13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Celeste
It still feels strange.
Seeing Tate in daylight.
Not under arena lights. Not across a diner counter. Not tangled in shadows on my couch at two in the morning.
Just… here.
In front of my apartment building on a Saturday afternoon, leaning against his car like he’s not six-foot-something and broad enough to block out half the sun, hot like a runway model.
Rowen spots him first.
“TATE!”
He bolts down the walkway before I can grab his hood, his curly hair flowing with the wind and the speed of his body.
“Walk!” I call after him, but it’s as if the words never reach his ears. Not when Tate is in sight.
Tate straightens, laughing, and throws his arms out just in time to catch Rowen mid-launch.
He’s wearing a fitted charcoal Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric stretching across his chest when he lifts Ro like he weighs nothing at all.
The shirt is slightly rumpled, like he found the first thing he could and put it on.
His soft blonde hair is darkened from his shower, which he mentioned he was taking before he came to get us.
Looking less polished hockey poster boy, more real, more handsome than any man I have laid eyes on.
Add in him holding my child, and how caring he is with Ro, my lady bits are fluttering away.
“Hey, Ro.” He props Rowen onto his hip, looking right into his eyes as he speaks to him with the biggest smile I think I have ever seen on his face.
“You said we’re skating.” The excitement is all over Rowen’s face. When I told him Tate was coming to take us on an adventure, he begged me to tell him where we were going. I tried so hard to stay strong, but that dang puppy dog look he has mastered got the best of me again.
“Celeste, it was supposed to be a surprise.” Tate looks at me, the pretend whine to his voice is given away by the wink he throws my way. We haven’t kissed since that night he learned about Rowen, and my body is desperate for his touch, but my mind is still protecting me, us.
“You promise you won’t let me fall?” Ro tries to whisper.
Tate pretends to think about it. “No.”
Rowen gasps dramatically, looking back at me.
“I promise I’ll help you back up. Cause here’s the thing, little man, we all fall, but it’s learning how to get back up and keep going that matters.”
Rowen considers that. “Okay.”
I cross my arms, trying very hard not to smile.
Tate looks up at me, and the look on his face makes my stomach dip.
“Hi,” he says to me, reaching his hand out to me. I take it and walk into his open arms, before he kisses the top of my head.
Just like that, my pulse stutters like we’re sixteen-year-old kids.
“Hi,” I answer.
Tate lets me go and carries Ro over to the car. He buckles him into the car seat he bought for his car, the one he refused to let me pay him back for. “Non-negotiable,” he’d said.
It’s the little things that melt the ice around my heart. Not grand gestures. Not promises.
Consistency.
He shuts the back door and rounds the front of the car toward me. For a second, he just stands there, hands tucked into the pockets of his front pants pocket, looking at me like he’s trying to read something I haven’t said out loud.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
I nod, but he doesn’t look convinced.
The drive to the rink is easy. Rowen chatters in the back about how he’s going to “skate faster than Tate” and how he’s absolutely not going to fall. Tate plays along, dramatically offended.
“Oh, you’re going to be faster than me now?” he glances in the rearview mirror. “I see how it is.”
“I’m gonna win!” Rowen declares.
Tate laughs. “Alright, little man. We’ll see.”
I watch him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, relaxed but attentive. He looks different. Not the guy everyone chants for from the stands. Just… a man taking my son skating on a random weeknight.
It does something steady and terrifying to my chest.
When we pull into the rink parking lot, I hesitate before opening my door.
“You ready?” he asks me.
Am I?
That question feels bigger than ice skating.
“I guess.”
Inside, the rink smells the same. Cold air and faint rubber. The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. It’s quiet, no crowd, no announcer, just the hollow echo of blades on ice somewhere in the distance.
Tate kneels in front of Rowen, tightening the straps on his tiny skates. His fingers move carefully, double-checking everything without being asked.
“Remember what we talked about?” he says. “Bend your knees. Don’t lock up.”
Rowen nods seriously.
I linger by the boards longer than I mean to.
My palms feel damp.
I haven’t been on the ice in years.Not since high school. Not since before everything got complicated.
Before doctor’s appointments.Before late-night blood sugar alarms.Before I had to choose responsibility over everything else.
I tell myself I won’t feel it when I step back on.
But I’m wrong.
The second my blade touches the surface, it’s like muscle memory wakes up before my brain does. The cold air hits my lungs. The faint scrape of steel on ice echoes through the mostly empty rink.
And for a split second, I’m sixteen again.
Weightless.
Tate is helping Rowen stand up and finding his balance when I skate past them.
The glide feels like breathing.
Like something I didn’t realize I’d been holding in for years.
Behind me, I hear Tate go quiet.
I circle once. Twice. Lean into a shallow edge. My body remembers every shift of balance, every controlled curve. The rink opens up around me like it’s been waiting.
When I stop in front of them, he’s staring.
Not casually.
Not politely.
Like he’s just learned something new about me.
Rowen stares at me like I’ve just performed magic.
“Momma,” he whispers, eyes wide. “You’re like… a superhero.”
I laugh softly, breath fogging in the cold air.
Tate shakes his head, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“You said you used to play,” he says. “You failed to mention you were that good.”
And the way he looks at me. Like I’m something to be proud of.
It makes my pulse trip all over again.
“Momma, you’re fast.”
“I know.” Feeling my lips spread into a smile. I am fast, and I was a damn good hockey player. But life had different plans for me, and I wouldn’t trade Ro for anything.
Tate snorts.
“You wanna see fast?” I challenge.
His grin is instant. “Careful.”
I take off before he can finish, leaning into a tight turn, stopping just short of spraying him.
He skates after me immediately.
“Oh, we’re racing?”
“We’re not racing.” We most definitely are racing.
He’s already accelerating.
We circle once around the rink, not full speed, not reckless, just enough to feel the edge of it.
The world around me goes quiet.
It’s just the ice and the sound of blades and the familiar rhythm of someone who moves the way you do.
We stop near the boards, and Tate wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me up and spinning us in a circle. We laugh together, and the feeling of being in his arms is one I never want to miss.
Rowen is clapping like we just performed at the Olympics.
“You guys are so good!”
Tate sets me down before skating backward toward him. “You ready?”
Rowen hesitates.
“I don’t wanna fall.”
“You will,” I say gently. “And then you’ll get back up.” He reminds Ro.
Tate kneels in front of him.
“We’ll both be right here.” Tate’s tone is soft and nurturing, something Ro needs in his life.
He holds out his hands, and Rowen takes them with confidence. Their bond is immeasurable. Ro has always been a little guarded around men in public, but with Tate, he feels safe and secure in a way I can’t even explain.
Watching Tate teach him is different from watching him play. He’s patient. He doesn’t rush Ro in anyway. He talks him through every tiny shift of weight.
“Bend your knees.”
“Like this?”
“Perfect.” The pride written over Tate’s face is similar to mine. I’ve always wanted to get Ro on skates, but it’s expensive. I had hoped that by the time I get my dream job, it wouldn’t be too late to get him started.
Rowen wobbles and then falls straight onto his butt. He cries out, I think more in surprise than actual pain.
Before I can even move, Tate is already crouched in front of him.
“Are you hurt?” His tone is soft and nurturing.
Rowen blinks. “No.”
“Did it scare you?”
“…Maybe.” His voice is so small.
“That’s okay. We all get scared when we hit the ice, but if you’re not hurt, you just get right back up.”
He helps him up slowly.
“No one gets good without falling,” Tate says quietly.
I swallow.
Because he’s not just talking about skating.
Rowen tries again.
And again.
And by the fifth fall, he’s laughing instead of gasping.
When he finally makes it halfway across the rink without falling, he throws his arms up.
“I DID IT!”
Tate lifts him clear off the ice in celebration.
And something inside my chest twists.
Because this looks…
Right.
Too right.
Later, back at the apartment, Rowen is flushed and rambling about how he’s going to “skate faster than both of us someday.”
Tate pretends to look concerned. “That’s unacceptable.”
We end up sitting on the floor with pizza.
Rowen tucked between us.
At some point, he leans into Tate without thinking.
And Tate doesn’t hesitate.
He just shifts his arm around him naturally.
I watch the way his hand rests protectively at Rowen’s side.
Not possessive.
Not claiming.
Just steady.“Rowen, after dinner, we need to change your devices tonight,” I always warn him, prepare him, because no matter how many times we do this, it’ll never get easy.Rowen looks at Tate, and Tate pats his leg. They have a whole conversation between them without a single word.
When it’s time to replace the sensor, I automatically gather the supplies.
Tate looks up.
“You want me to grab the alcohol wipes?”
I pause and look towards the giant man in my living room who is currently giving my son a piggyback ride.
“You remember?”
“Yeah. I wrote down all the notes in my phone of every step you said.”
He sits beside us on the floor.
Rowen watches him carefully.
“You’re not scared?” he asks Tate.
“Of what?”
“The click.” It’s when Rowen hears the clicking noise that the device is settled into his body, and the more painful part of the process.
Tate shrugs. “There is no reason to be scared, I’m right here, and your mom is right here. You got this, buddy.”
Rowen considers that deeply.
“Okay. But I really wish I didn’t have to do this or have diabetes.
” His words ring clear, and before I can comfort my son the way I have endlessly over the last year, Tate steps in.
“I wish you didn’t have it either. I would do anything to make your pancreas work again.
Hopefully one day, doctors and scientists can figure it out.
”“Me too,” Is all Rowen says before sliding up his pant leg to his thigh, where we will place the Omnipod tonight. ”
“That is the one that gives him insulin, right?” Tate asks“Yes, the Omnipod is the insulin pump, and the Dexcom is his glucose monitor.”
As I prep the site, Tate watches closely.
Not flinching.
Not uncomfortable.
Just learning.
“Walk me through it again,” he says softly.
So I do.
Step by step.
When Rowen winces, Tate squeezes his shoulder gently.
“You’re doing great.”
Rowen nods bravely.
When it’s done, Tate looks at the device like it’s something sacred.
But doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms tightly around both Rowen and me and holds us.
Later, when Rowen is asleep, Tate sits beside me on the couch.
“You looked good out there on the ice today,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I’m rusty.”
“You’re still good and good looking.” He wraps an arm around the back of the couch, drawing a soft circle on my bicep.
The way he says it makes my stomach flip.
“I miss it sometimes,” I admit quietly.
“Then don’t let it stay missing.”
I look at him like he’s grown a second head.
“You know I can’t, Tate, and there aren't exactly women’s beer leagues.”
“I know, but still you and I can go out there and shoot the puck around, or you can even come when we play 4 on 4s during the summer.”
Silence stretches.
He clears his throat.
“There’s a team party next weekend.”
“I don’t…” I start to say, but he quickly cuts me off.
“I already asked Suzie if she’d watch Rowen. Just in case.”
My heart jumps.
“You planned that?”
“I hoped.”
I stare at him, with what I’m sure is an expression that is both confused and endearing.
“You really think I’d fit in there?”
He reaches for my hand.
“I don’t care if you fit in there. I just want to give you a night to be a normal college student.” He says it with so much assurance it’s hard to argue, “And the only thing that matters is that you fit with me.”
“I… okay, yeah. But I can’t stay out all night,”He gives me a two-finger salute, “You got it, make sure the princess is home by midnight,” He jokes.