Chapter 42 - Nate
By the time I turn off the highway toward the farm, the sky is already that bruised winter purple that looks like it’s holding its breath.
I shouldn’t be this wired after a game, not when it wasn’t even a bad one.
We won. I logged good minutes. Stayed out of the box.
Did every single thing the stat sheets will call “successful.” But I still felt hollow when I stepped off the ice.
Not long ago, I would’ve driven straight back to the penthouse, gone straight into another meeting, another PR ask, another night pretending the city lights made me feel less alone. Now my truck just… turns home.
To this home.
I park beside Dad’s truck and sit there for a second with my hands on the wheel. The engine ticks as it cools. Snow from the gravel lane blows up in soft little ghosts around the headlights. The porch light is on, warm yellow spilling into the dark.
I get out, and my breath fogs in front of me. The air bites in a way it never does in the city, cleaner, sharper, honest. My legs ache, my shoulders are tight, and yet… my chest feels steadier the closer I get to the front door.
I step inside, and the warmth hits me first, then the smell. Cinnamon. Coffee. Something savoury under it all, like roast or stew that has already been put away.
And voices. Mom’s low laugh. Eli’s low murmur. The scrape of a fork on a plate.
I toe my boots off and hang my jacket up, suddenly more nervous than I’ve been walking into any locker room. Because I know tonight can’t be another “how was the game, son?” night.
Tonight, I have to say it out loud.
I round the corner into the kitchen, and there they are, exactly like I pictured:
Mom at the far side of the table, sweater sleeves pushed up, hair piled messily on top of her head, a half-finished piece of apple pie in front of her.
Eli sits beside her, long legs kicked out, his long-sleeved thermal rolled up mid-forearm, mug of coffee cupped in both hands like it’s the only thing keeping him vertical.
Dad at the head of the table, reading glasses low on his nose, a newspaper folded in thirds, an untouched plate in front of him.
Three pairs of eyes lift when I walk in.
Mom’s face softens instantly. “Hey, baby.”
Only she gets to call me that.
Eli nods. “Captain.”
I make a face at him. “Don’t start.”
He smirks into his coffee.
Dad just studies me for a beat, that way he does where you know you’re being x-rayed, even if he doesn’t say a word yet.
“Hungry?” Mom asks, already half-standing. “There’s leftover roast. And pie. You didn’t eat properly, did you? I can tell.”
“I...” I start to say I’m fine, but something about home strips off the bullshit before I can get it out. “Yeah. I could eat.”
I grab a plate, warm up some roast, and sit down in the empty chair across from Eli, at Mom’s right. It feels like being a teenager again for a second. We are just missing Kenzie talking a mile a minute. My chest pinches at the familiarity.
We talk about the game first because that’s the easiest thing. Dad asks how the ice was. Eli complains about a non-call, as if he were there. Mom says she saw one of my interviews and that I need a haircut.
My hands work on autopilot, fork to mouth, chew, swallow, but my brain keeps looping the same single thought:
Say it.
Finally, I can’t take the circling anymore. I put my fork down. It clangs a little louder than I intend, and three sets of Carson eyes lock onto me.
I swallow hard. “I need to talk to you guys.”
Mom sits up straighter. Eli’s joking expression drops. Dad sets aside the newspaper without looking away from me.
He knows.
My heart’s beating in that way it does before a big game.
I grip the edge of the table to ground myself. “I’m retiring after this season.”
Silence hits the room like someone cut the sound. For a second, nobody moves.
Then Mom’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, Nate.”
It’s not disappointment in her voice. It’s… relief wrapped in worry.
Eli blinks hard, then lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit.”
“Eli,” Mom snaps out of habit, eyes still on me.
Dad doesn’t say anything at first; he just looks at me, really looks, like he’s measuring the weight of what I just said against every version of me he’s seen walk through this kitchen.
“You sure?” he asks finally.
I nod. My throat feels tight. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. The last month just… made it clearer.”
Mom’s eyes shine. “Is it your knee?”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “My body’s fine. Tired, but… not done yet. That’s not why.”
“Then why?” Eli asks, leaning forward. There’s no judgment in his voice. Just genuine curiosity. “You’ve worked your whole life for this.”
And that’s the thing.
“That’s part of it,” I say, staring down at my hands. “I have worked my whole life for this. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being the thing I love and started being the only thing I am.”
I can feel Mom’s gaze soften, Dad’s sharpen, Eli’s shift.
“I don’t like who I turned into chasing it,” I admit. “I don’t like how easy it was to let other people decide what my life should look like. I don’t like that… that I could hurt someone I love as badly as I hurt Tessa and not even realize how far I’d drifted from the man I wanted to be.”
Mom exhales like she’s been holding that breath for months. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Dad takes off his glasses, sets them on the table, and folds his hands together. “Nate, I want you to hear something and actually hear it.”
I flick my eyes up to his.
He holds my gaze. “I am proud of what you’ve done. Of what you’ve built. Watching you skate out there…” His mouth tilts. “There’s nothing like it. But somewhere in the last few years, I stopped recognizing my boy.”
“I watched you disappear into that world,” he continues, voice low. “Not all at once. Piece by piece. Every time you said yes to something you didn’t want. Every time you let them chip away at what mattered, as long as they called it ‘for the team.’”
My eyes burn, and I grip my knees under the table so tightly my fingers ache.
“I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to hold you here,” he says. “So, I stayed quiet. I told myself you’d find your way back on your own.”
“I didn’t,” I rasp. “Not until it was almost too late.”
Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Her palm is warm, familiar, grounding. “But you did find your way back, baby. You’re here. You’re seeing it.”
Eli clears his throat. “Look, I’m the last person to be giving emotional advice, but… I’ve seen you more these past few weeks than I have in the last couple of years combined. You look… I don’t know. Different.”
“Different how?” I ask, wary.
“Less like you’re about to jump out of your own skin all the time.” He shrugs.
I let that sit for a second. Let myself feel it.
He’s right.
The noise in my head has quieted. The constant itch to check my phone, to anticipate the next demand, the next problem, that’s dimmed. I still feel the ache of losing Tessa every second; that part hasn’t changed, but the rest… the rest has.
“I’m not walking away because I hate the game,” I say. “I still love it. I always will. I’m walking away because I hate who I let myself become to keep it.”
Dad nods slowly. “Then I think you’re making the right call.”
Mom sniffles, wiping at the corner of her eye. “What will you do? When it’s over, I mean.”
The answer is already there, clear as the picture that’s been living in my dreams.
“I want to work here,” I say. “Full-time. With you, Dad, Eli, and even Kenzie. I want to actually learn it properly, not just be the kid who shows up at calving season and pretends he’s helping.”
Eli snorts. “You were pretty useless that year.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
Dad’s mouth curves. “You think you’re ready for the hours? For the early mornings? For the fact that the cows don’t give a damn if you were up late at a party the night before?”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half relief. “I think I’m ready for anything that’s real and doesn’t come with a hashtag.”
Mom laughs, wet and shaky. “I like that answer.”
I take another breath, then force out the rest, because it’s part of the truth and they deserve to hear all of it.
“And I…” I hesitate. “I want that life with Tessa. If she’ll have me.
If she can ever forgive me. I want… I want to build something with her that isn’t about the team, or PR, or any of that shit.
I want quiet. And mornings with coffee on her porch.
And driving into town in my truck with hay in the back instead of a security detail following us. I want...”
My voice cracks, but I push through it.
“I keep seeing her on the front steps,” I confess. “Pregnant. Waiting for me. And I know it sounds insane to say out loud, but… that’s it. That’s the dream now. That’s all I want. Her. Here. A family.”
Mom covers her mouth again, tears spilling over. Something loosens in Dad’s face, pride, pain, understanding all tangled together. “That sounds like a good life,” he says simply.
I look to Eli and see a look pass over his face that I cannot read.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask. “Walking away from everything I’ve built, everything we sacrificed for?”
Dad shakes his head. “No, son. I think it takes more guts to choose a life that fits your soul than one that looks good on a billboard.”
Eli raises his coffee mug. “To Nate Carson: recovering brand asset, future farmhand.”
I flip him off half-heartedly. Mom smacks his shoulder. Dad actually chuckles.
It feels… normal.
It feels… like mine.
After we talk logistics, my contract, the end of the season, what it means practically, Dad heads out to check on the calves, Eli goes to help, and Mom and I end up alone at the sink, rinsing plates.
She nudges my shoulder lightly. “You know, when you were little, you used to tell everyone you were going to be a hockey player and a cowboy.”
I huff out a laugh. “Sounds like something I’d say.”
“Then somewhere along the line that shifted, and it was all about hockey,” she continues softly. “I don’t think it ever occurred to you that you were allowed to change your mind.”
I stare at the soap bubbles for a second. “Do you think he’d be disappointed?”
“Who?” she asks. “The little boy? Or the man who thought he’d die if he left the league?”
“Either” I say.
She dries a plate thoughtfully. “I think the little boy would be thrilled you got to live his dream for as long as you did. And I think the man you are now is finally listening to him again.”
She bumps me lightly with her hip. “And as for Tessa…” She takes a deep breath. “You’ve hurt her, Nate. Deeply. It’s going to take time. But the work you’re doing now, the quiet work, the kind no one claps for, that matters. For you. Not just for her.”
“I don’t know if I’ll get another chance,” I admit. “I’m trying to make peace with that. To change because I want to, not because I think it’ll win her back.”
Mom’s smile goes soft. “That’s the only kind of change that ever sticks.”
She reaches up, cups my cheek for a second, thumb brushing just under my eye, the way she did when I was a kid. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers. “Not for retiring. Not for staying. For finally choosing yourself. The real you. We’ve missed him.”
I swallow hard and nod, because if I try to talk, my voice will break.