zane Mercer says he wants to talk…" I aim for lightness but miss by a mile.
"Don't." His voice is rough. "Don't make this into a joke."
"Then what is this?" I challenge, tired of dancing around the tension between us. "Because earlier you made it pretty clear you needed space to work. That the company never sleeps, remember?"
He winces. "I handled that badly."
"You handled that like you handle everything—by shutting down the moment things get too real."
"I know." He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. "That's why I asked you here. I want to explain."
"Explain what? How you can be completely open one minute and totally closed off the next? How you can make love to me like I'm everything but push me away the moment work calls?"
"Yes." His jaw tightens. "All of it."
I cross my arms, waiting. Because I've done this dance with Zane before—watched him start to open up, only to retreat behind his walls the moment vulnerability becomes too scary.
"The company…" he starts, then stops, frustrated. "It's not just work, Tessa. It's everything. It's who I am. Who I have to be."
"No," I say firmly. "It's who you think you have to be. There's a difference."
He moves to his window, staring out at the falling snow. In the reflection, I can see the conflict on his face.
"When I started this company," he says finally, "everyone was waiting for me to fail. The board, the investors, even some of our clients. They all thought I was too young, too inexperienced. Just another asshole kid playing at business."
"But you proved them wrong."
"By becoming exactly what they needed me to be. Controlled. Professional. Perfect." He turns to face me. "The problem is, I don't know how to be anything else anymore. Especially with you."
I move closer, drawn to the raw honesty in his voice. "Why especially with me?"
"Because you make me want to be messy. Imperfect. Real." His hands clench at his sides. "And that terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because the last time I let myself be real with someone, they used it against me. Used me for connections, for money, for status. It turned toxic, and I became vindictive and cruel.” The bitterness in his voice makes my heart ache. "And I can't… I won't let that happen again."
Understanding dawns, sharp and painful. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Using you?"
"No," he says quickly, firmly. "God, no. That's what makes this so hard. I know you're different. I know your feelings are real. I guess I’m more worried about me being an asshole, not meeting your needs and not even realizing it. I get in my head and push people away. Old habits…”
"Die hard," I finish softly, remembering Ivy's words from earlier.
"Yeah." He reaches for me finally, and I let him pull me close. "I'm trying, Tessa. I swear I am. But sometimes the walls go up before I can stop them."
I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm not asking you to tear them all down at once. Just… let me help. Let me in, little by little."
His arms tighten around me. "I want to. More than anything."
We stand there in silence, snow falling outside, hearts beating in sync. And maybe this is what real love is—not the fairy-tale perfection we dream of as teenagers, but the messy, complicated reality of two people trying their best to be brave together.
"Stay," he whispers against my hair.
"Zane…"
"Not for that." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "I just… I sleep better when you're here."
The admission costs him—I can see it in the tension around his mouth. But he says it anyway. Another crack in the wall.
"Okay," I agree softly. "I'll stay."
Later, as we lay tangled in his sheets, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, I think about how far we've come from those high school days of secret crushes and hidden glances. About how love grows up, evolves, becomes something deeper and more complex than we ever imagined possible.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs.
"Us. How different everything is now."
"Good different?"
"Complicated different." I turn to face him. "But good too. Real."
He kisses me softly, and I can feel him starting to say something more when his phone buzzes. The familiar ringtone tells us both it's Asher before he even looks.
And just like that, the real world intrudes again. But this time, something's different. This time, I can see him fighting the instinct to retreat behind his walls.
This time, maybe, we're both ready to face whatever comes next. Together.
"Everything okay?" I ask, sitting up straighter.
"It's Asher." He sets his phone down with more force than necessary. "Apparently, Ivy's been dodging his calls."
"She's been busy with bakery preparations." I frown at his tone. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But his jaw is tight. "Just wondering if history's repeating itself."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning your friend had quite the crush on my brother in high school. Everyone knew about it."
"And?" I pull away slightly, not liking where this is going.
"And now suddenly she's interested in his investment help? Seems convenient."
"Excuse me?" I stand up, anger flaring. "Are you seriously suggesting Ivy is using your brother?"
"I'm suggesting maybe she's living out some teenage fantasy without considering the consequences."
"You don't know what you're talking about." My voice comes out sharp. "Ivy genuinely cares about Asher."
"Like you genuinely cared about me in high school?"
The words hit like a slap. "That's different."
"Is it?" He stands too, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I just don't want my brother getting hurt."
"And I don't want my best friend being accused of manipulation." I cross my arms. "Ivy's feelings for Asher are real. Yes, she had a crush in high school, but what's happening between them now is different. It's grown-up and genuine."
"You seem very sure about that."
"Because I know her. And if you weren't so wrapped up in your trust issues, you'd see how happy they make each other."
He moves toward me, expression softening slightly. "Can we not fight about this? I don't want to ruin our night."
That makes me even angrier. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is me defending my best friend's honor inconvenient for you?"
"Tessa—"
"No." I step back. "You don't get to question Ivy's intentions and then tell me to drop it because it might spoil your mood. That's not how this works."
"I'm just trying to protect my brother."
"No, you're projecting your own issues onto their relationship." I grab my purse. "And the fact that you can't see the difference between teenage fantasy and real adult feelings says more about you than it does about Ivy."
"Where are you going?"
"Home." I slip on my shoes. "Because suddenly I'm not in the mood to pretend everything's fine when you just insulted my best friend's character."
"I didn't mean?—"
"Yes, you did." I pause at the door. "And that's what bothers me most. You'd rather believe the worst in people than accept that sometimes feelings are just real. Sometimes they grow up. Sometimes they become something more than just a fantasy."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "This isn't just about Ivy and Asher, is it?"
"Figure it out." I open the door. "And when you're ready to acknowledge that not everyone has ulterior motives—that some people are actually capable of genuine feelings—you know where to find me."
"Tessa, wait?—"
But I'm already gone, my heels clicking down his hallway as angry tears threaten to fall.
Because maybe he's not just questioning Ivy's feelings for Asher. Maybe he's questioning mine too. Maybe he still can't believe that the cheerleader's crush could grow into something real, something deep, something worth trusting.
My phone buzzes as I reach the lobby.
Zane
I'm sorry. You're right. About all of it.
I stare at the message, torn between anger and understanding. Because maybe we both have growing up to do. Maybe we both need to learn to trust that some feelings do evolve, do mature, do become something more than just teenage dreams.
The question is, are we both ready to take that leap of faith?
Only time will tell.
But one thing's for sure—I'm done letting him dismiss real feelings as mere fantasy, whether they're Ivy's or my own.
Because some things are worth fighting for. Some feelings are worth defending.
And sometimes, the fantasy grows into something far more beautiful than we ever imagined possible.
If we're brave enough to let it.
I make it halfway home before the tears finally spill over. The Uber driver politely pretends not to notice, turning up his radio to give me privacy. Chicago's streets blur past my window, holiday lights twinkling mockingly through my tears.
My phone buzzes again—Ivy this time.
"I'm fine," I answer before she can ask.
"Clearly." Her voice is gentle. "Want me to come over?"
"No." I wipe at my cheeks. "I just… I thought we were past this. Past his trust issues and walls and constant need to push people away."
"Old habits die hard, sweetie."
"But that's just it—they shouldn't have to die at all. He should trust that some feelings are real. That not everyone has an agenda."
The car pulls up to my building, and I thank the driver before climbing out into the cold night air. Snow is starting to fall again, delicate flakes catching in my hair.
"Maybe he does trust it," Ivy says thoughtfully. "Maybe that's what scares him."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. All his life, he's operated under the assumption that everyone wants something from him. That relationships are transactional. It's safer that way—no vulnerability, no risk."
I unlock my door, kicking off my heels. "So?"
"So, what happens when someone comes along who just wants him? The real him, walls and issues and all? That's terrifying for someone who's built their whole life around keeping people at arm's length. Not to mention who only knows one version of a relationship which is tit for tat."
I sink onto my couch, considering her words. "When did you get so insightful?"
"Around the same time I fell in love with his brother." She pauses. “Asher and I know what we have is real."
"I know. I just hate that he used your relationship to deflect from his own issues."
"Classic avoidance tactic." She sighs. "Men."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Indeed."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Part of me wants to stay angry. To make him work for it."
"But?"
"But I also understand why he's like this. Why it's so hard for him to trust in something good." I curl my legs under me, remembering all the little moments when his walls would crack. When he'd let me see glimpses of the man beneath the armor. "I just wish he'd let me in completely."
"Give him time," Ivy advises. "He's trying."
"Is he? Because sometimes it feels like one step forward, two steps back."
"Love isn't linear, honey. Sometimes it's messy and complicated and terrifying."
"When did it become love?" I whisper, more to myself than her.
"Please." She snorts. "It's been love since you were barely sixteen, watching him from behind your pom-poms. The only difference is now you're both grown-up enough to actually do something about it."
"If he lets himself."
"He will." She sounds certain. "Just don't give up on him yet."
After we hang up, I head to my bathroom to wash away my makeup. The woman in the mirror looks tired, uncertain. But there's something else in her eyes too—determination maybe. Or hope.
My phone buzzes with Zane's apology text, and I find myself smiling despite everything. Because maybe Ivy's right. Maybe love isn't supposed to be easy or straightforward. Maybe it's supposed to be challenging and messy and worth fighting for.
I change into comfortable clothes, but sleep feels impossible. Instead, I curl up by my window, watching the snow fall and thinking about all the ways Zane Mercer has gotten under my skin. All the ways he challenges me, frustrates me, makes me feel more alive than anyone ever has.
The bakery's financial reports sit on my coffee table—the ones he helped me perfect. The ones that prove he believes in me professionally, even if he struggles to believe in us personally. I flip through them, remembering how focused he was, how he saw potential where others saw risk.
Maybe that's what love is—seeing potential. Seeing past the surface to what could be. Seeing someone for who they really are, even when they try to hide.
Another text comes through.
Zane
Still awake?
I consider ignoring it, making him sweat a little. But that's not who we are—who I want us to be.
Me
Yes.
Zane
I keep thinking about what you said. About genuine feelings. About fantasy becoming something real.
Me
And?
Zane
And you're right. I'm so used to looking for ulterior motives that I forget sometimes people just… care. That you just care.
Me
I more than care, Zane. That's what scares you, isn't it?
His response takes longer this time.
Zane
Everything about you scares me. How well you see me. How much I want you. How real this feels.
My heart races as I type.
Me
Being scared is okay. Pushing me away because you're scared isn't.
Zane
I know. I'm sorry.
Me
I know you are. But sorry isn't enough anymore. I need you to try. Really try.
Zane
What if I fail?
The vulnerability in those four words makes my chest ache.
Me
Then we try again. That's what people do when something matters. When someone matters.
I watch the typing bubbles appear and disappear several times.
Zane
You matter. More than I know how to say.
And there it is—the crack in his armor. The glimpse of the man who wants to believe in something real, even if he's not quite sure how.
Me
Show me.
His response makes my breath catch.
Zane
Let me take you somewhere tomorrow night. Let me prove I'm ready to try. Really try.
I think about Ivy's words about love being messy and complicated. About how some things are worth fighting for.
Me
Okay. But Zane? I need you to be sure. Because my feelings for you? They're not fantasy anymore. They're grown-up and real and sometimes terrifying in their intensity.
His response feels like a promise.
Zane
I'm sure. About you. About us. About everything.
I fall asleep eventually, still curled up by my window. And as snow blankets the city in white, as Chicago's lights twinkle like stars, I dream of walls crumbling. Of hearts opening. Of love that's messy and complicated and absolutely, perfectly real.