26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Celeste
Five weeks.
Five weeks since I shattered my own heart.
Five weeks since Tate looked at me like he didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him.
Five weeks of pretending the ache in my chest is normal.
The apartment feels colder without him.
It’s not the thermostat. The heat clicks on and off just like it always has, the old radiator hissing softly beneath the window.
The smell of the neighbor’s cooking still drifts through the hallway at dinner time.
The same couple down the hall still argues about stupid things, like laundry, dishes, and someone forgetting to take the trash out.
Everything is the same.
Except it isn’t.
Rowen sits cross-legged on the living room floor, Lego pieces spread out around him like colorful confetti. The kit Tate bought him weeks ago is half-built, tiny plastic pieces forming the skeleton of some spaceship.
Rowen insisted on saving it.
“Tate should see it when it’s done,” he’d said.
My throat had closed so tight I’d barely managed to nod.
Now he clicks two pieces together with careful concentration, his curls falling into his eyes.
The Dexcom receiver rests beside his knee.
I glance down automatically.
200 up arrow
Yellow.
Always the first thing I check.
Always the thing that matters most.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
For a second, my heart jumps stupidly. Some small part of me is still expecting Tate’s name to flash across the screen.
It doesn’t.
Brett.
My stomach tightens.
I let it buzz once.
Twice.
Three times.
Rowen doesn’t look up, but his fingers pause over the Legos.
He hears it too.
I sigh quietly and answer.
“What?”
There’s no hello anymore.
No politeness.
Just survival.
Brett’s voice is smooth on the other end of the line. Calm in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“I’m stopping by.”
“No.”
“I’m already downstairs.”
My chest goes rigid.
“What?”
“I’d like to spend time with my son,” he says mildly, like he’s requesting something perfectly reasonable.
My pulse spikes.
“You don’t get to just show up whenever you feel like it.”
“I think you’ll find,” Brett replies casually, “that I actually can.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone.
For a second, the room feels too small.
Too quiet.
Rowen looks up at me.
“Momma?”
“It’s okay,” I say automatically, forcing my voice steady.
But my hands are already shaking.
A knock sounds at the door.
Three slow taps.
Controlled.
Confident.
I cross the room before I can think about it too much and pull the door open.
Brett stands in the hallway like he belongs there.
Dark peacoat.
Perfect hair.
A football duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from working out.
He smells like winter air and expensive cologne.
“Hi, Celeste.”
“Why are you here?”
His eyes flick past me into the apartment.
“To see Rowen.”
I block the doorway with my body.
“You don’t get to waltz in and play father of the year after five years of silence.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“Five years of silence you were perfectly comfortable with,” he replies evenly.
“That was your choice.”
“And now I’m making a different one.”
My jaw tightens.
“You’re doing this because you’re angry.”
“No,” he says calmly.
“I’m doing this because I’m his father.”
Rowen’s small voice drifts from the living room.
“Momma?”
Brett’s gaze shifts over my shoulder.
Something flickers across his face.
Something like calculation.
Then he steps forward slightly.
“Hey, buddy,” he calls casually.
I close my eyes for half a second.
Rowen appears in the doorway behind me a moment later, clutching a Lego piece in his hand.
His gaze lands on Brett.
Then flicks to me.
Then back to Brett again.
His shoulders lift in that small, uncertain shrug he does when he doesn’t know what the correct reaction is.
“Hi.”
Just hi.
Brett crouches down slightly.
“You building something?”
Rowen holds up the Lego piece.
“A spaceship.”
“Cool.”
Rowen nods.
Silence stretches.
I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat.
Brett stands again.
“I figured we could grab lunch,” he says lightly. “Maybe go to the park.”
My stomach drops.
“You’re not taking him anywhere.”
Brett sighs quietly, like I’m being unreasonable.
“Celeste.”
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” I repeat.
His eyes meet mine.
Sharp.
Calculating.
“You understand that eventually a judge will decide what visitation looks like,” he says calmly.
Rowen goes very still behind me.
My chest burns.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“No,” Brett replies evenly.
“I’m realistic.”
He glances down at Rowen again.
“You want to grab lunch with me, buddy?”
Rowen looks up at me.
Those green eyes searching.
Waiting.
My heart cracks.
“Just lunch,” Brett says softly.
“Nothing crazy.”
I swallow hard.
God, I hate this.
But if I refuse?
He files something tomorrow.
Escalates faster.
Pushes harder.
I crouch down beside Rowen.
“You want to go get lunch?” I ask quietly.
He hesitates.
Then nods.
“Okay.”
Brett smiles faintly.
Victory.
I see it.
God, I hate him.
Two hours later, the apartment feels too quiet again.
Rowen’s jacket is gone from the hook by the door.
The Lego spaceship sits abandoned on the floor.
I sit at the kitchen table staring at nothing.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Brett.
I will drop him off at 3.
My jaw tightens.
Like he’s scheduling playdates now.
I push my hands through my hair and stand.
Five weeks.
Five weeks of pretending this was manageable.
Five weeks of pretending that breaking Tate’s heart would fix everything.
But Brett isn’t backing down. If anything, He’s just getting started.
And somewhere across campus…
Tate has no idea.