19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Tate
Our plane landed about thirty minutes ago.
Parker is dropping me off at Cel’s on his way back to campus, after I begged him to stop at a local grocery store so I could grab flowers for her and a new Lego kit for Ro.
We weren’t supposed to be home for another three hours, but Michigan’s about to get slammed with a snowstorm, so Coach arranged an earlier flight so we wouldn’t get stranded.
Which actually works out better for the plans I have arranged for Rowen today.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate the ride,” I say to Parker as I hop out of his car and sling my hockey bag over my shoulder. The thing smells like straight-up death, but nothing’s getting washed until the end of the season.
I let myself into the building.
The hallway smells like someone cooking something heavy with garlic, and the couple down the hall is fighting again, their muffled voices bleeding through the walls. It’s not a bad apartment. It’s in a safe area. It’s just old. Worn. Thin doors. Scuffed floors.
And I know how hard Cel works to pay for this place.
I’ll never look down on her for it.
If anything, it makes me respect her more.
But I hope one day I can give her something bigger. Quieter. Better. Something that doesn’t creak every time she walks across it.
That thought almost knocks me off my feet.
I know I want something with Celeste and Rowen. I’ve known that for a while now. But the way that thought felt just now, permanent, steady, future, it hits deeper than I expected.
Fuck.
My feelings for her aren’t just serious.
They’re rooted.
I jog up the stairs and stop in front of her door.
“Deep breaths,” I mutter to myself before knocking slowly three times against the hard wood.
“Rowen, do not answer the door,” I hear Celeste call through the thin wood.
God, it’s only been three days. We’ve FaceTimed every night, texted constantly. But I miss hearing her voice without a screen. Miss seeing her in real light instead of pixelated.
And fuck do I miss Ro.
The floor creaks. I can tell she’s walking toward the door. There’s no peephole on these old doors, which is honestly stupid, but right now it works in my favor.
I grip the bouquet of roses a little tighter. My heart’s beating harder than it does before a game.
The door slowly opens.
I smell her before I see her, that soft floral scent she always wears.
And then I see her face.
For half a second, she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
Then she blinks once. Twice. Three times.
And there’s the smile.
The one I love so fucking much.
“Hi,” I say softly.
Before I can say anything else, she’s in my arms. I drop the flowers and the bag with Rowen’s toy, lifting her off the ground as my face finds the crook of her neck.
I breathe her in.
I’m home.
“Tate!” Rowen shouts, and a second later, his arms are wrapped around my waist.
“Hey, little man. Did you grow while I was gone?”
I set Cel back on her feet, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before dropping to one knee and pulling Rowen into my chest.
“I missed you. Both of you.”
When I glance up at Cel, I catch something in her expression, happiness, yeah. Relief. But there’s something else underneath it. Something tight.
I can’t quite place it.
“I have a surprise for you,” I whisper loudly to Rowen. Cel worked the morning shift, so I know they’re free this afternoon. “But only if your mom says yes.”
We both look up at her with what I’m sure are identical puppy-dog eyes.
“Momma, please say yes!”
“We don’t even know what the surprise is,” she says, crossing her arms. “How can I say yes?”
“It’s a surprise, Momma. That’s the whole point.”
She shoots me a look that promises consequences later, and all I can do is grin.
“Fine.”
“Yes!” Rowen cheers.
“Go get your coat and shoes on,” I tell him, ruffling his hair as he darts off toward his room.
When he’s gone, I stand and step closer to Celeste.
I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head back gently before pressing my lips to hers.
It’s soft. Slow. Familiar.
Everything I fucking needed.
“We’re taking him to meet Jeremy Sanders,” I murmur against her mouth. “Liam helped me set it up.”
I don’t have to explain who Jeremy Sanders is. If anything, Celeste probably knows more about hockey than I do, and yeah, I find that incredibly sexy.
Her eyes widen.
“He’s going to flip out,” she whisper-yells.
“I know.” I brush my thumb along her jaw. “I just want him to know that no matter what, nothing can stop him. Especially not his diabetes. So I’m hoping meeting Jeremy shows him that.”
Her expression shifts.
Her eyes gloss over before the tears fully form.
I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my shirt. “He… we missed you so much.”
“Me too, baby,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
And I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything.
I’ve played in packed arenas.
I’ve skated out to noise so loud it rattled in my teeth.
None of that compares to the way my stomach is flipping right now.
“Stop pacing,” Celeste mutters, bumping her shoulder into mine outside the rink entrance.
“I’m not pacing.”
“You’ve checked your phone four times in the last thirty seconds.”
I glance down again out of habit. “Just making sure he didn’t text.”
She gives me a look.
“He’s a professional athlete, Tate. I promise he didn’t ghost you.”
Rowen tugs on my jacket. “Is he big?”
I crouch automatically, resting my hands on his shoulders. The rubber matting outside the ice smells like cold air and sharp metal, that clean rink scent that sticks in your lungs.
“Yeah, buddy. He’s big.”
“Bigger than you?”
I scoff. “Absolutely not.”
Celeste laughs under her breath.
God, I love that sound.
The doors swing open, and the familiar chill of the rink hits us. Ice and sweat and coffee from the concession stand. Skates carving somewhere in the distance. The echo of sticks against boards.
Rowen grips my hand tighter as we walk in.
I glance at Celeste.
She’s smiling.
But it’s thinner than usual.
Her shoulders are tense, like she’s bracing for something.
“You okay?” I murmur low enough that Rowen doesn’t hear.
She nods too quickly. “Yeah. Just… emotional.”
That I understand.
Today isn’t about me meeting someone I admire.
It’s about her son seeing what’s possible.
And that matters more.
Liam spots us first, waving us over near the tunnel. Nix and Chiral are leaning against the boards. I can tell by their faces they’re bickering about something.
“Look at you,” Liam says, grinning at Rowen. “You ready to meet a celebrity?”
“Hey, thanks for helping me set this up. How are Lottie and Lani doing?”
“They’re good and no problem, Man. Jeremy is excited to meet Rowen.”
Rowen becomes wide-eyed at the mention of his name.
Then Jeremy walks out.
He’s taller than I expected. Broad shoulders, relaxed smile. No ego in the way he moves, just calm confidence. He runs a hand through his red hair, wet from a shower, I assume. The guys had practice this morning.
But the thing I notice first?
The pump clipped to his waistband.
Visible.
Normal.
Intentional.
He walks straight past me.
And drops to one knee in front of Rowen.
“Hey, man. I heard you’re the real athlete here.”
Rowen blinks up at him. “I have diabetes.” He says it like it’s the only thing he knows right now. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a light squeeze. He looks up at me with stars in his eyes, and damn do I want to see that every day.
Jeremy grins. “Me too. Kinda fuc– dumb of our pancreases, huh?”
Rowen giggles and nods his head, his curls falling into his eyes. I need to get him a real haircut with my barber. Something I’ve been meaning to talk to Celeste about. I hope I’ve shown her how serious I am about them both and that she trusts me enough to take Ro out on my own.
Celeste exhales beside me. I don’t think she even realized she was holding her breath.
Jeremy asks him about his Dexcom. About what snacks he keeps in his bag. About what numbers feel “icky.” He pulls out his own phone with his Dexcom app like it’s no big deal, scrolling casually, showing Ro his numbers. “See? Mine yells at me too.”
Rowen leans in closer.
“And you can still play hockey?”
“Every day,” Jeremy says. “You just have to play prepared.”
That lands.
I see it in Celeste’s face.
Her eyes shine, little tears forming in the corner as she looks at her son talking to this big shot hockey star, who’s opening doors for Rowen that he may have once thought were closed due to his diabetes.
Jeremy looks at me then, like he knows exactly what this moment is doing.
“You his dad?” he asks casually.
My throat tightens.
“Working on it,” I say softly. But what I want to say is fuck yes. Rowen isn’t mine biologically, but in all other sense of the word and in my heart, I feel like I fucking am.
Jeremy nods once. Not questioning. Not probing.
Just understanding.
“You’re doing it right,” he says quietly.
“Doing what?”
“Showing up.”
And it shouldn’t hit me as hard as it does.
But it does.
Jeremy and Liam take us around the facility, showing us the locker room, the film room, and of course, the rink.
I’m just as star-struck as Rowen. I’m projected to be drafted this spring.
I doubt I’ll go in the first round, and I would love to play here in Boston, but I know they’re pretty solid on defense.
I make a mental note to talk this over with Cel later. We haven’t talked too much about the future, and I need to make sure that she’ll come with me no matter where I go. I know that’s selfish of me, but I can’t imagine my world without her. But hockey is also my future.
Rowen gets a signed puck with all the Boston Knights' signatures on it. He tosses it up and down the rest of the day.
A picture with the knight mascot in front of the rink.
A fist bump from everyone he walks by, they’re all treating him like a celebrity, and fuck, does it make my heart skip a beat.
And when we walk back toward the car, he doesn’t stop talking.
“I’m gonna play like him.”“I’m not scared anymore.”“Did you see his pump?”
He falls asleep halfway home, Dexcom reading 138 steady.
I carry him inside without thinking. He’s warm against my chest, cheek pressed to my collarbone, breath soft and even. Celeste unlocks the apartment quietly.
The place smells faintly like vanilla candles and clean laundry.
Home.
I tuck Rowen into bed gently, adjusting the corner of his blanket the way he likes it. I press a kiss to his temple.
“Proud of you, buddy,” I murmur.
He sighs in his sleep.
I linger a second longer than necessary, just taking him in.
Then I walk back out.
Celeste is sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, staring at nothing. A small wrinkle forming between her brows.
The apartment is dim. Only the lamp in the corner is on, casting everything in warm gold.
She looks small like this.
Too small.
I sit beside her.
Close enough that our thighs touch.
“You’ve been quiet today,” I say, giving her the space to talk to me.
“I’m tired.”
It’s not defensive.
But it’s distant.
I study her profile. The way her jaw tightens slightly. The way her fingers twist in the fabric of her black sweater.
“Did something happen?” I ask gently.
She shakes her head.
“Cel.” I’m trying to keep my tone even. I don’t want to scare her, but we need to talk. Ever since I came back from Michigan, something has been off with her, but I know if I push her, she'll just shut down.
“I just—” She stops. Swallows. “I just don’t want you thinking today means something it doesn’t.”
The words hit weird.
“What does that mean?”
“It was good for Rowen,” she says quickly. “That’s all.”
I frown. “It was more than that.”
She stands up.
Puts space between us.
The shift is subtle.
But it’s there.
“You don’t have to carry all of this,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to step into something this big. You don’t need to be his dad.”
“I want to.”
She doesn’t look at me when she replies.
“Wanting and staying aren’t always the same thing.”
There it is. The first crack.
I stand too.
Close the space again.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She looks up at me finally.
And there’s something in her eyes.
Fear.
But not of me.
Of something else.
“I know,” she whispers.
But she steps back again.
And that?
That’s new.
My phone buzzes softly in my pocket.
Dexcom notification.
142 steady.
I glance at it automatically.
She watches me do it.
And something flickers across her face.
Guilt.
I step forward, cupping her jaw gently.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her breath stutters.
“I’ve always done it alone.”
“I’m here now. I don’t know how else to show you I’m not going anywhere. But just tell me what to do, or did I do something wrong?” The panic is laced in my tone, and I know we both hear it.
And for a second, just one, she leans into my hand.
Then she pulls away.
“I’m going to shower,” she says.
And walks down the hall.
Leaving me standing there.
Listening to the bathroom door click shut.
I don’t know what changed tonight.
But I feel it.
Like pressure building before a storm.