Chapter 25 - Nate
Media day feels different this year. At the beginning of my career, it felt exciting; I felt proud to have reached my goal and to be living my dream life.
But right now, as someone yells, "Smile, Captain!" for the fiftieth time, I am struggling with my newfound fake enthusiasm.
There’s a rhythm to it that I am trying to find familiar comfort in: skate, stop, pose, smile.
Flashbulbs, questions, noise.
But this year, it isn’t just about hockey. It’s about her.
“Captain Carson, look this way!”
“Give us one with the stick!”
“Where’s Tessa today? Any chance she’ll be at the first home game?”
"Now that your relationship is official, where do you see it going?"
An image of Tessa pregnant, sitting on her front porch, waiting for me, popped into my mind. And I almost choked; I had to school my expression and put a leash on my wild thoughts.
Tessa would go running for the hills if she knew how desperate I was for her. How it felt like my focus, my intensity, was shifting from Hockey to her. But that couldn't be... could it? Hockey had been everything; I had worked so hard for most of my life to get where I am now.
A flash pulled me back to the line of cameras in front of me.
"Will Tessa move to Summit City?"
The questions come wrapped in grins, but every one lands like a weight in my stomach.
She’s in Hawthorne Ridge, working. Probably covered in sweat and hay and that scent that’s become the closest thing I have to peace. And I’m here, on polished concrete, being told to look in love for a camera.
They want her at opening night. PR already slid it into my schedule: family appearance, conduct correction, with the GM's reminder that if I don't play along, the morality, image, and conduct clauses in my contract could have me dropped from the team or playing somewhere else before I knew what was happening.
That, out of a decade-long career, a few bad months mean more than all the good years.
All the same buzzwords that mean one thing: we’ll sell your heart along with your stats.
I tell myself it’s fine. That she’s already part of my world.
That this, us, is real. The media attention is just a by-product, not the reason.
Still, the weight on my chest grows heavier.
On the ice, the photographers line up at the boards, long lenses tracking every pass, every spray of ice. The sound of skates carving into fresh ice echoes through the arena.
This part, at least, feels right. Controlled. Predictable.
Anders slaps my stick as I circle back to the blue line. “You look like you wanna murder someone,” he laughs.
“Maybe I do.”
He grins. “Tessa send you any cute animal pictures recently? We miss her. Farm breakfasts beat protein shakes any day.”
That makes me smile. “Yeah,” I say, grabbing my phone during the next water break. She’s sent a photo, her holding a baby goat, freckles brighter than the sun behind her.
Tessa: Miss this chaos?
I smile before I can stop myself.
Anders notices. “You know I never thought I would want to live anywhere but the city. But after this summer... I don't know. There is a certain kind of peace out there. You know?”
“Yeah.” That's all I can manage to get out.
I worked so hard to get where I am; I poured so much of my childhood and teenage years into this dream.
Into having more money, a better life for my family.
But anytime I tried to offer to buy my parents a bigger house or make their lives easier, it drove a wedge between us, like they couldn't understand why I would ever want anything other than how I was raised.
Eli and Kenzie both want to work the land like my parents.
And it is not like we were ever without.
Sure, sometimes I had second-hand hockey equipment, or Eli would drive me to practice because Dad couldn't leave the farm.
Over the years, after the arguments over my lifestyle changes and relationships, we drifted apart.
That is, until a certain fiery redhead came into all our lives.
I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, and Anders elbows me. “She's good for you, Captain. You look less homicidal already.”
The photographer catches the moment. I hear the shutter click.
“Perfect, Captain. That’s the one.”
By the time the last sponsor reel wraps, my face hurts from smiling.
Dante corners me by the lockers, tossing a towel around his neck.
“You know they’re going to make her the centrepiece, right?”
I open my mouth, but he lifts a brow.
“Come on. You’ve seen the strategy decks. Hockey’s new golden couple. You, the reformed captain. Her, the heart-of-gold country girl. It’s PR crack.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She doesn’t even know they’ve got her in it.”
“Then you’d better tell her before someone else does.”
I nod, but the thought of her eyes when she finds out… I can’t. Not yet. Not until I figure out how to make it sound less ugly.
Dante squeezes my shoulder. “If she means something to you. If the lovee-dovee shit is real and not an act. Don’t let them turn that into content.”
He walks away, and anger bubbles up first that he would even insinuate that my relationship with Tessa is fake, then the guilt pushes it aside.
I’m supposed to stay in the city tonight, early skate, meetings, but I can’t shake the pull.
I decide not to fight it and go. Headlights slicing through the dark stretch of highway between the city and Hawthorne Ridge. Every kilometre feels like shedding another layer of noise until it’s just me, the hum of the tires, and the lure of having her next to me tonight.
When I reach her driveway, the porch light is on.
She opens the door, hair in a loose braid, hoodie drowning her frame. Barefoot. Soft. Real. Her.
“Nate? What are you doing here?”
“I missed you.”
She blinks, surprised. “You have practice at six.”
“I’ll drive back before sunrise. I just… needed to see you. Is that okay?”
The corners of her mouth soften. “Yeah. Of course it’s okay.”
I step inside. The house smells like lemon, cedar, and her shampoo. I hook a finger under her chin and kiss her once, slow, until I feel the last of the day drain out of me.
Her hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my ribs. Warm and steady.
“I love that you just show up,” she whispers.
“Can’t help it.” I breathe her in. “Everything feels wrong until I’m with you.”
She smiles, small and knowing. “You sound tired.”
“I am.”
“Then let's go to bed.”
The bedroom’s half-lit, the moon spilling pale light across her sheets.
When she curls against me, something inside me loosens, the coil of control I hold for the team, for the cameras, for the world. I brush her braid over her shoulder and kiss the back of her neck.
“You smell like summer,” I murmur.
“You smell like the rink.”
I laugh softly. “That bad?”
“Not bad. Just… you.”
Her laughter fades when my hand slips under her shirt, tracing the line of her stomach, up to where her breath catches.
She turns to face me, eyes hooded in the low light.
I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper, until the rest of the world falls away.
She tugs at my shirt, impatient, and when I pull it over my head, she drags her nails down my chest, leaving faint red trails that make my lungs seize.
“Tessa,” I rasp.
The air hums between us, hot, alive. Every touch feels like something I shouldn’t have but take anyway. My hands memorize her: the dip of her waist, the soft inside of her thighs, the tiny scar near her hip. I get lost in the feel of her, in her scent, in her panted breaths.
When I push inside her, it’s not about sex, it’s about connection. About needing to feel something honest after a day built on half-truths and angles.
She gasps, clutching at me, and I breathe her name into her skin.
The rhythm builds, breaks, reforms.
She pulls me closer, whispers something against my neck I can’t catch.
All I know is the way her body moves with mine, like we’ve done this forever.
When it’s over, she collapses against me, her heartbeat syncing to mine.
I press my lips to her temple and finally say the thing that’s been clawing to get out all week.
“I love you, Tessa.”
She stills. Her head lifts just enough for her eyes to find mine.
There’s no hesitation, just warmth. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
Her mouth finds mine, slow and sure, like she wants to brand the words into her skin.
And when she drifts to sleep, tucked into my arms, I lie there wide awake, tracing circles on her back and convincing myself that I can have it all.
Her.
The season.
That the lie is buried deep enough, it’ll never come back up.
Because losing her isn’t an option.