9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Tate
Her shift ends an hour later.
Rowen’s fighting sleep but pretending he’s not.
I insist on driving them home.
“We can walk,” she says automatically.
“It’s cold,” I reply. “And I have a car.” I try to give a soft smile, but I hope it doesn’t make me look like a crazy man, even if I am crazy for her.
She hesitates. Then nods. But I can’t ignore the concern on her face.
Rowen sits in the backseat, staring at me in the rearview mirror. I don’t have a car seat for him, but Celeste said it will be okay for the short drive.
“You’re really tall,” he says, with a raised eyebrow.
“I get that a lot,” I say with a smile across my face.
“Are you good at hockey?”
“I try.” Thinking back to my last game, I know I’m damn good at hockey, and I’m projected to be drafted in the first round when the time comes.
“My momma watches you on the TV.”
I glance at Celeste in the back with Rowen. She looks at the window. I can’t fully see her face, but I notice the small tilt to her lips.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Yeah?” I say carefully.
“Yeah. She yells at the TV when you guys do something wrong or when the ref is unfair.”
Celeste makes a strangled sound. “Rowen.”
He grins before another yawn falls from his lips.
I laugh before I can stop myself.
By the time we reach her apartment building, Rowen’s head is drooping, and a soft snore falls from him. His curls falling forward, fully covering his eyes now.
I get out and open his door, and he shifts a little.
“You want me to carry you?” I ask.
He squints at me like he’s debating something serious.
“Okay.”
I lift him carefully, nervous about hitting his devices. He explained tonight that he wears both his Dexcom and his insulin pump, which is currently on his leg, but told me they can go on his legs, tummy, arms, or his butt, which made him giggle.
He’s light in my arms. Too light, and a sense of worry washes over me.
I know nothing about diabetes. I always thought it was for older people and for those who may need to change their diet, but tonight Rowen taught me there are different kinds.
He has the kind that has no treatment for reversal or remission.
He could eat as properly as possible, and his diabetes would still be there tomorrow.
It breaks my heart in a way I didn’t know was possible.
He curls into my shoulder without hesitation, fitting into my arms like he was made for me.
Small hand gripping my hoodie. And something protective settles deep in my chest. Something I’ve never felt before.
I’m an only child, and I’ve never had to look out for someone else.
The only people I’m remotely protective of are my parents who are both lawyers so they can defend themselves pretty well.
My teammates, too, but other than my worries about Preston lately, they normally can also take care of themselves.
Inside the apartment, Celeste opens his bedroom door quietly.
I lower him onto the bed, hearing the loud squeaks of the springs as it absorbs his weight.
She moves slowly, pulling a beef jerky stick and apple juice from his side table and placing them on top.
“Night, Ro. I love you to the moon and back.”
“Night, Momma. Love you more than all the stars in the sky.”
His eyes close almost instantly, and the rise and fall of his chest evens out.
I step back into the hallway.
She follows, closing the door gently behind us.
For a second, we just stand there in the middle of her living room.
The apartment is small but warm. Toys tucked into baskets. A tiny pair of sneakers by the door. Real life everywhere.
“I didn’t plan for you to find out like that,” she says.
“I figured.” Keeping my tone even.
She studies me carefully. “You’re being very calm.”
I shrug slightly. “Should I not be?” I know I’m being too calm about this, but I’m just trying to process everything.
“You’re twenty-two, Tate.”
“I know how old I am.”
“This is hospital visits. It’s middle-of-the-night lows. It’s insulin and carb counts and fear every single day. This is why I don’t date. Because Rowen needs my attention 24/7.”
She’s not dramatic.
She’s honest.
“I’m not scared of that,” I say quietly.
She searches my face for cracks.
“For him?” she asks.
“For you.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Brett is his father. But he doesn’t deserve that title, more like a sperm donor, but…
he is Rowen’s father.”The night at the diner where I found them fighting in the parking lot is starting to make sense to me now.
“That’s good to know. So Rowen doesn’t see him?
”She shakes her head no. “I don’t let people meet him unless I think they will stay,” she says.
That lands heavily, even more so than learning Brett and Celeste have a past that led to Rowen.
“And I don’t bring flowers unless it means something,” I reply, trying to lighten the mood, even if it is true.
Her lips tremble just barely.
“You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”
“Then tell me.”
Her shoulders sag a little.
“I can’t have someone come into his life and disappear.”
“I’m not planning on disappearing. I’ve told you that. This is a shock to say the least, and I am still processing it, but none of this changes who you are. And Rowen seems great, pretty funny actually.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then, softly, “I really like you. I just..”
Relief floods through me, and before she tries to finish her sentence, I say, “I really like you too.”
“And this,” she gestures toward the hallway, toward her son’s room, “this is part of me.”
“I know. I’ve never been with someone who has a child, but I mean, Liam is one of my best friends, and he’s let me hold his daughter before, so that’s something, right?”
She rolls her eyes at me.“Holding a baby one time is nothing compared to being a parent.” Her voice is light; no anger is laced through it, but there is a something there and I feel it's her walls coming right back up.
I step closer.
Not touching her yet.
Just close enough that she can decide.
“You don’t have to let me be everything,” I say quietly. “But you could let me try, just be something. If you want to give us more time before I really get to know Rowen, that’s fine, but I’m also good with getting to know him too.”
Her breath stutters.
“You’re not running?”
I shake my head.
“No. This is on your terms, Celeste.”
And for the first time since I walked into that diner, she smiles without fear behind it.
It’s small.
But it’s real.
And when she finally steps into me, resting her forehead lightly against my chest, it doesn’t feel complicated.
It feels right.“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers.
“Do what?”
“This. You. Us.”
My hand finds her waist slowly. Giving her time to pull back.
She doesn’t.
“We can figure it out,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl lightly into the front of my hoodie, lifting her head to land those pretty eyes on mine.
I lower to rest my forehead against hers. “I know you’ve been hurt, let me show you what it means to be cared for.” Then I lower my mouth to hers.
When I kiss her, it’s not rushed.
It’s slow.
Careful.
Like we’ve both been standing on the edge of this for weeks, and for me, I have.
Her mouth is warm and soft and hesitant for half a second. Then she melts into it.
Her hands slide up my chest. My grip tightens at her waist.
The kiss deepens.
Not frantic.
But intense.
Everything we didn’t say at the diner. Everything she held back. Everything I chose when I didn’t walk away.
It’s all there.
She makes the quietest sound against my mouth, and it nearly undoes me.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed. Eyes darker.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods once.
“Yes.”
This kiss is different.
Hungrier.
Her back hits the couch, and she pulls me down with her.
We don’t rush.
We don’t go too far.
But it’s heated. Tangled. Months of tension finally broke.
Her fingers in my hair.
My mouth at her neck.
Her breath catches when I whisper her name.
And then eventually,
Eventually, it softens.
Slows.
Celeste curls into my side, and I trace lazy patterns on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Can I do this?” I think to myself, I know I can, but can I do it right? Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I shoot a quick text to the one person who will understand what I’m going through.
Me: Hey, have time to meet up for a skate?
Liam: Yeah, just tell me when and where.
Celeste shifts in her sleep, raising her head to meet me with the softest eyes I have ever seen on her.
“You’re still here,” she murmurs sleepily.
“I told you I would be.”
Her hand rests flat against my ribs like she’s making sure.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
But then a sound is blaring from her phone.
A sharp vibration.
A faint, urgent alarm.
Celeste is up before I even process it.
She’s already grabbing her phone.
Her face changes instantly.
All softness gone.
Focused. Alert.
“What?” I ask, sitting up.
“Low,” she says quickly. Already moving too fast before I can say anything else.
I follow her down the hallway, quick on her heels.
Rowen is still asleep, but looks pale.
Celeste kneels beside the bed, voice calm but firm.
“Ro, baby. Wake up for Momma.”
He stirs weakly, but just buries his head deeper into the pillow. I kneel beside her, unsure what to do.
She’s moving fast now, grabbing a juice box from the nightstand
“Rowen, come on, honey. I know you’re tired. Just drink this for me, and you can go back to sleep.”
He groans, but raises his arms up, and I’ve seen Lani do this when she wants to be picked up, so I stand up and grab him, sitting him up onto the side of the bed, then step back. I stand there, useless. My heart is pounding in a way I didn’t know was possible.
“Is he okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” she says automatically. But her jaw is tight, and her focus is on her son, watching as he sips down every drop of juice.
She watches the Dexcom reading on her phone like it’s a countdown clock.
I can see the fear she doesn’t show him.
The constant awareness.
The edge she lives on.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
The number slowly starts climbing.
She exhales shakily.
“Good job, Ro,” she whispers, brushing his hair back. “You did so well.”
He mumbles something about his dumb pancreas and lays back in his bed and drifts back to sleep.
She doesn’t move right away.
Just sits there beside his bed.
Phone still in her hand.
Watching.
When we step back into the hallway, she looks different.
Exhausted in a way that isn’t just physical.
“That,” she says quietly, “is my life.”
Not dramatic.
Not bitter.
Just true.
I look toward his door.
Then back at her.
“You do this alone?” I ask.
She nods.
Every night.
Every single night.
Something settles in my chest.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Resolve.
“You don’t have to anymore,” I say, and I mean it. I may be 22, I may be a bone-headed jock, but watching Celeste handle this all on her own. I just can’t go to bed at night knowing the weight she is carrying. I know this is crazy, to try to jump into this world of hers, but I want to, need to.
She looks at me like she doesn’t quite believe it yet.
But she wants to.
I step forward and pull her into me.
This time, she doesn’t hesitate at all.
She just sinks into it.
And as I hold her in the quiet hallway at two in the morning
I realize something steady and terrifying and sure.
I’m not walking away.
Not from her.
Not from him.
Not from any of it.