Chapter 5 - Nate
The suit is worth more than my first car, some designer I had to wear tonight that I cannot even pronounce, but the damn collar still itches.
The tie’s crooked. Or maybe it’s straight, and I just can’t stand it strangling me.
The city glows beneath me, glass and winter and anticipation. Fireworks already blooming faintly against the skyline, too early, too loud. People here like to celebrate before anything’s actually worth celebrating.
I have a glass of scotch in my hand, even though all I want is a cold beer. Brielle has been trying to 'refine my tastes'; apparently, my palette will adapt. Right now, it's screaming at me that wood and tobacco aren't meant to be in anything I drink.
She’s in the bathroom. I can hear the low hum of her blow-dryer over the muted broadcast of the pre-party countdown on the TV.
I should feel lucky.
I’ve got the career, the penthouse apartment, the girlfriend every magazine calls “flawless.”
My team’s playing the best hockey we’ve had in years; analysts keep saying this could be the season.
By every metric that counts, I’m winning.
So why do I feel like I’m suffocating in my own life?
My phone buzzes.
Kenzie: Mom and Dad are heading to Harvest it's really cool what he's doing, incorporating local farms and makers into his farm-to-table-style pub.
I have heard great things. It could be fun.
I don't have a game tomorrow, so we could stay overnight.
" There is no reaction on her perfect face; she is standing still, staring at me.
I feel like I am babbling. Like I'm a little boy instead of a thirty-year-old Hockey Captain.
"No press, no sponsors. Just fun.” I shrug.
Her brows lift and her lips thin into a stern line, like I’ve suggested eating out of a dumpster.
“Nate, we’re on the Kodiaks’ sponsor table. The team expects us there. You can’t just… bail. Not tonight. What would people think?”
Right. The team. The image. The unspoken portion of a sports contract.
Her attention is off of me now, like the conversation is over. She's on her phone, no doubt giving her fans a play-by-play of her day... night.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “You’re right.”
I text Kenzie back: Have fun. Take pictures.
Brielle checks her lipstick in the mirror by the door. “Ready?”
“Sure,” I say on a sigh and try to muster up a smile.
She gives me the kind of smile meant for cameras, not me, which only adds to the tension I am feeling tonight, and we head downstairs.
The car waiting outside smells like leather and champagne.
Cameras flash as we step out; her hand slips automatically onto my arm, not because she wants to hold it but because it photographs well.
We have been together long enough that I know which side to stand on and how to ensure she always looks her best.
Inside the car, the world narrows to tinted glass and silence. She scrolls through her phone, rehearsing the captions for later.
I stare out at the blur of city lights and think of the ridge, black sky, frozen fields, maybe a fire pit glowing beside the old barn.
I look over to Brielle and watch her for a moment.
“You look beautiful,” I say, because I realize I haven’t yet.
She smiles, soft but practiced. “Thank you.”
Her attention’s already back on her screen.
I nod, tell myself I’ll plan something, a quick trip somewhere warm once the schedule eases up. She likes the beach. Likes the photos more. Maybe that’ll smooth the edges for a while.
This seems to be the cycle our relationship takes.
I think about the ring I bought last year, the one still sitting in my desk drawer with the receipt. Is it time? It hasn't felt right once since I bought it, and I keep telling myself that the perfect time will present itself...
The hotel ballroom is gold and white and too bright. The kind of space where you feel like you shouldn't touch anything.
Laughter clinks like ice in glasses. I know half the room by name, the other half by their wallets. Cameras turn as we walk in, Captain Nathaniel Carson and the woman who looks like perfection beside him.
I hit my lines: shake hands, pose, smile, repeat.
This is part of the job.
Be charismatic. Be grateful. Be the guy they want to sell.
Brielle slips away after the first round of photos, headed toward the sponsors’ corner. I stay where I’m supposed to stay, nodding through conversations that don’t matter. After an hour of talking to the right people, I look around, and she’s gone.
I excuse myself, weaving through waiters and laughter, and step into a quieter hallway lined with mirrors.
That’s when I see her.
Brielle.
Standing too close to a man in a navy suit, I don’t recognize. He’s laughing, confident, touching a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear like he’s done it a hundred times.
And she lets him.
She smiles at him, the kind of soft, genuine smile she never wastes on me anymore.
My chest tightens, and I flex my hands at my side.
What the fuck?
She’s never let me touch her hair. Not even joking. And definitely not in public. Don't even get me started on touching her face.
The guy says something, walks off. She turns and sees me. For a split second, she looks… relieved. Like I just saved her from something or gave her an excuse.
“What the hell was that?” My voice sounds foreign, low and rough.
“Don’t do this here,” she says, quiet but cutting and already edging closer to me to try and contain the situation.
“Do what? Watch my girlfriend flirt with some guy?”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Brielle? I know what I just saw.”
“Nate.” Her eyes flick toward the open doorway behind me. People are near enough to hear. “We both know this hasn’t been working. I don't think we want the same thing anymore. It's like you don't even care anymore. You know how much my image and career mean to me.”
“Yeah, looks like you found a guy whose job description matches yours. Let me guess... he's got a bigger wallet?”
Her eyes shift just the slightest, and my gut sours. “This isn’t about him.”
“Looks like it is.” I grind out.
She exhales, almost tired. “It’s over. You knew this was coming.”
“Fuck that. How did I know it was coming?
Was it when we were fucking last night or when you were spending my money this morning?
" My voice is raised, and we are drawing attention, but I don't care. "Is this because I asked to skip one event? Because I wanted one night that wasn’t for the cameras? I wanted to go home and see my family.”
“It’s my job,” she says evenly. “This life. These people. That’s what I do. You knew it when you met me.”
“Some things are more important than your follower count.”
Her lips part, that perfect gloss gleaming. “You knew that wasn’t true for me, Nate.”
Flash.
The sound of a camera. Another.
I step back instinctively, jaw tight. A sick feeling is taking over. Anger bubbles up within me. “Have you been cheating on me?”
She sighs. Not angry, just done. Like I am a petulant child beneath her. “Goodbye, Nate.”
She moves past me, out into the light. The photographer turns just in time to catch her walking away. I go to follow her because fuck that shit, what the last four years have been nothing to her? Just a PR strategy that I no longer measure up to. "Do not walk away from me, Brielle."
A hand lands on my shoulder.
“Come on, man.”
Two of my teammates are at my side. They try to guide me toward the lobby before I say something I can’t take back.
I start walking, but then I see her with him. She didn't even fucking wait.
I am already old news to her. She is standing close by his side, peering up at him, like the doting cheating bitch she is.
Anders seems to sense my intentions because he tries to grab me again, but I slip past him.
He may be strong, but I am fast. And my target is the asshole who's been fucking my girlfriend.
I hear Colby shout something, but I am zeroed in on the dickhead in the Armani suit.
Brielle sees me coming and tries to get his attention, but not before I am on him. My Fist flies before my teammates can grab me.
As I am being dragged back, Brielle is crouched over the guy on the floor, calling for help, playing it up for the cameras and anyone watching.
Flashes blind me, as people shout question after question, not caring that I am a real person. This is gold for them.
Outside, the air is a slap of cold. The sky’s a riot of colour, fireworks exploding over the river, echoing off the glass towers.
“Happy New Year, Captain,” one of them mutters. Half a joke, half pity.
I look up. The colours blur together. My ears ring from the noise, but I can’t hear any of it. I am feeling strange, not exactly sure how to describe it. Angry, Numb... Relieved?
No, that can't be it. I love her... loved her?
But was what we had even real?
How long did she have him waiting in the wings?
How long was she cheating on me?
And then one sickening thought hits me right in the chest. Had that moment, that scene, been why she had to come here tonight? She wanted to end this publicly.