Chapter Sixteen — Rhett
Chapter Sixteen
Rhett
Tessa had said she wanted me.
That sentence should have made the rest of the week easier.
It did not.
It made everything louder.
Practice.
Classes.
Team meetings.
Every time my phone buzzed.
Every time I saw her name.
Every time I did not.
By Wednesday morning, I had checked my messages six times during breakfast and pretended each time that I was checking the weather.
Cam noticed on the second.
“You know the weather app doesn’t usually smile back.”
I locked my phone.
“It snowed.”
“It is November.”
“Exactly.”
Noah stood at the counter pouring cereal into a mixing bowl.
“The forecast says forty-two degrees.”
I looked at him.
“Why do you know that?”
“I checked the weather.”
Cam pointed at him.
“That is what checking the weather looks like.”
I ignored both of them.
Eli walked into the kitchen wearing practice gear and carrying coffee.
He looked at me.
Then at the phone.
Then at Cam.
“What happened?”
“Tessa said she wanted him.”
I nearly dropped my mug.
“How do you know that?”
Cam looked offended.
“You came home at midnight smiling at a wall.”
“That is not evidence.”
“You walked into a chair.”
“It was dark.”
“The lights were on.”
Noah nodded.
“Very on.”
I looked toward Eli.
He took a sip.
“Congratulations.”
“There is nothing to congratulate.”
Cam laughed.
“He said it in the defensive voice.”
“I do not have a defensive voice.”
“You have several.”
I stood.
“Practice.”
“We have twenty minutes,” Eli said.
“Then we should be early.”
Cam stared at me.
“You want to be early?”
“I am capable of discipline.”
“You wore two different socks yesterday.”
I looked down.
They matched today.
Good.
“Growth.”
I walked out before they could continue.
My phone buzzed halfway down the hall.
Tessa.
Tessa: Are you free after class?
My pulse shifted.
I answered too fast.
Rhett: Always.
Deleted it.
Too eager.
Then typed:
Rhett: Depends. Is this academic, administrative, or scandalous?
Her reply came immediately.
Tessa: Administrative.
I smiled.
Of course.
Rhett: My favorite.
Tessa: The university wants another interview.
The smile disappeared.
I stopped near the front door.
Rhett: Together?
Tessa: Yes.
Rhett: About what?
Three dots.
Then:
Tessa: Us.
That single word felt different now.
Not rumor.
Not arrangement.
Us.
I typed:
Rhett: Do you want to do it?
There was a pause.
Long enough that Cam walked past me, opened the door, and stopped.
“You’re blocking traffic.”
I moved aside.
The phone buzzed.
Tessa: I don’t know.
I read it twice.
Then:
Rhett: Then we don’t answer yet.
Tessa: They want a decision by noon.
Rhett: Meet me after class.
Tessa: I already asked if you were free.
Rhett: Right. Administrative.
Tessa: Extremely.
I smiled again.
Rhett: Student center?
Tessa: Economics building. One fifteen.
Rhett: I’ll be there.
Her reply came a moment later.
Tessa: I know.
There it was.
My favorite sentence.
Again.
Practice was worse than usual.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Coach ran special teams for nearly an hour.
I missed one pass.
Then another.
On the third, he blew the whistle.
“Callahan.”
I leaned on my stick.
“Coach.”
“Where are you?”
“Right wing.”
Nobody laughed.
That was a bad sign.
Coach pointed toward the bench.
I skated over.
He waited until the team reset.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
I looked toward the stands.
Empty.
No Tessa.
That should have helped.
It did not.
“The university wants an interview.”
“With Ms. Monroe?”
“Yes.”
“About the charity events?”
“About us.”
Coach’s expression stayed neutral.
But something in his eyes sharpened.
“What did she say?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“And you?”
“I don’t care about the interview.”
“That was not the question.”
I looked down at the ice.
The answer was obvious.
“I care whether she feels cornered.”
Coach nodded once.
“Then don’t let the university turn a relationship into a campaign.”
The word hit first.
Relationship.
He had said it like that was what this was.
Not arrangement.
Not rumor.
I looked at him.
“Is that what you think this is?”
Coach’s expression flattened.
“I coach hockey.”
“That was evasive.”
“I am not discussing your love life on the bench.”
“So you do think it’s a love life.”
“Callahan.”
I smiled.
He pointed toward the rink.
“Back in.”
I pushed away from the boards.
Before I reached the line, he added, “And focus.”
“I am focused.”
“You’re smiling.”
“That can coexist.”
“It rarely does with you.”
Fair.
I caught the next pass cleanly.
Tessa was already waiting when I reached the economics building.
She stood beneath the stone arch near the side entrance, holding a folder against her chest.
No jacket this time.
Mine or otherwise.
She wore a long camel coat, black jeans, and the gold hoops.
The date earrings.
That mattered.
Probably.
Possibly.
I crossed the courtyard.
She looked up.
Her expression softened when she saw me.
That definitely mattered.
“You’re early,” she said.
“You’re noticing.”
“You are never early.”
“I have become reliable.”
“You have become selectively punctual.”
“Still growth.”
I stopped in front of her.
Close enough that I wanted to kiss her.
Public enough that I did not.
Tessa noticed.
Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
Then to the folder.
“What did communications send?” I asked.
She opened it.
Inside was a printed proposal.
Of course it was printed.
Three pages.
Bullet points.
Suggested questions.
Social-media rollout.
I scanned the first page.
LAKEVIEW STORIES: CONNECTIONS THAT BUILD COMMUNITY
“Terrible title,” I said.
“That is not the issue.”
“The issue is that it sounds like a bank campaign.”
“The issue is that they want us to discuss how we met, what we admire about each other, and whether our relationship changed our view of campus involvement.”
I looked at her.
“Our relationship.”
“Yes.”
“So the university has promoted us.”
“They think it is good publicity.”
“Coach called it a campaign.”
“Coach knows?”
“I told him.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You discussed us with Coach Mercer?”
“He asked why I missed a pass.”
“That does not explain anything.”
“It became relevant.”
She looked down at the proposal.
“The interview would be filmed.”
“No.”
Her head lifted.
“Too fast.”
“You hate being filmed.”
“That is not the only consideration.”
“It should be one.”
“The student activities office benefits.”
“There it is.”
Her expression tightened.
“What?”
“You turning this into something useful enough to justify doing it.”
“That is not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
She looked away.
Students crossed the courtyard behind us.
A bike bell rang.
Someone laughed near the fountain.
The cold wind pressed a loose strand of hair against her cheek.
I wanted to brush it away.
I did not.
“Tessa,” I said, softer. “Do you want to sit in front of a camera and explain us to strangers?”
Her mouth tightened.
“No.”
“Then we say no.”
“The funding—”
“Already survived Family Weekend.”
“The athletics partnership—”
“Can survive without our dating history.”
“The university has done a lot for both programs.”
“That does not mean it gets everything.”
She looked at me.
I knew the expression.
The one that appeared whenever choice became more complicated than obligation.
“This isn’t only about the university,” she said.
“What else?”
Her gaze dropped to the folder.
“If we refuse, people will assume something is wrong.”
“Something is wrong.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“With the interview,” I clarified. “Not us.”
The relief on her face was small.
Still there.
That did something to me.
“What if saying no makes the rumor worse?” she asked.
“What if saying yes makes us perform something we haven’t defined?”
Her fingers tightened around the folder.
There it was again.
Definition.
Labels.
The thing both of us kept approaching and circling.
I stepped closer.
“Tessa.”
She looked at me.
“We can tell them no without making a public statement.”
“And privately?”
The question came quietly.
I went still.
“That’s separate.”
“I remember.”
She did not look away.
The wind moved around us.
Cold enough that I could see her breath.
I lowered my voice.
“What are you asking?”
Her expression became careful.
Not distant.
Brave.
“Whether this is still temporary.”
My pulse kicked.
“That sounds administrative.”
“It is.”
“Extremely?”
“Rhett.”
I smiled.
Then let it fade.
“No.”
Her eyebrows drew together.
“No, it isn’t temporary?”
“No, I don’t want to keep acting like one more date is a temporary extension.”
The folder lowered slightly.
I continued before fear could rearrange the sentence.
“I want to date you.”
“Exclusively?”
The question surprised me.
Not because I did not want that.
Because she had asked so directly.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Tessa searched my face.
“You’re sure.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
Her breath caught.
Barely.
“You say that like it’s simple.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why does it sound simple?”
“Because the answer is.”
The courtyard seemed to go quiet.
Tessa looked down.
Not retreating.
Thinking.
I waited.
That was becoming my most difficult skill.
Finally, she asked, “What happens when this stops being easy?”
I laughed once.
Softly.
“It stopped being easy when you aimed a fire extinguisher at my chest.”
“That was necessary.”
“Debatable.”
“Rhett.”
I stepped closer.
Close enough that the folder touched my jacket.
“Then I keep showing up.”
Her eyes lifted.
The words belonged to us now.
More than any public photo.
More than the fake arrangement.
More than the kiss.
“And if Boston happens?” she asked.
There it was.
The real fear.
Not the interview.
Distance.
Choice.
The possibility that wanting me and wanting her future might point in opposite directions.
I took a breath.
“Then we deal with Boston.”
“That is not a plan.”
“No.”
Her expression tightened.
“But choosing me does not have to mean choosing against yourself.”
She went still.
I kept going.