Chapter 17 - Nate
The only thing that’s been keeping me sane is the back-and-forth texts with Tessa.
The dreams haven’t stopped. Every night it’s her, red hair flashing, sunlight catching the dust in the paddock, the sound of the impact that I’ll never get out of my head. The guilt has teeth now. It doesn’t gnaw; it devours.
I’d texted her the next morning, after harassing Kenzie for an update. She told me Tessa wouldn’t be at the farm, that she had other clients, other work, a life outside our family chaos.
Me: You were mean
Red: You ok, muffin?
Me: Is that how it’s gonna be?
Red: Do you mince words with your team when you’re on the ice, Captain?
Me: …
Red: Neither do I. That bull’s worth a lot. He’s part of your family’s whole business plan to grow.
Red: Fine. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
Me: I knew you liked me.
Red: Ugh. Don’t get your hopes up.
Me: You like me.
Red: I don’t think I know who you are yet.
And just like that, the messages became habit, a pulse between us that hummed under everything else.
The guys and I had spent two more days at the ranch trying to make up for the mess that started with Sloane and ended with Tessa getting hurt.
We fixed the fencing, hauled feed, rebuilt the busted water line, helped harvest some of Mom's market vegetables and even helped move cattle. Eli still barked orders like I was twelve, but something was grounding about it. The rhythm of work. Sweat, dirt, ache, things that didn’t give a damn about press coverage.
Mom said she was proud of me when we pulled up on the last morning. Dad just nodded once and went back to fixing the hitch on his truck. I told them I had to go back to the city for a meeting, but I would be back as soon as I could.
Mom sighed, that sad kind of sigh that says I love you, but I will miss you.
Eli didn’t even bother pretending. “Sure you do,” he muttered. “We’ll see you at Christmas.”
I didn’t correct him. Didn’t trust my voice not to crack.
Because the truth is, I earned everything they were dishing out.
By the time I hit Summit City, my chest felt tight. The air’s thicker here, like breathing through cloth. There’s no wind, no space between sounds. Just sirens, traffic, the hum of something always wanting more.
The penthouse looks exactly like I left it, floor-to-ceiling glass, untouched kitchen, the kind of silence that mocks you. I shower, but the scent of hay and sun-warmed earth clings to my skin like it doesn’t want to let go.
I stand at the window and try to remember why this was supposed to be the dream.
The view. The money. The fame.
But all I can think of is how the morning light hits Tessa’s hair, and how the farm smells like belonging.
Then my phone buzzes, and my chest squeezes.
Coach Harrison: You'd better be at the meeting tomorrow. Decker wants everyone. Noon.
The boardroom smells like stale coffee and money. Ray Decker sits at the head of the table, perfectly tanned and styled. Coach Harrison leans back in his chair, arms crossed. Beside him, Assistant Coach Bishop watches everything, quiet and assessing.
The table is filled out by my team. Reeves looks annoyed that he is being dragged away from Olivia.
Anders has that half-grin he uses when he knows he’s about to stir shit.
Jensen’s posture is calm, neutral, hiding whatever he’s thinking.
Gabe Duarte sits still as stone, arms folded, our enforcer with monk energy.
Misha Petrov’s massive frame takes up the space of two chairs; he’s already pulled out jerky from somewhere and is quietly chewing.
Dante Rinaldi’s in a blazer like he’s heading to a red carpet, legs crossed, smirk in place.
Decker starts the show with a smile that’s all teeth.
“Gentlemen, we’ve had quite a week.”
He clicks the remote. The screen fills with images of our team at my family’s farm; my mom laughing at something McKenna said, Eli giving orders, Olivia waving at the camera, and then there's Tessa, hair in a braid, jeans and boots, sunlight haloing her as if she walked out of a goddamn country music video.
And the pictures and videos of her don't stop.
Shot after shot of her working, interacting with everyone and then ends on the one Kenzie took of her working oil through Olivia's curls, with Reeves in the background looking fucking smitten.
Jamie from PR is practically glowing. “Our social metrics are through the roof. The Tessa content is gold. We’ve got viral traction, local papers picking it up, and national outlets reaching out for interviews, asking what her affiliation is with the team. Fans are calling her the Cowgirl Angel.”
I fucking hate that nickname. I hate that people are exploiting that terrifying moment.
I feel my pulse in my throat. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Jamie says, grinning. “She’s trending.”
Decker steeples his fingers. “This...” he gestures to the images, “is the kind of story that rebuilds trust. A captain returning home. A community. A local hero. Authenticity sells, boys.”
Then the screen changes, and a side-by-side of Tessa's and Brielle's feeds light up the room.
Our head of PR jumps in, "People were team Brielle for a while, but authenticity is trending, and people are calling out the differences in the women."
Bile rises up my throat, but I feel Coach staring at me as he subtly shakes his head.
They show content from fans dissecting the feeds and the character of each woman, as if they were comparing car models.
Then they scroll over some of Sloane's content since the accident and how her numbers have dropped since, saying something about natural beauty and wholesome being the new IT thing, but my blood is roaring in my ears, and I tune out what they are saying.
I can feel my jaw tightening. “You’re talking about people, not storyboards.”
“Relax,” Decker says, smooth as oil. “No one’s exploiting anyone. We just... want to lean in. Maybe a small partnership, with a charity tie-in. You know, real heart.”
Bishop finally speaks. Her voice cuts through the room like the sound of ice cracking. “And you want Nate to be the face of it.”
“Exactly,” Decker says. “He’s the captain.
He’s already connected to the community.
And this...” he clicks to another photo, Tessa holding Liv’s hand, my family dinner after a long day of work, the boys and I on the fence line working together, and lastly Tessa on her knees covered in mud, hugging a teary-eyed Olivia.
“This is the image of leadership. Family. Stability. People eat it up.”
I can’t breathe right. The room feels smaller, the air stale.
“She’s not part of the team,” I say. “She didn’t sign up for this.”
Decker smiles again, trying to come off as patient, but looks patronizing. “She doesn’t have to. You’ll handle it, Captain. It’s good for the brand. Good for you.”
Duarte shifts in his chair. “Careful, boss. That brand bleeds when you treat real people like press kits.”
Decker doesn’t even look his way. “We trust our captain to navigate that balance.”
Coach Harrison leans forward, voice low and steady. “This is exactly what a good captain does, Nate. You take what the game gives you, and you turn it into something better. You lead on and off the ice.”
And there it is, the one thing I’ve never been able to ignore.
The challenge. The responsibility. The expectation.
I exhale slowly. “If we’re doing this, we do it right. Diane Morgan handles most of the fundraisers in that town. You’ll want her looped in before anything goes public.”
Decker’s grin widens. “Perfect. We’ll start there. And Nate, excellent job."
I don’t say anything. I just nod, because I know the script.
"Oh, and boys, you are all looking good. There is something to be said about strengthening your body through hard work. Keep at it, we will be looking great for this upcoming season."
The others file out one by one. Reeves passes me, shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face.
Duarte claps my shoulder before leaving. “Don’t let them take over your personal life.”
I nod, but my head's already buzzing with too many thoughts.
Back outside, the city air hits like static. I can’t shake the hum under my skin.
I take out my phone.
Me: So… apparently the Kodiaks are switching mascots to the Cowgirl Angel.
Red: … I beg your pardon?
Me: That’s what PR is calling you: viral hero, community sweetheart, saviour of the influencer.
Red: I’m gagging.
Red: Also… can I put that on my resume?
Me: Only if I get royalties.
Red: Sorry, Captain. I don’t split tips.
I grin despite the headache forming behind my eyes.
I told myself I could keep it all together, that I could do this.
That maybe this is the balance I’ve been chasing, the good PR, the family, the woman who doesn’t take my bullshit. Maybe, for once, I can have it all.
But even as I think it, I wonder what Tessa would say if I told her what was said today, what I agreed to.
I ignored what my gut is telling me and told myself it's okay.
Because I was already planning on getting to know Tessa better anyway.
My phone is blowing up with messages from the guys asking when we are headed back to Hawthorne Ridge.
I scroll through, deciding I will answer later.
I need to go for a run and get a workout in to clear my mind.
Get my plan straight. I see a text from Brielle, delete it without reading it, and block her.
She's probably chasing the good PR I have right now.
Later, as I am running on my treadmill, sweating it out and trying to make what just happened feel good. I decide I can have it all. I will get good PR for my team, earn my family's trust again, and get the girl.