Chapter 28 - Nate
I don’t remember the last time my body felt rested. I am not just tired; tired is normal when you do what I do. This is something else. A bone-deep heaviness I can’t shake, like I’m carrying myself in pieces and hoping no one notices.
A month into the season, everything becomes a loop. practice, media, nutritionally planned meals, preventative physio, gym, away games, home games, hotel rooms and... repeat.
But I’ve always handled it. Fucking thrived in it. This is what I have worked so hard for, what I have justified everything for.
This year, though…
It feels like the air is thinner. Like something is pressing against my ribs from the inside.
And I know exactly when it started...
The moment the team realized the world adored the idea of Tessa and me. It started as a recommendation, a potential, excitement around how everyone loves her.
But now...
Now she’s everywhere in the marketing decks. In every conversation. Every “quick question” from PR. And none of them know her.
Know us.
None of them sees that she’s soft in places the world shouldn’t be allowed to touch, that she doesn't let anyone but me see.
I woke up this morning in a hotel that could be anywhere, sheets cold beside me, and the first thing I did wasn’t check the time or my schedule, it was reach for my phone.
I wanted to see if she’d messaged.
I wanted her name like oxygen.
I missed her. Missed home. Not my penthouse, but the comfort I found in her house in Hawthorne Ridge.
Instead, I saw the clip.
Two videos spliced together by someone online with too much time:
The left side showed me scoring last night. Right after I score my goal, as I am skating around the rink in celebration, I look right into the camera, tap my chest, mouthing, That’s for you, Tessa.
And on the fucking right side... Tessa at Adam’s Pub. Someone there must have been filming her without her knowledge. She's in a booth with Chase. He leans in, saying something to her. She looks away, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, as if she's angry or overwhelmed and trying to hide it.
And the caption: “Cracks already showing?”
My stomach hit the floor so hard I was glad I was lying down.
Not because the video meant anything. Because I knew it didn't fucking mean anything. Not like what the asshole on social media was selling it.
But because of how it looked.
Because of the timing.
Because I know her tells, the quiet ones, the ones no one else sees. Her shoulders were tight, her mouth pinched, and her eyes were dim instead of being bright like they usually are.
She wasn’t okay last night.
And I wasn’t there.
And she hasn't said anything.
I texted her three times before I brushed my teeth.
Me: Miss you.
Me: Show me where you are working today.
Me: You good?
She replied once:
Red: I’m good. Just tired. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
I read it ten times.
It felt… off. Like she polished the edges of something before handing it to me, and I hated it.
We fly back to Summit City and go straight to training; it is fucking hell.
Every stride feels wrong, legs heavy, mind floating somewhere near prairies nestled between mountains, where she is, where I want to be.
Colby snaps at me for missing a pass. “Jesus, Carson, wake up.”
“Get off my fucking back,” I snap before I can stop myself.
He skates back, hands up, studying me with this look that says he’s clocking things I haven’t said out loud.
Anders watches me too long in the next drill, and I hate it.
I hate feeling vulnerable, worst, showing it, being readable, exposing myself like this.
And most of all, I hate that I am in this situation because of my choices, but I don't know how to get out.
After practice, I duck into the quiet of the hallway to breathe, but PR’s already camped outside the locker room like predators scenting blood in the water.
“Nate! Five minutes? Quick update?”
She hands me a folder, no... a fucking binder. It feels too heavy, weighted.
“Tessa integrations,” she says, like it’s dessert.
“Halloween game content suggestions. Date-night options with strong PR advantages. Holiday couple features and a season-long plan. We would like her to attend more games and to integrate the two of you into our charity events this year. Strong numbers on your away-game kiss...”
“Enough.” It comes out sharper than I intended.
"Nate, I was asked..."
“Not right now.”
She blinks, startled. “We… just wanted you two included...”
“I know. But not right now,” I say quietly.
And I walk away, because if I stay, I’ll say things I can’t take back, and none of this is her fault; it’s mine.
I should’ve told Tessa from the beginning.
Fuck that. I should have asked her if she was ok with all of this before it even started.
Told her the team sees her as part of a strategy, whether I want that or not.
But every time I open my mouth, the words dissolve on my tongue.
Because I’m scared, and I am starting to realize that it has nothing to do with losing fans, or the captaincy, losing money. .. No. I am terrified of losing her.
And I cannot see my way out of this. Not yet.
So, I overcorrect. Hard.
It is fucking ridiculous, but I cannot help myself. I cannot stop this spiral.
I bought her boots, she admired once.
A jacket she lingered on for two seconds at the mall.
I sent coffee to the barn by a fucking courier.
I send her voice notes whenever I get the chance.
I’m trying to fill whatever space is forming, trying to patch holes that weren’t there before she started slipping through my fingers.
I cannot help but notice that, lately, every time she smiles, it’s fractionally smaller.
Every time she texts, the warmth is there but dimmer around the edges.
Is it just me? Is my guilt framing everything about us.
..? or... The panic coils deep. Quiet panic is the worst kind; it makes you look composed while you’re drowning.
But that isn't even the worst of it...
It’s a Tuesday.
Tessa meets me downtown after I do physio on a sore knee, we are trying to prevent an injury on.
She’s wearing jeans she refuses to let me replace, her old brown boots, my hoodie under her worn jacket, and her hair is braided underneath one of her favourite hats.
She doesn't have an ounce of makeup on, and she is still stunning. She looks like everything I didn’t know I needed until she walked into my life.
She feels like fresh air after being suffocated. Like the most real thing I have ever known in my whole life. Like I found something I never knew was missing.
We’re heading to dinner, her arm looped in mine, when I hear it.
“Nate?”
I freeze before I can school my expression. Because I know that voice... Because of course it's her.
Brielle comes into view, shopping bags in one hand, perfect white blonde glossy hair, perfect everything. She is the exact opposite of Tessa.
Brielle looks Tessa up and down with clinical precision before smiling at me and stepping closer to my side, as if she still has the right.
“I didn’t know you two were still doing this... story.”
She lifts her brows. “Management must be thrilled.”
Jesus... Her word choice is intentional. It always is.
A story, not a relationship, not love.
A fucking story.
I feel Tessa’s whole body go still beside me, like she is locking up, shutting down.
My jaw grinds so hard that something might crack.
I need to play this carefully. Does she know something, or is she just trying to mess with my relationship because she knows I am happy?
I want to tell Brielle to get lost. To shove her words, back down her throat, but I don't want to make a scene or feed her ego.
“Good to see you,” I manage, voice flat. “We’re late.”
She gives that familiar saccharine smile.
“I’m sure you are.”
She walks away, and Tessa just stands there for half a second, looking at the ground like she dropped something and doesn’t know how to pick it back up.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching for her hand.
“Yeah,” she says too tightly. “Let’s just… get dinner. I’m hungry.”
But her hand slips from mine minutes later. Not angrily. Not dramatically.
Just… slips.
And that small, quiet motion feels worse than a fight.
It feels like a warning, a premonition.
I have this dream that I can't shake, at first it was a happy moment, Tessa sitting on her front porch pregnant and waiting for me.
A vision I never knew I wanted, until I saw it with perfect clarity.
But lately, that vision, that moment, feels like it is slipping away.
Like some force that I am not sure I believe in is trying to warn me.
Tonight, I have to tell her everything. Because if I don’t, I’m going to lose her.
I just know it. This foreboding feeling has been sinking in my gut, and I don't see how we get out of this unharmed.
I know I cannot lose her. But I also know I cannot push back on my contract without massive consequences, the clauses, the claws the franchise has in me without penalty. Without losing something.
I am going to tell her, and she will understand. Tessa is level-headed. It will all be ok. That is the only way I can walk away with everything I need.
We are walking into my penthouse, she shrugs out of her jacket, her braid sliding forward over her shoulder, eyes soft but tired. She looks at me like she’s still here… but further away than she should be. I step toward her. I have to do this. She is slipping away. “Tess… I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes lift, dark blue eyes, the colour of the deep ocean, lock onto mine.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” I say. “It’s about..."
My phone rings, cutting me off. We are in this weird holding moment while my phone rings. I don't want to look at it. I need to stay focused. I need to tell her.
The ringing finally stops, and I let out a deep breath. Tessa, beautiful, perfect Tessa, steps forward, a reassuring hand on my chest, "Is everything okay?"
I open my mouth and close it. I know this is it. We need to talk. I need to get this off my chest so we can move forward with everything out in the open, and this fear hanging over me is gone. I cannot lose her. I cannot lose our future... the dream.
My phone goes off again. She drags her hand across my chest to my arm and gives me a comforting squeeze, "Answer it, Nate, it is probably important."
I pull my phone out, and it's my agent. I hesitate, and she sees it. She reassures me. "It's ok."
Her voice is tired in a way I feel in my bones. But she is smiling or at least trying to.
I stand frozen, knowing I should push forward. I should say it anyway. I should unload everything. But the fear grips my throat, and I... freeze. I can't, because a part of me knows that I am too deep now. That if she finds out...
So, like a coward, I nod.
I take the call and move to my office, trying to give space and hold it together. I listen to my agent, but my heart, my everything, is not in this room. She deserves honesty, and I keep choosing comfort over truth, because truth feels like the thing that will break us.
I sit in the dark for a while after the call is over. Enjoying this moment of peace.
Eventually, I walk back out looking for her. I find Tessa asleep on my couch, curled up, snuggling one of my sweaters. I should wake her. I should tell her everything. But I just stand there in the dark watching her. Hating myself for the quiet coward I’m becoming.
It is so quiet I can hear the tick of my watch. It feels like I am Captain Hook, and the ticking clock is my warning. Because I know that every day I stay silent, every day, I let her walk around in my world blind, every day I let fear make the choices…
…I lose her a little more.
And I think she already feels it.
I watch her in this quiet, peaceful moment, then pick her up, and she instinctively tucks her head into my chest, under my chin, as if we are a puzzle that finally fits, like she needs me as much as I need her.
So, I hold on to that thought, to the feel of her wrapped in my arms and to the hope that love is enough to carry us through this.