Chapter 19
NETTIE
The second the garage door slammed behind her, the sound ricocheted through the stillness like a gunshot.
Nettie flinched, her whole body tightening as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath caught halfway between a sob and a sigh.
Everything inside her seemed to narrow to a pinpoint, clicking into terrible focus.
“Oh my gosh,” Nettie whispered, her voice a fragile thread. She pressed one trembling hand against her stomach, trying to soothe the knot coiling tighter and tighter there, and lifted the other to her forehead in sheer disbelief. “What have I done?”
The words felt hollow, but they were all she had.
After she’d left the dealership, she had been so giddy, so lightheaded with the thrill of her new car, that she’d driven without aim.
Just the hum of the engine beneath her and the road stretching endlessly ahead.
It had felt like freedom—something she hadn’t tasted in years.
But then, somewhere between stoplights and street signs, her excitement had shifted.
She’d realized she couldn’t just go home, not yet. She needed to see Tate. Needed to thank him. Needed… something she couldn’t quite name. That was the only reason she pulled into his driveway. That was her intention.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
She hadn’t planned on stepping into his kitchen, on mimicking the way he teased her about speaking “Tate,” trying to prove that she could match his energy, his effort, and the changes he was making.
He’d said things were starting fresh today, hadn’t he?
That they could try? So why not her, too?
Why couldn’t she step up and prove that she could change?
That she could put in the effort, be brave?
But somewhere along the line, she’d gone terribly wrong.
It had felt too good—dangerously good—being in his home again.
Surrounded by the scent of him, the warmth of his presence.
Too intimate, too personal. Watching his guarded features soften when he looked at her.
Catching the flicker of approval, of longing, in his eyes.
And when she caught him checking her out, her chest had filled with something fragile and fiery all at once.
She’d felt beautiful. Wanted. Alive.
And that was exactly the problem.
Because tangled with those sparks of joy came shadows. Shadows of things she thought she’d buried long ago: rejection, isolation, loneliness. The crushing abandonment she had once felt when Tate had looked at her with that same intensity, only to push her away.
Back then, she’d been just a girl with a crush.
A silly teenager pining after her idol, her impossible dream.
He had broken her heart once. But now… now it wasn’t the silly ache of a girl.
This time, it cut deeper. This time she knew exactly what it meant to have someone—truly have them—and what it would cost to lose them.
The scratch had become a wound.
The wound had split into a slice, sharp and raw, right through her soul.
She stood frozen in the garage, her back to the house, her hands fisted tight as if she could physically hold herself together. She stared at the cement floor, at the scuff marks near his truck tires, at anything that would keep her from falling apart.
Then she heard the soft creak of a hinge.
The door opened, and with it came the weight of inevitability.
Nettie turned, slow and reluctant, the way a heroine in a horror film turns toward the shadow that’s about to swallow her. Her stomach churned, her pulse drumming in her ears.
And there he was.
Tate stood in the doorway, one large hand braced against the frame, his expression stripped bare. There was no smirk, no teasing remark perched on his lips. Just him—raw, vulnerable, aching and lonely. It mirrored her own feelings so perfectly that it nearly broke her.
“Come inside,” he said simply.
The words might as well have been a trapdoor beneath her feet.
“No.”
“I think we need to talk.”
“I think I’ve said enough,” she whispered, her throat burning as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She despised that he had this power over her, that he could unravel her with so little effort.
He nodded once, slow, his eyes steady on hers. He pushed the door open wider, his silence speaking volumes, an unspoken plea for her to reconsider, to give this a chance.
But she couldn’t. She shook her head, retreating a step like a frightened animal.
“Sticks, please…” His voice cracked on the nickname, as if it carried all the unspoken answers between them.
“No—and don’t call me that.” Her voice splintered, ragged as she backed away another step. “We’re not dating. We’re not in a relationship. We’re—”
“Don’t say it,” he cut in sharply, his tone clipped, pained.
And she didn’t.
The silence that fell between them was heavy, suffocating.
Nettie’s hand rose instinctively, this time pressing against her heart as if she could shield it from him.
Her breath came shallow, and for a long, trembling moment, they just stared at one another.
No words. No movement. Just the thrum of something alive and dangerous stretching between them.
Finally, she moved first. A step back. A retreat.
She saw his throat work, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the force of his swallow. It was the only sign he gave that he was still tethered to the moment, still fighting for control.
“I need time,” she breathed, the admission cracking in the air between them.
“I know.” His voice was quiet, gentle, as if he was afraid any louder and she might shatter. He hesitated, then added softly, “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for the… the car.” The words felt clumsy, wrong, as soon as they left her lips. She winced at how pathetic they sounded, how uneven the exchange was. Dinner wasn’t the same as a car. Not even close.
“My next game is on Wednesday,” he said suddenly, almost as if clinging to a rope to keep from drowning. “Would you like to go?”
“I’ll let you know,” she answered, her voice evasive, carefully neutral. She turned toward the car, her hand already reaching for the door handle, desperate for escape.
“Nettie,” Tate called, and her name on his lips froze her in place.
She stilled, her hand gripping the handle so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Just because things are tense between us,” he said, his tone low, deliberate, “it doesn’t mean we are forever stuck in the past.”
Her throat closed. She wanted to believe him. Gosh, she wanted to. But the truth was heavier than hope.
“I am. I’m stuck,” she admitted. The simplicity of the words, the raw truth of them, broke her. She felt the tears finally slip free, hot and silent down her cheeks.
“I’m not.”
Her breath hitched. “But it’s not just you in this relationship.”
“I’m not giving up on us.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she whispered, “I know.”
The silence pressed in again, thick and aching. She didn’t look back at him. Couldn’t. Not when her heart already felt like it was breaking in her chest all over again.
Nettie pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, but her hands didn’t move from the steering wheel.
They stayed there, gripping tight as if letting go meant everything inside her would spill out and drown her.
The house sat in front of her, silent and unwelcoming, its windows like eyes watching her hesitate.
She wasn’t ready to go inside. She wasn’t ready to face the silence.
Her phone was facedown on the passenger seat, deliberately ignored.
Gina’s name had flashed across the screen over and over again the past hour, her calls persistent, her messages clipped with frustration.
Tate had only sent one—just one message on Tuesday—asking if she wanted him to leave tickets at Will Call.
As if everything could be solved with a couple of empty seats waiting.
She hadn’t answered.
She hadn’t answered anyone.
It was the same routine each day - like she could ignore the outside world and take solace inside, picking up the pieces of the wall protecting her heart…
and that shield wasn’t ready to face him again yet.
Time was slipping by, each moment compounded with fragmented memories, hurt feelings, and guilt for pushing him away.
Now it was Friday.
Nearly a week since that moment.
Since her world had tilted and her chest had been split open in a way she didn’t know how to stitch back together. She’d missed the game. Her friends reached out. They always did. Words were what people gave you when they didn’t know what else to offer.
But Tate?
He had been nothing but silent. That silence was heavier than any word he could have spoken. Her eyes burned as she stared at the familiar outline of her front porch. She thought about getting out, thought about forcing herself to move, but then something shifted in the corner of her vision.
A shadow. A movement.
She screamed.
“Hey, girl!” Shannon’s voice rang out, bright and amused. “Is this the new ride?”
Nettie’s heart slammed against her ribs as she whipped her head toward her friend. “You scared me…”
“I get that sometimes,” Shannon said with a chuckle, already tugging the handle and sliding into the passenger seat like she owned the car.
Her perfume—something light and citrusy—filled the space.
“So, if this is what you get for cooking dinner, what happens if you actually lock lips with Gina’s hot bro-monster… ?”
Nettie’s shoulders sagged, her chest deflating with a long sigh as she got out of the car.
Shannon only laughed at the reaction, her arm snaking around Nettie’s shoulders as if to gather her broken pieces together. She tugged her toward the house, steering her like she was a little lost.
“You’ve talked with Gina?” Nettie muttered, already knowing the answer.