Chapter 39 - Tessa
I’m not sure what wakes me. I don't even remember falling asleep. I sit up, a groggy fog weighing me down and listen. I don't think it was the wind, though it howls against the house like it wants in.
Not the nausea, though that’s been my shadow for weeks.
Not even the ache behind my ribs, though that one feels like it has become a permanent part of me. It’s something softer, a shift in the quiet... a presence.
And then I hear three slow knocks on my front door. They aren't urgent or angry. Just… there. Like someone quietly asking permission to exist on the other side.
My stomach flips, and for a split second, I think I’m imagining it. Maybe the stress dreams, which have been vivid or even wishful thinking. Possibly hallucinations brought on by too many sleepless nights and too little food.
But then I hear footsteps retreating down my steps.
My heart jolts, and I move without thinking. I pull open the door so fast the cold slaps the air from my lungs.
“Nate.”
He’s halfway down the steps, head bowed against the wind, shoulders hunched in his old jacket.
The one I stole once and wore for a whole week after he left for an away trip.
The one that always smelled like him, even under the smell of smoke, hay and everything else.
He stops when he hears his name, and slowly, he turns.
And... It’s him.
Only… not the version I knew at the penthouse. Not the polished captain with the perfect interviews or the man who broke my heart.
This Nate looks carved from winter. He's beautifully weathered, humbled and a little raw around the edges.
He looks real... he looks like he's my Nate. The one I have feared may have never really existed. And it almost unravels me right there.
There’s a canvas bag sitting at my feet. I didn’t notice it until now.
He clears his throat, voice low and careful in a way he never used to be with me.
“I, uh… heard from a few people you haven’t been feeling well.”
A beat and then his eyes flick down, and then back up.
“And I know I’m the last person you want checking in on you, but… my mom made bread and chicken noodle soup, and she... uh... made extra. Thought you might want some.”
I crouch to pick up the bag, hands shaking only partly from the cold.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
He shifts his weight, boots crunching softly in the snow. And when he looks at me, really looks, his breath stutters the tiniest bit.
And I know what he sees... Because I miss him. I know I do, and I am sure it’s written all over me.
“I miss you, Tessa.” His voice breaks on my name. “I miss you so much.”
I close my eyes. For one impossible second, I feel myself tilt, toward him, toward warmth, toward everything familiar and easy and mine. Toward the version of us that were so happy for a heartbeat. Before it all came crashing down.
But something else holds me still, the hurt Tessa, the betrayed one, the one who learned the hard way that love without truth can crush you...
When I open my eyes, he’s watching me like whatever I say next might save him.
I swallow hard. “I… miss you too,” I admit, barely above a whisper.
His inhale is sharp, almost a gasp.
“But...”
He cuts in gently; palms lifted like he’s afraid the slightest movement might scare me off. “I know. Tessa, I know.”
His voice is soft and feels honest. He doesn't seem to be defensive or on edge.
“What I did... there’s no version where I pretend it wasn’t horrible. There’s no version where I get to shrug it off or hope you just… forget.”
A snowflake melts against his cheek. Or maybe that’s a tear. I’m not sure, but I cannot take my eyes off him.
“But I want to talk to you,” he continues. “Not to fix it. Not to beg. Just to explain. You deserve that. The truth. The real truth. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to want me again.”
His jaw tightens, but his eyes stay soft. “I just… need to try. Tessa... I. I need to know that I tried.”
My heart lurches forward, but my wounded pride pulls me back. And somewhere stuck between the two is the girl who once believed she wasn’t worth choosing, and the woman now terrified she believed the wrong person again.
“Nate…” I breathe.
He waits. He looks so patient, open and hopeful. Nate stands before me with a quiet energy about him that I have never seen before.
Something warm flickers in my chest, not hope, exactly... But maybe the memory of it.
“Okay,” I say finally.
His shoulders drop, relief washing across his entire face.
“When I’m feeling better… we can talk.”
His smile blooms instantly, bright, unguarded, the exact one I fell for. It hits me like sunlight after days of storm, and it hurts, god, it hurts. A tear slips free before I can stop it.
His smile falters. “I’m so sorry, Tessa.”
He takes a small step back, hands falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t... this wasn’t to… push, or pressure you. I just...”
He swallows. “I’ll go. I just… wanted you to have the soup. And to know that if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be here in a heartbeat.”
He turns to leave.
“Nate.”
He pauses and looks back.
My voice is barely audible. “Thank you… for the driveway. And the steps.”
His blue eyes are lighter than I have seen them in a long time, and slowly, he nods.
Then he just… stands there, taking me in under the soft, pale wash of winter light.
Like he wants to memorize me, in case he never gets to see me up close again.
And maybe he does know, perhaps some instinct in him recognizes that the old Nate would’ve stayed too long, pushed too hard. He gives me the thing I never thought he’d learn how to give.
He turns and walks away without a word, back to his truck.
And I stand there in my doorway with soup warming my palms and pain stinging my throat, watching him go, and for the first time since our world cracked open, the clouds shift, just enough for one thin, trembling ray of light to break through.