Chapter 14
Tessa’s hands still tingled with the lingering warmth of Beckett’s arm as they walked back to her father’s house through the snow-dusted streets of Sweet River Falls.
The Christmas market lights twinkled behind them, causing shadows to dance across the pristine white ground.
Neither spoke much during their journey home, both lost in thought about the evening’s events.
The search for little Mandy had awakened something in Tessa. For the first time in months, she’d felt that rush of purpose, that clarity that used to drive her through grueling ER shifts. Only this time, there hadn’t been the crushing weight of responsibility that had eventually broken her.
When they reached the house, her father was already asleep in his recliner, the television playing softly in the background.
She gently draped a blanket over him, noting how peaceful he looked.
The lines of worry that usually creased his forehead had smoothed out in sleep, making him appear younger.
“Should we wake him?” Beckett whispered.
She shook her head. “Let him rest.”
She motioned toward the kitchen, and Beckett followed. The quiet felt different tonight. Not tense or awkward, but thoughtful. As if they were both carefully considering what to say next.
She filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “I think I’ll have tea. Want some?”
“Sure.” He leaned a hip against the counter.
“You were amazing tonight,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “Finding Mandy like that.”
He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Just did what anyone would do.”
“No. Not everyone would have thought to check the River Walk. Not everyone would have known exactly where to look.” She turned to face him fully. “You saved that little girl a lot of fear and her mother a lifetime of what-ifs.”
He looked up then, and something in his expression made her heart stutter. Vulnerability mixed with a quiet pride that he seemed almost afraid to acknowledge.
“I know what it’s like to be lost.” He shrugged.
The kettle whistled, and she busied herself with preparing the tea, needing a moment to collect herself. She handed him a steaming mug and nodded toward the back porch. “Want to sit outside? I’ll grab a blanket.”
They settled into the wooden chairs her father had placed on the small covered porch years ago. She covered them both with the blanket. The snow was falling again, fat flakes drifting lazily from the night sky. The world felt hushed, as if holding its breath.
She cradled her mug between her palms. “You’ve been avoiding me since that note.”
He didn’t deny it. He stared out at the snow-covered yard, his profile illuminated by the porch light. “Thought it might be easier. For everyone.”
“Easier isn’t always better.” She took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth spread through her. “I’ve been doing easier for fifteen years. Running away from this town, from my dad, from anything that might hurt. Look where it got me.”
He turned to her then, his eyes searching her face. “Where did it get you?”
“Burned out. Alone. Having panic attacks in supply closets.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I was so busy proving I was fine that I didn’t notice I was falling apart.”
He nodded slowly. “I get that. Prison teaches you to hide any weakness. I got so good at it I almost forgot who I was underneath.”
The admission hung between them, delicate as the snowflakes falling beyond the porch roof.
“I’m sorry about that note. People can be cruel.”
“People can be scared,” he corrected gently. “Fear makes us do ugly things sometimes. Fear of the unknown. Of anything being different than what we’re used to. Fear of change.”
She understood the fear of change. She was right there, standing on the edge, not knowing which direction to take. Annie’s half-attempt to ask her to stay through Christmas and help with the cafe almost looked tempting. But she was a nurse, not a retail clerk or a barista.
She looked at him and sighed. “I’m afraid of change. I just don’t know what to do next. Dad and I are starting to work things out, and it seems wrong to leave when we are. But I have a job to get back to in Denver.” Kind of. “But there’s still so much left unsaid between Dad and me.”
He set his mug down on the small table beside him. “It was the grief, Tessa. Your dad trying to handle his grief. Grief does strange things to people. Makes them shut down when they should open up.” He looked directly at her. “Makes them run when they should stay.”
She studied him in the soft light. The strong line of his jaw, the careful way he held himself, as if always aware of the space he occupied. She’d judged him so harshly when she first arrived, assuming the worst based on a label. Now she couldn’t imagine the house without him.
“I’m sorry I was so cold when I first got here,” she said. “I was wrong about you.”
“You were protecting your father. I respect that.”
“Still. I should have given you a chance.”
He looked at her directly then, his gaze steady. “We’re both pretty good at keeping people at a distance, aren’t we?”
The observation hit close to home. Too close. She’d built walls so high around herself that sometimes she forgot what it felt like to let anyone in. Her colleagues respected her, but did any of them really know her? When was the last time she’d let herself be vulnerable with another person?
“I think I forgot how to let people in,” she admitted. “After Mom died, Dad shut down, and I learned that depending on others just leads to disappointment. So I became self-sufficient. The reliable one. The one who never needed help.”
“Until you did.” It wasn’t a question.
Tessa nodded, feeling the sting of tears.
“The panic attacks started about six months ago. Small things at first. Heart racing during a difficult case. Trouble catching my breath in the ambulance bay. Then one day, a patient came in, a car accident victim. Young woman, dark hair like my mom’s.
” She swallowed hard. “I froze. Completely froze. Had to lock myself in a supply closet until I could breathe again.”
He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to comfort her with empty platitudes. He just listened, his presence steady and grounding.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Fifteen years of running from my grief, and it finally caught up with me.”
“That’s the thing about the past. It always finds you eventually,” he said softly.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the snow fall. She felt strangely peaceful, as if sharing her burden had lightened it somehow.
He stretched out his long legs, finally speaking, “I know I withdrew after that note appeared. Old habits. When people look at me like I’m dangerous, it’s easier to disappear than to fight it.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do? Disappear when your program ends next month?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and Tessa felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. The thought of him leaving Sweet River Falls created an unexpected hollow feeling inside her.
“I don’t know. I’ve been taking it one day at a time. That’s all I can manage right now,” he admitted.
“One small thing,” she murmured, remembering their conversation on the River Walk.
He nodded. “One small thing.”
A comfortable silence fell between them. The snow continued to fall, transforming the world into something pure and new. She found herself thinking about second chances, about how life sometimes took you on unexpected detours that turned out to be exactly where you needed to go.
“Maybe we can help each other,” she said suddenly.
He looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“With the one small thing,” she clarified. “Maybe we can be each other’s reminders that the past doesn’t have to define us. That we’re more than our mistakes or our grief.”
“I’d like that.”
She felt a warmth spreading through her. For the first time in years, perhaps since before her mother died, she felt truly seen by another person. Not as the capable nurse or the estranged daughter, but simply as Tessa, with all her flaws and fears and hopes.
“I’m glad I came home,” she said softly. “Even if it took my dad having a stroke to get me here.”
“Sometimes we need a wake-up call. Something to shake us out of the patterns we’ve created.”
He was right. Her father’s illness had forced her back to Sweet River Falls, but finding Beckett here, understanding him, was changing something fundamental inside her. Making her question the life she’d built in Denver and whether it was truly what she wanted.
He reached over and took her hand in his. “And Tessa, I think your first one small thing should be a conversation with your dad. Talk to him. Really talk. Sort things out.”
“That doesn’t sound so small to me.”
He squeezed her hand. “Maybe not. But it’s a good first step.”
One small thing at a time. Maybe that was all any of them could do. Face each day, each challenge, each opportunity for connection as it came. And maybe that would be enough. Maybe it would help both of them figure out their future.