31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Celeste
Hospitals make time feel strange.
Like the world outside keeps moving; cars driving, people laughing, snow falling somewhere beyond the windows, while everything inside these walls slows to a crawl.
Rowen finally falls asleep just after midnight.
The virus has burned through him all day, leaving him pale and exhausted. The insulin pump and Dexcom are still off, replaced by hospital monitors that blink and hum softly beside the bed. Every few seconds, a green line jumps across the screen.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound should be comforting.
Instead, it keeps my nerves strung tight.
Tate sits in the chair beside Rowen’s bed.
He hasn’t moved in almost twenty minutes.
One of his large hands rests lightly against the edge of the mattress, fingers curled close enough to brush Rowen’s arm if he shifts.
Like he’s anchoring himself there.
Or anchoring Rowen.
The soft hospital light casts shadows across Tate’s face, highlighting the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. His jaw is tight, the muscle ticking every so often.
He’s angry.
I can feel it even in the quiet.
Not explosive anger.
Something deeper.
Something heavier.
The kind that comes from hurt.
And it’s my fault.
I swallow hard and stare down at the cup of terrible hospital coffee in my hands. It had gone cold hours ago, but I haven’t had the energy to throw it away.
My fingers tremble slightly around the paper cup.
“I should have told you.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Tate doesn’t look at me right away.
His thumb brushes absently against the edge of the mattress.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Finally, he exhales slowly and leans back in the chair.
His eyes lift to mine.
“You think?”
There’s no bite in the words.
Which somehow makes them worse.
“I didn’t want you involved,” I say quietly.
A humorless huff escapes him.
“Bit late for that.”
My throat tightens.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
The only sound is Rowen’s breathing and the steady rhythm of the monitor.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you.”
The confession slips out so softly I’m not even sure he hears it.
But Tate goes completely still.
Slowly, his head turns toward me.
His eyes search my face.
“You wanna try that again?” he says quietly.
My heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.
I stare at the floor, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.
“I was scared,” I whisper. “For Rowen.”
Tate sits forward now, elbows on his knees.
Listening.
Really listening.
So I tell him.
Everything.
About Brett showing up again.
About the grocery store.
About the way he said judge like it was a weapon.
My voice shakes more with every word, the memories spilling out faster now that I’ve started.
“I know he’s mostly talk,” I admit, wrapping my arms around myself, my fingers digging into the sleeves of my sweater like they’re the only thing holding me together. “But he has money, Tate. His family has connections. Lawyers. Influence.”
I swallow hard, remembering the smug tilt of Brett’s mouth when he said it like the outcome was already decided.
“He kept saying things like ‘courts care about stability’ and ‘a real home environment.’” My voice cracks slightly. “Like he was building a case right in front of me.”
The words still feel like poison sitting in my chest.
“Like Ro is some kind of argument he can win if he throws enough money at it.”
Tate’s expression darkens with every sentence, his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping near his temple. The air around him feels heavier somehow, like the calm before a storm. His hands curl slowly into fists at his sides, the kind of quiet anger that doesn’t need raised voices to be dangerous.
And for the first time since Brett started making those threats, I realize Tate isn’t just listening.
He’s remembering.
“So you decided the best move was to push me away,” he says slowly.
“Yes.”
His laugh is quiet but sharp.
“Hell of a plan.”
My eyes finally meet his.
“I couldn’t risk losing Rowen.”
The words come out broken, like they have to force their way past the tight knot in my throat. I blink hard, but it doesn’t help. I can already feel the tears gathering in my eyes, heavy and hot, threatening to spill over.
Because that’s the truth at the center of everything.
The only thing stronger than my love for Tate is my love for my son.
My chest aches with the weight of that choice, the fear that has been sitting in my bones since the moment Brett first said the word custody. Every decision after that felt like walking a tightrope with Rowen’s entire world balanced in my arms.
“I had to think about what he could do,” I whisper, my voice smaller now. “What he might try.”
The thought alone makes my stomach twist.
Losing Tate would break my heart.
But losing Rowen?
That would break everything.
“If Brett actually tried something legally…” My voice cracks. “Even if I won eventually, it could drag out for years. Court dates. Custody evaluations. Lawyers tearing my life apart, looking for anything they could use.”
Tate’s jaw tightens again.
“And me being around is something they could use.”
I nod.
“You’re about to be drafted. You travel constantly. Your life is chaos.”
His eyes flash.
“Chaos?”
“You know what I mean.” I gesture helplessly. “Schedules. Media. Away games. New cities. It’s amazing, Tate. You deserve that life. But a judge could look at it and call it instability.”
The word hangs between us.
The same one Brett used.
“I wasn’t willing to gamble Rowen’s home for my happiness.”
Silence floods the room again, thick and suffocating, like the air itself is holding its breath.
Tate drags a hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard against his eyes before sliding down over his jaw. The movement is slow, tired, like he’s trying to wipe away something that won’t disappear.
“You should’ve trusted me.”
The hurt in his voice slices straight through my chest. It’s not loud. Not angry.
Somehow, that makes it worse.
“I do trust you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
His words land heavily between us. I take a small step toward him without even realizing it, panic tightening in my chest.
“I trust you,” I repeat desperately. “I just don’t trust Brett.”
Tate stares at the floor for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath. The room is so quiet I can hear the faint creak of the floorboards when he shifts his weight.
Then he exhales, long and controlled, like he’s forcing something down.
“You know what the worst part is?”
I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“I would’ve fought for you.”
His eyes meet mine again.
Fierce.Certain.Unshakable.
“For both of you.”
Emotion swells so suddenly in my chest that I can barely breathe.
My vision blurs as the tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over, because the thing is in my heart I knew that was always true.
Tate never gave me a reason to question him.
He loved Ro and I so deeply, I knew he would have helped us figured this out, but I couldn't drag him into all this.
I couldn't let Brett destroy him too. I know how strong Tate is, but it just didn't seem fair.
“I know.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you did.”
Tears blur my vision.
Because maybe he’s right.
Maybe I didn’t let myself believe anyone would fight that hard for me.
For us.
Tate glances at Rowen sleeping between us.
His expression softens instantly.
“You know what he said when I walked in here?”
I sniff and shake my head.
“He said, ‘You came.’” Tate’s voice drops lower. “He sounded surprised.”
The guilt punches straight through my ribs.
“That’s on you, Cel.”
“I know.”
My voice breaks completely this time.
Tate leans back again, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
Then he sighs.
“You really think I’d walk away from him?”
I wipe at my face with the sleeve of my sweater.
“No.”
“You think I’d stop caring because you told me to?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell did you try?”
Because loving you is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
Because losing you felt inevitable.
Because Brett planted just enough fear in my head to make me believe happiness was temporary.
“I didn’t know how else to protect him.”
The words come out in a whisper.
Tate studies me for a long time.
Then, finally, he stands.
My heart jumps.
But instead of leaving
He walks to Rowen’s bed.
Carefully brushes a curl off the kid’s forehead.
Rowen sighs softly in his sleep.
Tate’s voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The words land in the center of my chest like something solid.
Steady.
Unmovable.
He looks at me again.
“And if Brett wants to play legal games?” Something fierce flashes in his eyes. “Then we play.”
Hope flickers weakly in my chest.
“You don’t understand how powerful his family is.”
Tate shrugs slightly.
“My parents are lawyers.”
I blink.
“You mentioned that once.”
“Yeah.” His mouth tilts faintly. “They’re also extremely competitive.”
For the first time in weeks.
A small, fragile laugh escapes me.
Tate watches me carefully. Then his expression softens again. “You shouldn’t have had to carry this alone.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well,” he mutters, “too late for that.”
I wince.
But after a moment, he sighs again. And then…
He pulls the empty chair beside mine closer.
Sits down.
Right next to me.
Not touching.
Not quite.
But close enough that warmth spreads through the space between us.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly.
Not you.
Not me.
We.
And for the first time since Brett started threatening everything I built…
The fear in my chest loosens.
Just a little.