Chapter 27 - Tessa
I keep telling myself everything is fine.
That Nate is just tired, stretched thin between ice time and media days and whatever the hell management keeps dumping on his shoulders.
His schedule has been packed tight since the season picked back up.
That this is what the season does to people who play at his level, tight shoulders, shorter messages, that slight rasp in his voice when he’s exhausted but still trying to sound like the man who kisses my spine in the mornings.
I want to believe that the version of him who whispers I love you into my hair at night is the same one who gets frustrated when I don't go to all the PR events.
“It’s new,” Kenzie said yesterday, sprawled in my passenger seat, eating a cider doughnut like it was the best thing she’s ever tasted.
She harassed me nonstop until I told her what was bothering me, but it is hard to explain.
It is not just one thing... It's a feeling low in my gut. How do you explain that?
“New love makes you feral and stupid. Especially guys. Their brain is basically a shaken snow globe until at least month six.”
I laughed so hard I almost missed the turnoff toward the orchard.
But then she’d added, quieter, “He adores you, Tessa. I have never seen him like this with anyone else. If something were wrong, we’d know.”
I want that to be true. But something about this month feels… different. Not scary, not bad, just shifted, like walking into a room where you can’t tell what moved, only that something did.
The world outside the truck window is turning. Summer green bleeding into gold and rust. The kind of fall that smells like woodsmoke and endings and beginnings all mixed together.
Kenzie is chatting beside me, tapping her boots against the floorboard, animatedly explaining how she wants to bring more regenerative soil practices to her family’s land and maybe, maybe, consult for other farms in the area.
It was a half-joke I made two weeks ago, telling her she could easily build something of her own on the side.
But now she’s running with it.
And I’m proud of her in that warm, achy way you feel for people who finally start believing in their own potential.
“That would be amazing,” I tell her as we turn into the long gravel drive of a vineyard I used to work with. I wanted to introduce Kenzie to some of my friends here. “People trust you. And you care enough to actually help, not just tell people what they’re doing wrong.”
Kenzie leans her head back against the seat, smiling. “Maybe. We’ll see. I still feel like a kid some days. Like I’m just… playing grownup.”
I laugh. “Says the girl who can load a hay baler faster than most grown men.”
“That’s because men are dramatic,” she says, dead serious. “You should’ve seen Eli last week when he found a snake coiled on the tractor engine. The scream? Tessa, I swear I heard it echo across the whole damn valley.”
I’m still laughing when we pull into the long driveway. The sun is low, brushing everything in that late-September honey colour.
It should feel peaceful.
It does feel peaceful.
So why does something in me feel… off?
Not wrong. Not alarming.
Just… off.
Later, we are at one of the farms where I work. I got a call asking if I could stop by on my way home. A horse that hasn't been acting like itself needs checking on.
Kenzie hops out first, already excited to meet the owners. “Come on, Tess! I want to see the baby goats. I’m manifesting goats in my life.”
I follow her, and for a few moments, the warmth of the barn and the familiarity of the work grounds me. It’s hard to feel anxious when a curious goat is trying to eat your shirt.
I let my mind wander and drift off, comforted by the work I love.
Kenzie loops her arm through mine as we walk back toward the truck. “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
She presses her shoulder into mine. “Don’t overthink the good stuff. Let yourself be happy. You deserve it.”
I try to believe her.
But as we drive home, windows cracked, wind cool and carrying the smell of fall…
A thought drifts in, soft and unwelcome:
If everything is fine… why does it feel like the ground is shifting under my feet?
I don’t have an answer.
And I’m not ready to confront it with him, not when I don’t even know what it is.
Maybe Kenzie is right, perhaps I am looking for cracks where there aren't and getting in the way of my own happiness...
So, I tell myself, everything is fine.
And hope that it's true.
This morning, I woke up alone in Nate’s bed, and the whole place felt too quiet.
He’d left hours ago. I could tell by the cooling ripple of the sheets and the scent he always leaves behind on the pillow.
I blinked, stretched, and found the note immediately. Propped on top of the end table.
Red,
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
I laid out a few things for you to pack. I hope you love it!
Miss you already.
I pressed the note to my chest like an idiot.
Who gets butterflies from these kinds of things?
Apparently, me.
Apparently, I’m the kind of woman who melts from the knowledge that he thought about me before coffee.
The butterflies lasted right up until I walked into his closet and saw the “few things” he had laid out.
A designer carry-on, with matching luggage, is the first thing I see, then my eyes track to a stack of outfits, sleek, expensive, and obviously new.
I scan through the stack and see a few dresses that were definitely meant for someone glossier, camera-ready.
They don't look like anything I have ever worn before.
And a whole pile of Kodiaks-branded stuff: fitted jacket, cropped hoodie, leggings with the team logo down the thigh.
They were beautiful. Thoughtful.
But… not me.
I stood there barefoot in one of Nate’s old t-shirts, holding up a silky black dress that looked like something Brielle once wore in a game-day photo, thin straps, plunging neckline, the whole thing screaming “Look at me.” Not that I would ever admit to him that when the noise had gotten too loud, and people were comparing us, I googled them with a bottle of wine.
My stomach dipped, and I fucking hated that it did.
Because he wasn’t trying to change me, I knew that.
He was trying to include me. To give me things he thought would make me comfortable in his world.
I stand staring for far too long at the pile of clothes.
“I’m being ridiculous,” I muttered to myself.
I chose the soft blue sundress, the only one that felt like I could breathe in it, and tossed all the other items into the suitcase, pushing my anxiety away.
This is the first away game I ever attended and the only one I had gone to on my own. The flight was quick, and the city was buzzing the moment I stepped outside. Everything taller, louder, manic compared to my quiet valley back home.
I had just enough time to drop my things off at the hotel and change into some of the Kodiak's gear that Nate left me. I decided on a pair of my favourite jeans, the cropped hoodie with his number, the team jacket, and a branded beanie.
The arena felt enormous.
Security directs fans with clipped voices.
A man in a Kodiak's gear met me at the gate. Nate had asked me to go there to get my ticket, but I didn't expect a guide. Screens everywhere are broadcasting pre-game hype.
My skin crawls as people stare at me, some whisper behind their hands, and a few lift their phones with no consideration to how I would feel about it.
The man told me that Nate wanted me brought down to the team bench so he could see me before the game, and then I would be brought up to the box with management. I asked him if that was normal, and his "Sure." response left me anxious.
It was overwhelming enough that I didn’t notice the opposing team's winger until he leaned across the boards during warm-ups, tapping his stick toward me with a grin. “Damn, Carson scored big,” he laughed. “If all PR plays looked like you, I’d fuck up on purpose.”
I froze mid-step, as heat shot up my neck. “I... sorry. What?”
He winked. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s a compliment.”
Before I could respond, Nate glided over, jaw tight, eyes dark. “Get lost, Keiran.”
The player smirked but backed off. “Touchy, Captain. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe get some of what you got going on.”
“She’s Mine,” Nate snapped.
The guy skated away before I could react. Nate looked at me, softer now, "Sorry about that, Tessa. He's an asshole. Ignore him. He’s just jealous."
I nodded, but my heart was still stuttering.
Jealous of what?
Of who I was to Nate? Or jealous of the attention my presence here drew for the opposing team?
I tucked the question away. Nate gave me a smile that made my core clench and asked for a good-luck kiss before the game.
I took those last few steps to the boards, and Nate pulled me into a passionate kiss that had his teammates catcalling us from the ice.
When I pulled away, embarrassed by the attention, I caught a strange look on Reeves' face, and then my eyes tracked to the player, Keiran, who had a smirk on his face and then, like he wanted me to see it, he looked up at the screen where the kiss was playing for the entire arena to witness.
I asked Nate about it after the game, and Nate kissed my forehead and said, “Keiran wanted to be drafted to the Kodiaks a while back. He's always been jealous of what I have and probably wishes he had a girlfriend who looked like you.”
The way he said it felt true. But something in me still hummed with unease.
The next day, we played tourists. The team had the day off, and Nate wanted to make the most of it and spend some time together. I walked out of the bathroom to him standing by the bed, baseball cap low, hoodie pulled up, and that smile that makes everything inside me soften.