18. Athena
ATHENA
Coffee goes cold on the table, and I notice it only when I lift the mug and taste that flat, stale bitterness that always shows up when you forget your own hands exist.
Nathan sits across from me with his sleeves still rolled, his plate already cleared, his posture steady, and his attention locked on me like he’s waiting for the first real sentence. He isn’t fidgeting, he isn’t filling space with charm, and it makes the silence feel honest.
I keep moving anyway, rinsing plates that don’t need rinsing, wiping a counter that’s already clean, and stacking Ivy’s little fork and her sticky plate like order will make my brain cooperate.
“You asked,” I say finally, and my voice comes out low and careful. “So I’m going to answer.”
Nathan nods once, then his eyes flick toward the hallway. The apartment feels too silent without Ivy, and I’m very aware that the quiet makes everything louder. “She’s fine,” I add quickly, since his glance drags at something protective in me. “This part is for you.”
Nathan’s mouth tightens slightly, then relaxes, and he keeps both hands on the table like he’s refusing to intimidate me with movement. He doesn’t interrupt, and I take that as permission to keep going.
“The night I got that message, I told myself I’d go to the police in the morning,” I say, and my fingers curl around the dish towel. “I even took screenshots like I was building a case file.”
Nathan’s gaze stays on mine, attentive and steady.
“Then my mother called,” I continue, and the bitterness slides in without my permission. “Someone vandalized her house, and there was a note. It named me.”
Nathan’s eyes narrow slightly, and his voice stays calm. “What did it say?”
“That I’d be next,” I reply, my voice shaking slightly. “It was written like a person who wanted to prove they could reach me anywhere, even through someone else’s front door.”
Nathan’s fingers flex once on the tabletop then settle again.
“That’s why you left,” he says.
“That’s why I panicked,” I correct, sharper than I intend. “Leaving came later. First I tried to hold normal, and I tried to keep you out of it.”
Nathan’s brow lifts slightly, then he nods once like he understands the logic even if he hates the result.
“I still went to work,” I say, and my voice stays even with effort. “I thought I could get it on record, I thought I could tell someone official without turning it into your problem.”
Nathan’s expression tightens. “You were protecting me.”
I laugh once, short and dry. “I was protecting myself. You made it clear the night before that a baby and a timeline sounded like a trap, and I wasn’t walking into that with a threat on my phone and fear on my face.”
Nathan’s eyes hold mine. “I was wrong.”
“I know.” My voice goes flatter. “HR summoned me the moment I arrived.”
Nathan’s posture goes still in a way that makes my skin prickle. “Meredith,” I say, since I can see him already putting names together.
He doesn’t speak, and I keep going.
“She had a photo,” I say. “Dinner. Your hand on my thigh. My face turned toward you like I trusted the moment.”
Nathan’s gaze sharpens, and something cold slides into his eyes.
“She acted like she was doing me a favor,” I continue. “She called it professionalism, optics, she was protecting Hawthorne, name it what you will. And she said it with a smile that didn’t belong on a human face.”
Nathan’s voice turns menacing. “What did she do?”
“She cornered me.” My fingers tighten around the towel. “She told me she knew about us, she told me she could make sure I never worked in that hospital again, and she told me it wouldn’t stop at Hawthorne if I tried to fight.”
Nathan’s hand closes around his mug, then he sets it down carefully. “She threatened your career.”
“She threatened everything,” I reply. “She had a complaint template already filled in, she had language ready about coercion and abuse of authority and conflict of interest, and she didn’t care whether it was true. She cared that it would stick.”
Nathan’s eyes darken. “She wanted to file against you.”
“She wanted me gone.” My voice cracks slightly. “She said you’d survive, she said men like you always do, and she said I wouldn’t.”
Nathan’s anger reads in stillness, in the way his eyes stop softening. “She offered to process it as an emergency,” I add. “Immediate safety concerns.”
Nathan leans forward slightly. “And you took it.”
“I took it,” I admit, and I hate how small it makes me feel. “I signed, I got escorted out like I was a problem, and I walked out with my bag on my shoulder and my badge gone.”
Nathan’s gaze holds mine. “And you blocked me.”
“Yes,” I say, and my voice sharpens with instinctive defense. “I was pregnant, I was being threatened, you’d already told me you didn’t want to be a father, and if I handed you all of that at once I’d sound like the exact story you hated.”
Nathan’s eyes flicker as the quiet stretches for a beat, and I feel my pulse in my fingertips. “And you left town,” he says, as if he is coming to terms with everything himself.
“I packed,” I answer. “I changed the lock. I left with one suitcase. I told myself I’d come back for the rest later.”
My mouth twists, and the laugh that tries to come out is ugly. “I never did.”
Nathan sits back slightly, and the expression on his face looks like a man seeing a mistake in full detail, not the edited version. “You didn’t trap me,” he murmurs out loud.
“I didn’t.” I hold his gaze on purpose.
“You didn’t weaponize her,” he adds.
“No,” I say, quieter. “I didn’t.”
Nathan’s voice drops, breaks, and his eyes mist over. “I’m sorry.”
In all my years of being obsessed with him, I’ve never seen him look more beautiful. My heart lurches as he shakes his head.
I don’t give him comfort he hasn’t earned yet. “I needed you to believe me,” I admit with a little sigh. “I just…I didn’t want to force you to be a dad because it’d be my kid. You had to want her too, you know?”
His eyes hold mine. “I believe you, and I’m going to fix the rest.”
I let a faint edge into my voice, since it’s safer than crying. “How? You can’t time travel.”
He lets a dry note slip into his tone, familiar and warm. “I’ve been accused of miracles before,” he says, then he looks at me steadily. “Tell me why Meredith had the photo. Tell me who you thought was behind it.”
I hesitate, then my voice drops. “I didn’t know,” I admit. “I suspected Nate, I suspected someone connected to him.”
Nathan nods. “I have a feeling my ex is involved in all of this somehow.”
My ears quirk up. “Ex? You mean…”
“Cindy,” he fills me in. “Nate’s mom.” His expression hardens, and his voice goes colder. “She called me outside the pizzeria. She had photos. She threatened my job. She said she’d go to HR, the board, donors.”
My fingers tighten around the towel. “So she was doing the same thing to you.”
“Yes,” he replies. “And I let it get into my head.”
“She knew,” I say. “So yeah, maybe all of this is tied somehow.”
“She knew,” he confirms, and his eyes don’t flinch away. “I thought it was jealousy. It wasn’t only jealousy.”
“Meredith felt too comfortable,” I say slowly. “The kind of audacity with which she spoke…she definitely had someone backing her up.”
Nathan nods. “Cindy collects people. She uses them when she needs leverage.”
I nod. “So Meredith and Cindy.”
“And Nate,” Nathan adds, bluntly. “Nate was already threatening you.”
“He told me he could make someone’s life hell.” My voice stays level only through practice.
Nathan’s gaze holds mine. “And you thought if he knew it was me, he’d burn everything.”
I nod once. “He’d punish you. He’d spin it as you stealing me, then he’d cry victim in every room that matters.”
Nathan sits still for a beat, then he speaks like he’s making a decision. “I’m done letting other people decide what happens to us.”
I stare at him, and I want to believe it so badly it makes my chest ache. Before I can answer, Nathan’s phone rings.
The sound is loud in the otherwise silent kitchen, and the name on the screen makes his expression shift instantly. Hawthorne. I can tell from his expression that it isn’t a casual call. He answers in the first ring. “Clarke.”
I watch him listen, and his posture tightens into focus. He stands still and absorbs information like he’s already ordering steps in his head. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll be there.”
A beat.
“I’m on my way,” he adds, and the sentence closes like a door.
He ends the call and looks at me like he hates what he’s about to do. “I have to go.”
I keep my face neutral, even though disappointment flares hot and childish in my chest. “Go. That’s what you do.”
Nathan steps closer, and he stops at a respectful distance, then he lifts his hand slowly and cups my cheek. “I want to work this out. I’m not disappearing.”
I swallow. “You’re going to Hawthorne.”
“I am,” he replies, then his mouth tightens. “If you decide you want me here, if you decide you want me to relocate, I’ll do it.”
My brows lift slightly, although my heart is about to jump straight out of my chest. Is he actually telling me he’ll leave a life that took him decades to build for…this? “That’s a big sentence.”
“It’s a clear one,” he answers, and his eyes begin shining. “I’ve given my life to service. I want joy now, and I’m happiest when I’m around you.”
I swallow back the sob that threatens to break free, because the last thing I want to do is uproot him. But I want him by my side too, so much that it feels like a physical ache in my chest.
He leans in and kisses me, gentle and deliberate, then he pulls back and looks into my eyes as if he’s trying to stamp the moment into memory. “I’ll call.”
“You’d better,” I reply, and my voice shakes anyway.
Nathan nods once, then he turns and leaves, moving fast and controlled down the hallway.
The apartment feels ghostly after the door closes, and I keep myself busy with small tasks until my brain stops spinning. I fold laundry that doesn’t need folding. I reorganize Ivy’s art supplies. I check the lock twice even though I already checked it.
Hours pass, and my phone stays silent.
When Ivy comes home, she runs in with her backpack half-open and her cheeks flushed from school, then she pauses and looks around like she’s expecting to see him at the table. “Is pancake man here?”
“He had to go to work,” I tell her, keeping my voice light.
“Is he coming back?” she asks, looking slightly crestfallen, and her eyes search my face.
“Yes,” I say. “Soon.”
One night turns into two. I tell myself he’s making arrangements, and I also make up my mind that if things have quietened down in Boston, I’ll move there once I’m able to, once Ivy is comfortable around the idea of a dad and starting over in a new school.
It’s wishful thinking, but I picture us as a family anyway.
By the second morning, I’m irritated in a way that feels protective, like anger is the only thing keeping fear from swallowing me. I tell myself he’s in surgery, that trauma doesn’t care about relationships, that he’ll answer my messages and call when he can.
By the third day, the hope in me starts going quiet.
I stop checking the street and watching the door. I get Ivy through breakfast and school and dinner and bedtime like I always do, and I tell myself I can do this alone again if I have to.
That evening, after Ivy falls asleep, my phone rings.
An unknown number.
Something about it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My fingers go cold around the device, and I answer without breathing properly. “Hello?”
A man’s voice comes through, tight and urgent. “Is this Athena Hale?”
“Yes,” I reply, and my heart starts moving too fast.
“My name is Daniel,” he says. “I’m calling from a hospital.”
My knees threaten to give, and I grab the back of a chair to keep myself upright. “What hospital?”
“Beacon Harbor Medical Center.” He clears his throat. “Ma’am,” Daniel says, careful. “It’s about Dr. Nathan Clarke.”
My mouth goes dry. “What happened?” The person on the other end isn’t calling from Hawthorne but another facility, and the unfamiliarity makes a shiver run up my spine.
There’s a short pause, then his voice tightens. “He’s been gravely injured,” Daniel says. “He’s alive. He’s stable right now. He’s under the care of a team I trust.”
My vision blurs, and I blink hard, then harder, trying to keep the room still.
“What address?” I whisper.
Daniel gives the address then adds, “He was found and brought in by someone close. He was left for dead.”
I press my free hand to the table, grounding myself. “I didn’t call sooner,” Daniel says. “We waited until he was lucid enough to tell us what he wanted.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Is he… What did he…”
Daniel chimes in, as if he can understand what I need to hear. “He opened his eyes, and the first words out of his mouth were, ‘Call Athena.’”